Page 12 of Iced Out
Elise stopped two lockers down, arms folded. The corners of her lips twitched with amusement.
I snorted. She thought defacing my locker would crack me. She didn’t know. I’d survived worse.
A year ago, my mom and I had landed in East LA—squatting in neighborhoods where gang members ruled the hallways, not princesses in designer jackets. I traded heels for beaten sneakers and learned to fight on my feet. Edwardo, the boxing instructor who let us crash in the apartment above the gym, taught me how to throw punches—and how to take them. He was divorced, had a daughter who lived in another state, and he took me under his wing as though I was his own.
Elise sneered. “Looks like someone doesn’t want you here.”
Tori, her sidekick, leaned in. Her whispered“charity case”cut through the air. Elise laughed—teeth bright and sharp. Nina brought up the rear and shoulder-checked me hard enough to jolt me.
I didn’t flinch. A shoulder-check? Child’s play. I let a smirk curl. My eyes hardened.
Elise watched, waiting for me to shrink. I met her gaze. “That the best you’ve got?”
Her smirk faltered—before she recovered, flicked her jet-black hair, and said, “Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning.”
I rolled my eyes and yanked open the locker with more force than necessary. If she thought a little vandalism would scare me, she would never survive a battlefield.
By the time lunch rolled around, it felt like I had walked into an arena where I was the main show. Conversations stilled as I stepped in. Every table shifted, predatory—sharks circling fresh blood. It was getting old, but I had to deal.
At the center sat Luke, framed by his teammates—Jax, Chase, Theo. He leaned into the group, arms crossed, head tilted slightly. Untouchable. Unbothered. But the moment our eyes met, everything shifted. Hurt flickered in his gaze. Suspicion. Regret. Thenpoof—all of it buried under layers of polished apathy.
Before I could even center myself, a tray of steaming pasta splattered onto my chest. Red sauce splotched my shirt. Elise’s bloodred nails still gripped the edge of the tray as she smirked.
“Well, don’t you look like a public service announcement,” she said, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. “Some people need a little seasoning.”
I swallowed my discomfort. But I refused to let her see me squirm. “Fuck off, Elise.” Anger rolled through me, but it wasn’t fully directed at her. She wasn’t even worthy of being on my radar.
The first school we ran to after leaving Blackwood was in the worst part of LA—East LA. Real gang turf wars, real violence. I’d seen knives, shivs, bodies dropped behind taco trucks. I survived that. There was no way a cafeteria stunt scared me. It was uncomfortable, unwanted, but survivable and far from the end of the world.
My tray, still in my hands, tilted, slipping from my grip, and a malicious grin curved my mouth as I let it fall. The tray hit with a clang. Chili launched like shrapnel—most notably onto Elise’s pristine, knee-high Balenciaga boots. White. Of course they were white.
Her shriek knifed through the room. “Are you fucking serious?” She looked down at her boots, staring at them as if they were casualties in a fight she hadn’t signed up for. Sauce slid down the supple leather, pooling near the heel. A bean clung to the toe. Her nostrils flared. “These cost more than your life.”
I didn’t even flinch. But when her head snapped toward Luke—eyes wide, pleading, expecting him to unleash hell on her behalf—something in me snapped.
The look she gave him wasn’t just panic. It was possessive. Expectant. As if he was hers. Like I never existed.
I didn’t hesitate. Stalking across the room, red sauce and defiance dripping in my wake, I didn’t stop until I made it tohistable.
“Enjoying the show?” I asked, loud enough to hush the room.
Luke’s jaw ticked. He didn’t blink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laughed, low and humorless. “Right. Cowardly games. Whispered threats.” And because I was furious, I lobbed a blow beneath the belt. “Funny how the prince of Blackwood turned into his father’s puppet.”
I spat it at him, daring him to take it. And with every eye in the room on us, I sent the message: I’m not afraid.
Luke’s eyes darkened—the only reaction he gave—and that was enough.
Theo cleared his throat behind me. “Dude.”
All eyes flicked between him and Elise.
Luke didn’t answer Theo. He didn’t even blink. And that silence said more than any words.
Fine, he wasn’t going to own up? Whatever. I let my gaze cut to Elise. Funny—she wasn’t directly at his side, no matter how hard she pretended she was. She had underestimated me. And I never forgot who drew first blood.
I couldn’t stay. My chest was tight, and an outraged tremor shook my hands. I abandoned my tray where I left it, hightailed it out of the cafeteria, and headed to the bathroom.
