Until someone ripped him backward. The abrupt movement cracked my frozen shell and spun me into action as I whirled on Charlie and sent my fist into his nose.
Tray caught me around the waist, hoisting me into the air and spinning me behind him. “Stay,” he snapped, turning to face the two assholes he’d just wrangled me out from.
If he thought I intended to listen to his command, he had another think coming.
I took off through the ballroom, ignoring Ryan’s and Carmen’s shouts at my back, and sprinted up the stairs toward the exit.
Fuck him.
Fuck Dash.
Fuck Charlie.
Fuck Ryan.
Fuck Carmen.
Fuck Darlington Academy.
Fuck this ent
ire fucking city!
June could not come fast enough.
I pushed through the front doors, kicked off the stiletto heels because they were slowing me down, and ran barefoot down the cobblestone drive. It hurt, but I’d numbed myself to the pain years ago.
Surviving the death of my parents and the perpetual treatment of the family that was supposed to care for me had ensured that I had the mettle of steel. I could handle a little blood and cuts.
“Isabella!” Tray shouted behind me, sending a shiver down my spine. But unlike the shiver Charlie and Dash had elicited, this one left me feeling warm inside.
Which I hated even more.
Why did my body react to Tray in this manner? Sure, he was hot. But so were the other douchebags, and they didn’t leave me feeling hot all over.
Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I urged my legs to move faster, but the damn skirts continued to tangle with my limbs, slowing me down. If I moved too quickly, I’d trip, and then—
Strong arms circled my core, hoisting me into the air and off my feet.
I shrieked, the trees and limos my only witnesses.
Surely one of the drivers would come forward. Right?
Oh, no. I forgot. I lived in Darlington, where employees were paid to be discreet and look the other way.
I screamed in frustration, my anger at fate hitting a high point. “Why?!” I shouted at no one in particular. And a slew of curses followed.
Tray said nothing.
Or maybe I just couldn’t hear him over my own screams.
I wasn’t crying for help but ranting at the heavens for their cruelty.
Eight. Fucking. Months.
I had to survive eight more fucking months. And I wasn’t sure I could without killing someone.
“I can help with that.” The soft words came from Tray, and I glared at him over my shoulder.