Page 23 of Turmoil (Elite of Elmwood 1)

Grabbing the white knit button-down from my locker, I hiked my bag up on my shoulder and whirled around, dropping the sweater in the process. “Are you freaking kidding me?” I muttered, bending down to pick it up.

A pair of squeaky white sneakers stepped onto the corner of my cardigan’s sleeve. I groaned, shoving my hair out of my face as I lifted my eyes. Brock, flanked by the other three Elite, hovered above me. Brock’s lips twisted as his gaze met mine with an expression that pierced my soul. “Don’t get up on my account. I rather like you on your knees.” His voice was husky, edged with danger.

I hated how attractive I found him—hated how flawlessly good-looking he was.

Micah let a low husky chuckle. “Are the rumors true? You looking for your next victim, new girl?”

My cheeks warmed, betraying my desire to stay unmoved by Micah’s words. Screw them all. Figuratively, of course. I tilted my head to the side. “Are you offering?”

Fynn and Grayson let out low laughs.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Micah replied with a wink.

Brock removed his shoe from my sweater, and I snatched it up before he could do something else. It was bad enough there was now a dusty shoe print on the white knit.Asshole. I straightened up and stared Brock straight in the eyes. Damn. They were so intense. And scary. I could admit that. He had this intimidation factor that would make even grown men uncomfortable, yet, I was intrigued. Along with other emotions I didn’t want to admit.

For once, could I be attracted to a guy who was nice and not a prick?

My nails dug into my palms to stamp down my sudden desire to grab Brock by the hair and kiss him senseless. I dragged my gaze from Brock to the grinning Micah. “Are you sure you don’t need his permission first? That’s how it works between you guys, right?” I asked, my eyes volleying between the four of them before landing again on Brock.

“Watch it,” he warned in a low voice, eyes darkening in a way that I couldn’t tell if it was anger or desire that caused them to change.

A shiver raced through me. “Or what?” I countered just as the bell rang. I was so late for class.

He tugged on the end of a pink curl. “You don’t want to find out, Firefly. But I can promise it will be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I made my lips curl. “Funny. The worst thing that ever happened to meisyou.” I poked him hard in the chest, but he didn’t budge. My statement was not entirely true, but Brock didn’t need to know all the horrible things in my life. That would just be feeding him ammunition, and I refused to allow the Elite to torment me.

His jaw flexed as he took a step closer to me. “You got that right.”

“Do us both a favor. Stay the hell out of my way,” I scoffed, giving him a long, hard glare.

“That’s the problem. You seem to be everywhere I turn.” His eyes moved down the length of me. “The uniform might look good on you, but it doesn’t make you one of us, Firefly.”

“She does have nice legs,” Micah added, his eyes sparkling with humor.

“Who said I ever wanted to be one of you? I’d rather be staked in the heart than become one of you,” I said, holding his gaze, turmoil rolling within me.

Brock shook his head. “Word of advice. Watch your back.” The four of them just stared me down. Then, after a long, awkward moment, they parted down the middle, allowing me to pass by.

On a huff, I shoved my way through and rushed down the hall. It wasn’t until I turned the corner that I realized I was headed the wrong way. Cursing under my breath, I pushed through the girls’ bathroom door, needing a moment to calm my nerves.

I went to the sink, clutching the sides of the cabinet as my arms shook with equal parts fury and fear.Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.My eyes lifted, and I gawked at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell did Brock Taylor want from me? I wasn’t a threat. I didn’t have some sort of master plan to tarnish his reputation. It wasn’t my fault I had an asshat for a stepbrother. Was that it? Brock was pissed that Carter was going around airing his dirty laundry?

Turning on the water, I stuck my hands under the stream and patted cold water over my face. I turned off the tap and noticed the sweater draped over my arm. “Shit,” I mumbled, remembering the stain. Dropping my bag on the ground, I laid the cardigan over the sink. I flipped the water back on, grabbed a paper towel, and set to work trying to get out the stain of Brock’s footprint.

As I was scrubbing at the sleeve, one of the stall doors squeaked open. I’d thought I was alone. Guess not. My gaze lifted, meeting a pair of familiar eyes in the mirror. Mads.

“Hey,” she said, strolling over to the sink next to mine. She glanced at the sweater and then hopped up onto the counter.

“Hey,” I mumbled back, giving up on removing the stain. I was sure one of the day maids would do a much better job at lifting it out of the material than I would in a high school bathroom.

Mads crossed her legs and pulled out a cigarette. The lighter flicked to life as she lit the end and took a long drag before holding it out to me. “You look like you could use one of these.”

I’d never been a smoker. The taste turned me off. I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Shrugging, she flicked the end of the slim stick into the sink, little particles of ash falling into the white porcelain bowl. “Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, you just have to ask.”

I shoved the damp cardigan into my bag and leaned my butt against the counter. I wasn’t going to ask if she should be smoking in the girls’ bathroom. From the little I knew of Maddy Clarke, she didn’t give a shit about rules. “God, could this day get any crappier?”

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