Page 20 of Cold and Broken (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 1)

He goes around the room and asks us all to answer. There’s a lot of “taking over the family business” answers, there’s a few “I want a family” answers. He gets to me and uncrosses his arms as he waits for my response.

“My goal is two fold. I’m planning on law school after I graduate from college. Then I’m going to go back to Chicago and start a non-profit to help the city’s south side. I plan on taking on everything, guns, poverty, and corruption. There’ll be no healing for my community until those issues are solved.” I could go on and on but I’ve already bored these affluenza afflicted assholes. I stop while I’m ahead.

“Miss Nelson,” as soon as my name falls from Mr. Jameson’s lips I see the look between the guys. A silent communication and plan forming.

“Yes sir,” I walk over to him as the rest of my classmates flow into the hall.

“I’m impressed by your goal.” He looks over my shoulder. “Do you boys need something?”

I look behind me and there they are, all three of them shoulder to shoulder in varying poses of insolence. “Yeah,” Levi drawls, “we’re escorting hood rat to her next class.”

“Have to make sure she finds her way around,” Griffin adds, “since she’s new and all.”

A silent standoff ensues.

“I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.” I look back and forth between the two sides of the room. I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk between Connor and Griffin. “I don’t need an escort anywhere.” I say over my shoulder, loud enough for all four to hear.

The rest of the day passed fairly quietly. I hear people say hood rat or peasant as I walk by. Someone wrote ‘social justice warrior’ on my locker in Sharpie. I guess caring about people outside my gender, race, or social class is undesirable in this school. Good thing I could not care less about these kids’ opinions of me.

The bullying attempts here at this school have felt pretty amateur-ish. My old neighborhood was rough and the schools I went to were rougher. I always had Z at my side which helped to a point. It also painted a big ass target on my back. Z and I never dated but because he never datedanyonespeculation ran rampant that we were in a secret relationship. Our friendship was always a point of contention and hindered my ability to cultivate friendships but I am the guardian of Z’s biggest secret and I’d do anything to protect it. I’ve been slammed into lockers, had my hair cut, and taken countless fists to face. So, I have yet to be intimidated by name calling and locker graffiti.

At the end of Physics Mr. Jameson sets a business card down on my desk. He leans down, one hand on my desk, one on the back of my chair caging me in. It does feel oddly intimate and a little uncomfortable but I don’t want to show anything and risk another showdown between him and Connor.

“I wrote the contact information of one of my friends who works for a non-profit in Chicago. In case you wanted it for networking purposes or want to keep tabs on possible internships.”

“Oh,” I say surprised, “thank you.” I give him a sincere smile.

“Anytime,” he straightens and squeezes my shoulder.

I don’t need to turn around to see the burning gaze of Connor. I feel it searing into my back. He’s so intense. When I’m finished putting my things away in my bag and stand Connor is right behind me.

“Riding with me or Ivy?”

“You, I think. I didn’t say anything to Ivy about needing a ride. I can text her though.” I start to pull my phone out but Connor puts his hand over mine to stop me. We walk out together.

“It’s fine. We’re going straight home either way.”

“You sure you want to be seen with me getting in your car? Should I walk down the hill a bit first?” I snark.

“Nah,” he drawls, “you spend enough time letting Jameson ogle you after class that almost everyone is gone by now.”

“He gave me contact information for a friend of his in Chicago that works for a non-profit. There was no ‘ogling’ going on.” I put air quotes around ogling.

We drive in silence for a few minutes. Then he turns his head and looks over the top of his sunglasses at me. “Do you have much experience with guys?”

None but I’m not telling him that.

“What do you mean? My best friend is a guy.” I stall because I’m a shit liar.

“That’s not the type of experience I’m talking about. In fact, that’s probably why you are so naive to the fact you are being hunted.”

“Hunted?”

“Yes. Jameson is a predator.” He puts the car in park and we grab our bags to go in the house. He grabs my hand in the foyer and points at the inlay in the floor. “Do you know what Volkov means in Russian?” I shake my head and he answers. “Wolf. We are predators.”

He steps into my space. “It’s how I know what Jameson is doing. He’s stalking you, his prey, trying to get you where he wants you. Vulnerable to his attack.”

“Or that’s what you are trying to do.” I finally find my voice.

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