Page 38 of Made in Malice

“Can I call someone?” I offer again.

“No, just get the fuck out of here. I’ve got nothing to give you.” The blood smeared across his face makes his angry words seem even more threatening, but I ignore it.

“Where’s your phone?” I inquire, thinking maybe he can call for help himself.

“You looking to steal it? Go ahead and try to rob me, you broke bitch, and see what happens.”

If he’s trying to kill my goodwill, he’s doing a very good job. I push off the ground and try to give him a wide berth to walk around, but he falls to the side and grabs my ankle unexpectedly, tripping me.

The oof of air leaving my lungs when I land on my chest and chin is loud in the silence of the night.

“Shit,” he curses as he releases my leg and tries to crawl forward.

I scramble away from him, and he tries to messily get up, only to fall over again. There’s blood dripping from my chin and a metallic taste in my mouth from biting my tongue, but the rest of me is fairly unscathed, so I look around.

The driver door of his car is open, probably from him getting out, and the airbag is blocking my view of the interior to look for his phone. I’m also afraid to turn my back on him to go retrieve my phone, so I fumble for what to do next.

Lucian is holding himself up with his palm on the car, but he doesn’t look too steady on his feet. Despite how messed up he is, I know he could still do a lot of damage if he got a hold of me, so I round the other side of the car to keep him at bay.

“Give me a number to call so I can get you help,” I offer in a last-ditch effort.

“C’mere,” he says softly, coaxingly, but I’m not dumb.

I start to back away, getting closer to my car and an escape. His eyes look wild, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid of someone in my life.

When he bellows for me to stop and pushes himself off the car to walk unsteadily toward me as if his will alone is enough to ignore his injuries, I turn and run back to my car, then slam my finger down on the lock tab before putting it in drive and speeding out of there.

I’m still breathing heavily when I stop at my gate. I can see his entrance behind me in the mirror. My heart is beating fast, but I still open my door and jog across the road, looking for the intercom box.

“Hello?” I say, leaning down a little to be closer to the speaker. “Hello, can someone hear me? Lucian needs help. He’s on the road about a mile back. He didn’t want me to call an ambulance, but he’s hurt. Please send someone to help him.”

I jump back when I hear the static crackle. “He’ll kill you,” says a voice eerily similar to the man I just left on the road. I wipe my chin with my fingers coming back bloody, already knowing how willing he is to hurt me, then back away slowly. I’ve done all I can. If he dies out on the road, it’s not my fault, it never was. I should have kept driving.

The second the gate shuts behind me, the one across the road opens, and a white car speeds out, not even slowing to look in my direction. I drive a few hundred feet up the drive, then turn my car off before jogging back to the gate. There’s no way I’m going out there, but there’s some weird part of me that needs to make sure Morningstar isn’t dead, and this is as close as I can get.

I expect to hear an ambulance or see flashing lights or something, but after nearly ten minutes of nothing, I decide maybe whoever it was that left took him to the hospital, or maybe I’m just too far away to hear any of the commotion.

Exhausted, I amble back to my car, noting I haven’t been this sore since the accident that almost killed me. Cadieux Island is hazardous to my health, but I’m still not leaving, not even with an axe over my head like Lucian Morningstar. My only hope is he’s too drunk to remember anything that happened tonight.

NOVA

I’m embarrassed to admit I did a lot of internet stalking Sunday after waking up and showering. My chin matches my scabbed knees, and I’m pretty sure I chipped a tooth or maybe cracked it, because my tongue keeps worrying the sharp point that wasn’t there before the fall.

Lying to Rory about how it happened when he came to find me to ask about my job yesterday afternoon wasn’t fun. I don’t think he believed the story, but he didn’t call me out on the lie, so I suppose that’s the best I could hope for. I almost asked him if he heard anything about Morningstar, since my search of the local news and social media both came up empty, but I think he would have suspected I had something to do with what happened, and I didn’t want to deal with that.

As I park in the back lot for school Monday morning, I scan the rest of the cars for his and come up empty, but that doesn’t mean much. His car was likely damaged, and I’m sure he has more than one anyway.

As soon as I step out of the car, I regret my black leggings and old band shirt. It’s hot, but I chose the outfit for personal comfort, not because it would keep me cool, plus I wanted some protection for my legs. My knees are going to be all scarred up soon if this keeps up.

Thankfully, the scratches on my arm are almost healed, so I can forgo the long sleeves, but the bruise Alden left on my upper arm is a little more stubborn, only fading to a sickly yellow color. There’s not much I can do to hide my chin, since the little gash is right on the front like it split when I hit the ground. I feel like makeup would only increase the chances of it getting infected, and let’s face it, I’m not having the greatest luck, despite the fact that I’m living in a mansion and driving a new car.

I head straight for my first class, barely seeing anyone as I walk past the Union because I have my eyes locked on the hall ahead of me. No one tries to trip me or even sends any scathing comments in my direction. It should be refreshing, but it only makes me more nervous about what’s coming.

I take the same seat as last time, but the girls in front of me are too busy whispering to each other to even notice me. I catch tiny snippets of their conversation, and it only makes me more curious, because I know I heard the name Morningstar murmured. Do they know what happened this weekend or if he’s okay?

Without warning, the hair on the back of my neck stands up and a chill skates down my spine. I feel warmth at my ear, but I’m too afraid to turn. Surely he’s not going to do anything to me in the middle of class. There are too many witnesses, right?

“Turn around,” he orders, and the girls in front of me snap their heads forward while I barely breathe. The only thing stopping Lucian Morningstar’s lips from touching my ear is my hair, and I’ve never been more grateful for my thick locks.

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