The question isn’t unexpected, but I don’t know what he expects me to say. I can’t tell him, and he must know that. I swallow roughly before answering.
“No.”
“Are you kidding me right now? I just helped you code spyware at fucking school, if this gets out, we would both be out on our asses. It may not be illegal to develop it, but it sure as fuck is frowned upon.” He hisses back at me, moving forward and looking around us to make sure no one can overhear. I say nothing which only serves to frustrate him more. He tugs on the strands of his hair and levels me with a dark look.
“Tell me something!” He demands. “You owe me that much. You going to sell it to a seedy company and buy a life?”
I keep my face blank, giving nothing away. He’ll get exactly nothing from me. His stare hardens, eyes narrowed.
“Are you going to use it to bankrupt all the people here?”Nothing. “Creating your own little Robin Hood story of robbing the rich to feed the poor?”Nothing.“Give it to your criminal boyfriend back home?” My vision shudders, only for a moment but he’s watching me so intently that I know he sees it.
“If you really believed that you wouldn’t have helped me finish the coding.” My voice is firm, confident in my words, but barely above the sound of a whisper.
He looks at me then, really looks at me. He catalogs everything, the unnoticeable white lines marring my skin. He sees the long scar on the side of my right hand where a backyard surgeon operated. Next, he looks at my face, the permanent downward turn in my lips and the bags under my eyes that can’t be covered properly with my shitty makeup skills. But it’s my eyes that he stares into, and for a moment I’m worried he can see the soul crushing agony that I live with, the yearning I have for life but the prison my mind is held in.
“Are you in danger?” His question is low, barely a rumble of words that pulls me from myself. The green in Nash’s eyes swirls darker, and his fingers twitch in response to whatever he’s feeling. I steel my spine, and he does the same, seeing the change in my demeanor. Turning, I stuff my things into my bag.
“You don’t know anything about me.” I spit at him, void of all emotion, except the pissy attitude I woke up with today. But the weight of his question hangs heavy in the air around us. I’m not who he thinks I am, some damsel in distress looking to be saved. I am the dark, and I’m damaged. More so, I’m dangerous, and that is a sobering thought.
“I appreciate what you did for me just now, but…”
“But nothing! I know damn well that a nineteen-year-old girl does not need location tracking and data saving technology unless she’s either a criminal or she needs help. So, the only question that stands is, are you a criminal, Briar?”
I say nothing, just pick up my bag and leave.
Chapter Seven
“I know you did your best, Rosie.” Clarke placates through the phone, his voice thick like honey. I can feel the ghost of his hand running down my hair as he would if I were beside him. But I’m no longer fooled by his gentle touches covering his patronizing words. He knows his time frame was unreasonable, impossible even, and we both know that he doesn’t care.
“Someone will be on campus to pick it up tonight. When I call, you answer.” Not a question. Then he hangs up without another word. The irritation was unmissable, telling of just how much I’ve annoyed him.
It’s Monday morning and I’d spent the entirety of the weekend copying the codes and making alterations to prepare for the launch. The copy I’ll be handing over to whatever lackey that Clarke sends for collection is saved on a secure hard drive, that only I have the passcode to. I’m prepared for the backlash I’ll receive from Clarke if he realises, but if I can time it just right, I should be able to access the encryption when he plugs it into his computer and remotely allow access without his notice. He will never get the passcode.
Dropping my phone on to the nightstand, I flop back into my pillows and close my eyes, exhausted and not quite ready to start the day. Monday’s are the fucking worst, and not because of the typical Monday bullshit, but because I have three classes with Blakely and Gianna, which is unadulterated torture. Juniper is also in two of the classes, but other than being a full-fledged member of the bitch squad and having a hard on for every guy at this damned place, except for her fiancé, she’s relatively harmless.
I look over at the devil in question from my place on the pillows and sigh when I see her still sleeping form. Hauling my sleep deprived body off the bed, I tiptop closer to her bed, careful not to wake her and search quietly for her phone. It takes several minutes to see the corner of it sticking out from under her pillow beside her head and with every passing second, I can feel sweat build on my skin.
I manage to get it without waking her and quickly put the phone up to her face to unlock it. This is exactly why I don’t have facial recognition, even an idiot would be able to gain access to your personal information and all it takes is for you to be asleep. Not that it would have kept me out if she didn’t have it, but it would have been harder. With the kill switch installed in my phone, I can be assured that at the very least my data will be wiped before anyone can gain access. I move quickly to the dining table where I have my laptop already set up and plug the device directly in, only taking minutes to tap around before clicking ‘sync’.
Fifteen freaking minutes. It takes fifteen freaking minutes for the files to sync and in that time, I go from jittery to a complete twitchy, sweaty mess. As soon as the phone dings, letting me know the transfer is complete, I unplug and barely manage to stop myself from sprinting back to Blakely and just chucking her phone on her bed. Instead, I start to slide her phone back into position, when the universe once again shows just how much it hates me.
I’ve got my hand positioned beside her pillow, phone still in my grip when her alarm sounds, loud enough to wake up the whole damn building. Or maybe that’s due to how tense the situation is. I jump back a step from her bed when Blakely turns and sees me hovering over her like a deer in headlights. It takes a moment for her to register the situation, and the moment it does, she narrows her eyes into slits and glares at me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Luckily, I recover quickly, folding my arms over my chest and popping a hip, like I’ve seen her do a million times. “Your alarm won’t stop. Either get up or turn the damned thing off.”
I’ve turned to the closet to grab my uniforms, but I don’t miss the vicious way she cusses me out. Ignoring her, I continue moving around getting dressed, subtly shaking out my nerves about how close that was. If I were one minute later… No, no. I don’t need to start my day in a panic. I’ve finally made my way over to the coffee machine and pour an extra-large cup when Blakely emerges from the bathroom dressed and ready to go, travel mug in hand.
She stands by the door, a glimmer in her eye, as I take my first sip. I internally groan, knowing that she’s planning something, and the longer this goes on, the shorter my patience gets. I think I’m going to have to stop taking this lying down and start retaliating. I say nothing, just meet her eye and continue sipping at my coffee from the kitchen island and it’s only when I’ve finished, putting my cup straight into the dishwasher, that I hear the door slam. Releasing a breath, I pack away my laptop, grab my bag and I’m out the door.
Something is wrong. There are no whispers today, no snickering, but still, everyone is watching me. Everyone except Leo and Peyton, of course, who are laughing together as I make my way over to them. I move into my seat beside Peyton and mumble out a hello to her and Leo. She turns to me and beams a smile, which quickly falters as she takes me in.
I feel flushed, and my chest feels heavy, making it difficult to breathe. I swipe at build-up of sweat on my forehead and Leo, who is now looking this way, locks onto the slight tremor in my hands. I must be coming down with something, but this is my worst class, and I can’t really afford to play catch up with it.
Peyton though, is having none of it, jumping straight into mother hen mode, putting her cold hand on my forehead. The contrast against my burning skin is brutal but welcomed. “What’s wrong? How long have you been like that?”
I try to gently push her away and explain that I was fine twenty minutes ago, but my stomach begins churning aggressively and I’m suddenly afraid if I open my mouth that I’m going to puke. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, and the other clutching hard on my stomach, I lean over towards the aisle and try to control my breathing, but it’s no use. Peyton must see this because I hear her yelling obscenities and then I’m being grabbed my arm and pulled towards the exit.