“Strap and cane.”
“What?” I froze, certain I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“It’s not a common practice at Sion Academy, but sometimes, a heavy hand is required.”
“Are you hearing this?” I spun toward my mother.
“Do as you’re told,” she said in a bored tone, “and your schooling will be painless.”
“Beating students is illegal!”
“There are no federal or state laws against corporal punishment in private schools.” She smiled, and that hurt more than anything.
“If I come home with bruises, you won’t care, will you? Unless someone notices them in public?”
“When I see you again, I expect you to have grown out of this childish behavior and be long past physical punishment.”
“What do you mean? I’ll see you in a week. Parents visit on the weekends and—”
“Out of the question. If I receive a satisfactory report from Father Magnus in a few months, I’ll allow you a visit home during the holidays.”
“Why are you doing this?” My voice bled cold fury. “Because I broke your rules? Fine. Send me to another school. Uprooting my life is punishment enough. But to turn me over to a stranger who admittedly beats his students? You must truly despise me.”
“Are you finished?”
“No.” I spat away the last shred of respect I had for this woman.
Then and there, I made a promise to myself. She thought I was bad? She had no idea. Bad girls got kicked out of boarding school.
I vowed to do everything in my power to get expelled.
“If you leave me here,” I said, “I’ll tarnish our family name so completely you won’t be able to keep it out of the press.”
Unmoved, she arched a brow at Father Magnus. “She didn’t use to be this quarrelsome. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“Not Robby Howard. Or any other guy.” I lifted my chin. “You’re the world’s biggest cockblocker.”
“You’re walking on thin ice, young lady.”
“Okay, Boomer. You’re the one trusting a priest to watch me instead of a team of bodyguards. Way to lose touch with reality.”
She was technically too young to be part of the baby boomer generation. I only used the term to piss her off.
“Wait in the hall.” A quiet command, but her voice cut like a knife.
“You wait in the hall.” I crossed my arms, swallowing the bundle of fear in my throat.
“I won’t tell you again.” She thrust a finger toward the door.
I shook my head, pushing my luck. “Prove you have a grain of decency in your heart and take me home.”
I braced for the pain that I knew her response would inflict. But it was Father Magnus who reacted. He stepped forward slowly, menacingly. I tried to hold my ground, but his powerful strides crushed the distance, forcing me to retreat.
He crowded my space, his towering frame putting me at eye level with his chest. No part of him touched me, but I didn’t give him a chance, my spine bowing, my entire body recoiling as I fought to refill my lungs. He stayed with me, bending closer. I shuffled back, and he advanced again, and again, every step trampling my boundaries and incinerating my bravado.
If I wanted to survive this, survive him, I couldn’t let him bully me. But my limbs flinched without conscious volition, my feet sliding in reverse, instinctively fleeing the nefarious vibes radiating from him.
Tight cords and ridges of muscle—too much power lay beneath his unassuming clothes, ready to back up that threatening scowl.
Was he angry? Or did he look at all his students like he wanted to break them over his knee?
“What are you doing?” Pulse racing, I continued to retreat until my spine bounced off the doorframe. “Back off. Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t lift a finger. No physical contact between us. But he didn’t ease up, either. His steps were deliberate and unhurried as he forced me into the hall with nothing more than his proximity.
I couldn’t ignore how tiny and breakable I felt next to him, how physically inferior I was compared to his strength and size. But it wasn’t just his unexpected physique that had me seeking distance. It was the meanness in his eyes. The unholy promise in them.
This wasn’t a teacher who gave a fuck about my circumstances. He was a sick, twisted bully who got off on intimidating his students.
How many girls had he reformed? Brainwashed? Abused? How many lives had he broken?
The backs of my legs hit the bench in the hall, toppling my balance. My bottom collided with the seat, and he dove in, bending over me with a hand splayed on the wall beside my head.
Don’t cower. You can handle whatever he dishes out.
“I’m going to say this only once.” He thrust his other hand, palm up, between us. “Give me your phone.”
My insides shriveled at the sound of his voice. A terse command that tolerated no argument. A gravelly timbre that vibrated in my chest. A sculpted mouth that dragged me into the darkness.