Page 44 of Roaring Flames

And Isabella too.

Even if she doesn’t see it.

Even if she doesn’t understand it.

I’ll be her villain, if that’s what it takes to keep her safe.

I just pray I don’t come to regret this decision in the end.

Sixteen

IZZY

The last thing I want to do is return to school and face the firing squad. Gouging out both of my eyes with a rusty spoon sounds significantly more appealing.

Ansel must see the derision on my face—or maybe he just hears my huff of annoyance—because he tosses me a glance after putting the car into park.

“You doing okay?” His long fingers tap against the steering wheel.

I focus on that, on the repetitivetap-tap-tapinstead of his penetrating gaze I can feel burning a hole in my head.

“Not really.” I blow out a breath. “It’s times like this when I wish I were smart enough to get my GED and forget about school.”

“Youaresmart,” Ansel interjects automatically, his tone colored with something akin to indignation on my behalf.

I offer him a smile—my first genuine one in the last twenty minutes. “Can you just promise me that I won’t have to face any assholes today?”

His fingers stop their incessant tapping. “Unfortunately, that’s not something I can promise.”

“Dammit.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened with the guys to make you so pissed? What exactly did they keep from you?”

I open my mouth, shut it, and then open it again. I don’t know what to tell Ansel. Obviously not the truth. But I also don’t want to lie to him.

So instead of saying anything, I just smile sadly and slip out of the car.

The air’s cold, slicing at my skin like keen knives. The chill is tempered by the sun just beginning to rise in the distance.

Why does school have to start so damn early? Don’t people know that our brains don’t start working until noon? I suddenly wish I were fast asleep in Grayson’s bed, nestled in his arms.

“You ready for today?” Ansel moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel his body heat.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold works its way through me.

“Remind me again what the penalty is for committing murder?”

“Life in prison,” Ansel responds dryly. “Maybe a nice, old-fashioned execution.”

“Do we even have the death penalty here?” I muse, tapping a finger to my chin.

“Do you want to find out?” He gives me the side-eye, and I huff dramatically.

“Nooo. Fine. No murder.” I pause to consider something. “What about a little light maiming?”

“That’s allowed.” He tosses me a smile that makes my breath catch.

And when he reaches down to intertwine his fingers with mine? I swear the butterflies in my stomach riot.

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