I whirled around at the sound of Brock’s menacing voice. He stood rigid with the Elite at his side.
Micah cracked his knuckles with a grin. He wanted to pound the living shit out of Carter. Fynn frowned, every glorious inch of him rigid with tension. Grayson flanked the other side of Mads.
A muscle along Brock’s jaw ticked. He was fucking pissed and doing his damnedest to keep that rising temper under control. And really, I couldn’t blame him.
Carter loved to play with fire. Brock just needed the tiniest spark to ignite the full force of his anger. “You might want to keep your girl on a shorter leash. You never know when shit might explode.”
“If I threw a stick, would you leave?” I retorted, unable to stop the words flying from my lips.
Brock angled his head to the side, his chest rising. “Is that a threat?”
“When don’t our conversations end with threats? I’d hate to break tradition. I need to shower. I’ll make sure to send Angie your love,” he said to me with a shithead grin that made me wish Brock would just hit him already.
On Friday, the tagger struck again, another new message sprayed for all to see. This time it was sprawled across the girl’s bathroom door just outside the science lab on the second floor.
NEW AND IMPROVED KENNA? DON’T LET HER FOOL YOU. SHE’S NOT AS SWEET AS SHE LOOKS.
“Who is this idiot?” Mads mused as she, Fynn, and I glowered at the pink graffiti.
“This doesn’t feel like Carter,” I replied, sliding a finger across the paint. It was dry. Not that I expected it to be wet. Someone had to be breaking into school at night to send these messages. “But it does feel personal,” I added.
“I agree,” Fynn said, his green eyes cold. “You’re going to be at the game tonight, right?” he asked.
Quick. Think up a lie.The problem was, I sucked at lying. But I was good at deflecting. “Are you concerned about my safety?”
He grinned. “Always. Like every second of every day. I didn’t know a single girl could get into so much trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dramatic much. You’re starting to sound like Micah.”
“Ouch. Speaking of Micah…” Fynn’s sparkling gaze shifted to Mads as we walked past the bathroom and into the lab room next door. “He seems to be wearing you down, Clarke.”
She snorted. “He wishes. In his fucking dreams is the only way Micah would ever be able to get anywhere with me again.”
Her words might have conveyed conviction and iron willpower, but I knew Mads had a weakness for the playboy whether she liked it or not. Her body might have screamed Micah didn’t have a chance in hell, but like Fynn, I was a little worried for my friend. At times, I thought Micah might actually like Mads, but in the next breath he’d be surrounded by three girls or I’d caught him making out with random chicks.
It left me confused. I couldn’t imagine how Mads felt about him. Pissed off, I imagined. Micah seemed to incite two emotions in my best friend. Anger. And disinterest.
But, when she thought no one was paying attention, I caught her watching Micah with another emotion, one that made her vulnerable. I did not want to see my friend hurt again.
Perhaps, I needed to have a serious talk with the flirt of Elmwood.