Killian cocks his head to the side, strands of his long hair falling in front of his eyes. That Peirce smile has the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. He chuckles and my stomach twists because there’s only one thing scarier than Killian yelling. It’s never good when that cold laughter rumbles in his chest.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Pierce?” The substitute clears his throat and his voice is haughty for someone who scurried away from Killian when we were in the hallway the other day.
Killian takes a step toward him, ready to rattle his cage for literally nothing.
“Killian!” I stand up and rush over to him, grabbing him by the bicep. Surprisingly, he allows me to pull him over to the doorway. It’s not private, but it’s better than being practically on top of the teacher’s desk. I glare up at him. “Enough. You’ve embarrassed me enough. Go do whatever it is you do while everyone else is in class and my ass will be in that seat waiting for you to come pick me up.” I huff and he smiles, but it’s genuine this time.
Genuine for a psychopath.
“Have a good class, babygirl.” I bristle at the nickname he gave me so long ago. One that was so sweet back then that feels so bitter now. He squeezes my ass hard before he turns away and heads down the hallway. I pull the door closed behind me and I feel my face burn red. The class is silent and everyone’s eyes are on me.
“Show’s over, everyone.” I sound like a bitch. It’s not their fault that I’m in this situation, but the snickering and whispers don’t make it any easier to get through a day in this hellhole.
I’m thankful when the substitute, who I learn is named Mr. Peterson, hands out worksheets and pairs everyone up to work on them. Our class is an odd number, and because I’m all the way on the end, I’m the odd man out. I thought I dodged a bullet until I hear the chair scraping up to the side of my desk and realize that Mr. Peterson is sitting down, foot tapping nervously. I set my pen down, ready to warn him that if he doesn’t get the fuck away from me, he’s signing his own death warrant.
But then he reaches over and places his hand on my leg just above my knee. When I shift to pull away from him, he slides it higher, giving me a light squeeze he probably thinks is comforting.
“Ava, will you speak with me in the hallway?” His voice is low, softer than someone like Killian could muster. My stomach turns. Here I was feeling sorry for him, because I thought he was going to get himself hurt trying to make sure I’m okay. He just sees what he thinks is a vulnerable girl who will cling to him if he steps in to protect her.
Garbage. He’s absolute fucking garbage.
I shove his hand off my leg, but I can’t get up because he’s blocking the opening of my desk. Heat rises in my chest when he scoots forward, nudging his knee between both of mine.
“I get that you’re new. I get that you’re a nice guy who’s just trying to help the fragile girl who’s getting yanked around by the school bully.” I level my eyes with him and stare him down when he frowns at my words. “It’s all a façade. I’m not fragile, you’re not that nice, and Killian isn’t a harmless high school bully. He will kill for me.” I’m surprised at the way my body tingles at my words. “Do you really want to play this game?”
“I don’t think I do.” He clears his throat and straightens his tie before sliding his chair back. Quietly, he moves back to his desk and doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. For the first time since I ran away, I don’t bother even doing my classwork. I’m too wound up, and I doubt Peterson would be reckless enough to call me out on it.
I roll my eyes when I hear the gossip club behind me whispering, and I’m ready to turn around and knock their teeth out, but I don’t get the chance because he bursts through the door.
“We need to leave. Shit’s going down.” He’s pulling me up out of the chair before I can form any words.
“Wait, I need my stuff,” I protest.
“Now,” he demands as I scramble to pick up my stuff.
“Are you going to tell him what happened?” Faith’s version of a whisper might as well have come paired with a foghorn.
I loathe that bitch.
“Tell me what?” Killian snaps, his hand clamping down on my shoulder just as I gather all of my stuff.
“Nothing. You were in a hurry?” I change the subject, but he’s not in the mood for any mind games.
He glares at Faith. “What happened?” He can somehow make a simple question sound like an interrogation.
“Mr. Peterson was flirting with her and touched her leg.” Faith blurts the words out and I want to smack the shitty smirk off of her face, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry because Killian has been itching to beat the fuck out of Peterson since he laid eyes on him.
“Is that true, motherfucker?” Killian asks Peterson, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s got him by the shirt collar and slams the back of his head against the whiteboard.
“I was just trying to…” Peterson is cut off by Killian ripping him forward and slamming his face on the desk. The cracking of the bones in his face is stomach curdling as Killian does it a second time.
“Killian,
