Page 43 of Soul of a Psycho

The room erupts in whispers andooh’sat the professor’s curse.

“Try and make me.”

I silently cheer, a depraved part of me suddenly excited for Rykes to see just how small he is; The way he made me feel small. I could never stand up to him, but Cade can.

“Oh, you childish little shit.” Rykes loses his cool and storms down the aisle of desks. “I bet your mother is so proud. You think you can talk to me like that?”

“I just did.”

Rykes comes to stand over Cade, and while it should be intimidating, a teacher looming over a student, Cade is clearly the threat here. Even with his jacket covering up what I know he hides beneath, it’s his eyes that show how deadly he is. The coldness and promise remind me of a snake, one who knows just how fatal its bite can be. He doesn’t even flinch at Rykes presence, not bothering to look up, and I bite back a smile at his snub.

“Leave. Now.” Rykes barks, pointing at the door.

But Cade still doesn’t acknowledge him, his knee bouncing rapidly. It’s the only thing that reminds me he isn’t made of stone, and I wonder if maybe I don’t know just how lethal wild animals can be.

“That’s it.” Rykes huffs and grabs the scruff of Cade’s hood.

I cringe, somehow knowing that’s a grave mistake even before the screech of the chair. Its metal feet gouge the wood flooring, and in a flash of black, Cade is towering over Rykes. The professor stumbles back at the proximity, right into my desk. It tumbles over in a crash, but Cade advances, staying in Rykesspace as I scramble to get out of the way. My chair falls over as I back up against the wall, my heart hammering.

“Don’t youeverfucking put your hands on me,” Cade roars, muscles straining in his neck, and he shoves his hands into Rykes chest.

I suck in a breath at the way Rykes fear breaks through his scowl, at the way his back arches unnaturally, but my gasp isn’t of apprehension, it’s with excitement. This is chaos, anarchy, something I should avoid and try to stop, but the justice feeds something I’ve been starving for.

“You’re a fuckingbully,”Cade seethes. “A fucking joke. You’re supposed to be an adult, but you’re no better than everyone else in this godforsaken place.”

“You… You’re a delinquent…” Rykes stutters.

“I’m a delinquent?!” Cade shoves him again, and this time he falls, crashing between my toppled over desk and abandoned chair. “At least I don’t have to make women feel small to make up for a tiny dick.”

Whispers break out as my jaw hits the floor. Others get up from their desks, backing into the fringes of the room, but no one makes a move to help Rykes, whose eyes have gone wide.

“That’s—”

“A fact,” Cade cuts him off, tremors rolling through his shoulders. “A disgusting fucking fact that is going to pin your soul to this soil when your times comes. You’re never getting out of here, Rykes. You’re going to rot in this hellhole for the rest of eternity. I’m going to make sure of it.”

I’m too entranced by Cade’s fury to grasp what he means about souls, but I do recognize the fracture hidden beneath his words. My gut twists, a hatred for the man on the floor blooming to life like poison under my skin. What woman did Rykes demean?

“You’ll be out of here for this,” Rykes voice shakes as he gapes at everyone, his humiliation reflected back at him.

Cade laughs, actuallylaughs, the sound a maniacal trill, terrifying, but oddly glorious to hear. The smile that goes with it is unsettling, though. It’s the brightest I’ve ever seen him, the most alive, but it’s all dripping in malice. A malice that breaks my heart.

“No.” Cade shakes his head, snapping into stone again. “I’m not going anywhere.” He bends and grips the leg of the desk, hovering over Rykes with a sudden coolness that makes my skin chill.

He lowers his voice to a cruel whisper, “I’m going to burn right beside you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Cade

“Tell me why you pushed your social studies professor.”

I clamp down the smile that threatens to give me away, reminding myself I’m not supposed to have any emotions besides remorse. I can’t slip up, not with Rutherford. He’s the kind of psychiatrist that looks for any excuse to lock someone up. And the fucked thing is, he’s already done it to me once.

“He grabbed me,” I tell him, shifting on the leather couch, trying to look bothered by the notion.

It’s the safe answer. A perfectly logical reaction to someone touching me without my permission. But Rutherford’s dyed brows come together, and a smug grin twists his face.

“And that’s an acceptable reaction to have?”

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