Page 27 of Spyder
I nod, seeing all the reasons my suggestion was a bad idea, and one I should have known better than to raise. Just because we’ve got a truce with Singer right now, it’s an uneasy one at best. He wouldn’t hesitate to throw any of us in jail if we ever crossed that line.
“But we’ll give Singer a heads up if it looks the shitstorm breaking over town looks inevitable,” Prophet says, as if reading my thoughts. “We also don’t want to move too quickly or we’re going to expose Tarantula and Bala. I don’t want to get those guys killed because they helped us.”
“Right. So, what do we do then?” Domino asks.
Prophet sighs again. “Nothing right now. I need to talk it over with Leadership. We’ll put together a plan. Go home and get some rest. You guys did good work tonight. I appreciate it.”
Domino and I drain the last of our beers and get to our feet. I grab both bottles and walk them over to the trash can then look back at Prophet. He’s still leaning back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, one hand stroking his chin. He looks lost in thought, and the set of his jaw belies his tension.
But underneath all of that, I can see his anger. His rage. It’s boiling just below the surface and he looks ready to explode with it. I can only imagine that he’s thinking back to the day he was shot. I know that would most definitely keep me on edge.
Domino taps me on the shoulder. “Let’s go, bro.”
We head out and make sure to shut the door to the clubhouse behind us. There are a couple of guys sitting on the picnic tables, sharing a joint, ostensibly just hanging out. But there’s been an unspoken arrangement between us all… Prophet is never left alone. There’s always somebody around watching his back.
I climb onto my bike and am strapping on my helmet when I look over at Domino. I can see he’s as concerned about what’s going down as I am. He doesn’t have a great poker face. But as always, he keeps himself sorted and in control.
“You should go have that drink with Bellamy,” he says. “Sooner, rather than later, if I were you.”
I laugh grimly. “Why’s that?”
“Because the way things are headed, you might not get a chance to have a second one with her.”
Chapter Twelve
Bellamy
The last echoes of the students’ voices fade away as I sit behind my desk, looking over some papers. It’s my third day of classes and so far, everything’s been great. The students are mostly well-behaved, and we really seem to be clicking. I know there will be tough days ahead, and times I’m going to want to throttle some of these kids, but I’m enjoying myself with them. I always do.
I love teaching. Knew from a relatively early age that teaching is what I wanted to do with my life. And yeah, there’s a lot of bureaucratic crap you have to deal with as a teacher, but if you can make that connection with the kids, really get in sync with them, the job is really rewarding. There is no better feeling than being in tune with your class and seeing that they’re really learning. That they’re really getting it.
I start collecting all of my things and putting them into my bag when I hear the door to the room open. Expecting one of my students who’d forgotten something, I’m surprised when I see that it’s Derek stepping through the door. He’s got a wide smile on his face that does something to my insides. I feel my skin warming and my face flushing, but I fight to keep myself under control. The last thing I want to do is feed the man’s ego.
“Am I late for class?” he asks.
“Yes. But you’re right on time for detention.”
“Oh, now there’s a subject I’m familiar with.”
I laugh. “Right. As best I recall, you were never one of the problem students. I doubt you spent a single hour in detention.”
“You might be surprised,” he says. “Old Mr. Danton never appreciated my sense of humor.”
“You had one of those back then?”
His laughter is a deep rumble that sounds like the thunder rolling in off the ocean. It sends goosebumps marching across my skin and sends the most delicious feeling flowing through my body. It’s not easy, but I manage to keep the arousal gripping me from showing on my face. At least, I’m pretty sure I manage it.
“Oh, she’s got jokes,” he says.
“That’s right, I do.”
Derek closes the door behind him and walks across the room, my eyes glued to his every movement. Dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a black button-down, he cuts a striking figure. He’s a handsome man and I feel a quiver run through me as he sits down at one of the student’s desks in front of mine, leaving him facing me. Those hazel eyes pierce through me and I can feel him probing the deepest recesses of my mind and soul. It’s a terrifying feeling, but it’s exhilarating at the same time.
“Dressed for a funeral?” I ask, trying to gather my wits about me.
He shrugs. “It was a good enough look for Johnny Cash, so I figure it’s good enough for me.”
I grin. “If I were a psychologist, I’d say that’s an interesting insight into how you see yourself.”
