Page 3 of Bad Blood

I guess I’ve never been part of the invisible folk anyway, so this is just the Universe putting me in the spotlight for more reasons than one.

Scrambling to my knees, I gear up to apologize, but when the guy crouches down, and I come up close and personal with his handsome face, the air expels from my lungs.

Piercing silver-blue eyes stare back at me. The sun catches the color perfectly when he tilts his head to the side, and a lock of shiny black hair falls over his eye.

I decide his eyes are more silver than blue, but it depends on the lighting.

He has a face that looks like it belongs on the cover of some magazine and a body that looks far too muscular for a high school boy. Decadent tattoos run up his forearms. Some look like the kind I’ve seen on Cal, which means he’s Russian and most likely one of the Bratva heirs.

Maybe that’s why he’s looking at me with such scrutiny while I’m appreciating the hell out of his ridiculously gorgeous looks.

“I’m sorry, I—”

Before I finish my apology, he grabs one of my pens and snaps it in half, his eyes still riveted to mine.

He takes another and does the same thing.

“What the hell are you doing? I said I was sorry. It was an accident.”

Instead of answering with words, one large hand whips out and secures around my neck.

I’m so shocked I can’t even breathe, so I’m not sure if my lack of air is due to his grip on me or my terror.

He lifts me so that the tips of my toes brush against the pavement, and all I can do is glare at him.

“You are an accident waiting to happen, Malyshka.” He bares his teeth like sharp fangs.

Malyshka.That’s Russian for baby girl, so I guess I was right with my prior assumptions.

I struggle to free myself from his death-like grip and shout at him to let me go, but I can’t do either.

Three guys come up behind him, all with the same gorgeous, entitled look, and I realize this must be the crew. Every school has one. I’ve just never been the target before the shit with my father hit the fan.

This has to be about that. Not about bumping into this guy. There’s too much hate in his eyes. It’s so heated it’s stifling, suffocating.

“Consider this your only warning from me. You have one day to get the fuck out of this school, or the next time you see me, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

With one hard thrust, he releases me, but my legs are so weak that I fall to my knees again, this time scraping the skin.

It dawns on me that we have an audience. Everyone around us was standing there watching, and they did nothing to help me.

The expressions on their faces are mixed. Some look on with pity, others like I deserved what I got.

My attacker backs away with his crew, leaving me there in my demise at the foot of the steps.

I’m left there staring at his wide, muscular back, wondering who the hell he is.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he glances back at me, and if looks could kill, he would incinerate me with that glare.

So who is he? And what did my father do to him—or his family? It wouldn’t have been him personally, but his family.

Whatever Dad did to them must have been bad because no one has thought to attack me like that before.

I knew this day was going to be a disaster before it even began.

I hate when I’m right.

Chapter2

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