I cry out, and Scarlet yanks open the door. I hear her footsteps clomping across the hardwood, moving as fast as she can go in her thick boots. I also hear the squeak of basketball shoes, thechoing!sound of balls hitting the floor, the clank of the rim when they bounce off.
Shit. The team has practice after school.
I’m just going to have to hide until the place clears out, and then I’ll find… Something… To wear home.
As if she’s reading my mind, Keisha swings open the door. “Put her out,” she says, like I’m a bag of trash.
“No,” I scream, the word tearing from me unbidden. Adrenaline spikes through me, and I kick the door, trying to force it closed. I grab Keisha’s hair, yanking it askew. My nails rake down Diana’s arm, scratching like a cat being thrust into a sink full of water. She shrieks and releases me, but someone else shoves me from behind. I go stumbling out the door, instinct taking over as I try to keep my feet. When I straighten, I’m standing at the edge of the basketball court, fully naked in front of the whole team.
twelve
Rae West
My blood is ice. I can’t even move for a second. Half the team is gaping. Someone whistles. Another guy nudges someone who hasn’t turned to see me yet.
That jerks me out of my coma, and I throw myself back against the door. The girls are holding it from the other side, and it only rattles, bringing more attention my way. I try to cover myself with my hands, slamming my shoulder into the door again as a few of the guys start to murmur and chuckle.
Balls bounce across the floor and roll away, forgotten. The last squeak of a shoe echoes through the space as Maddox turns from rebounding, the ball held between both hands. His gaze falls on me, and his eyes widen so far you’d think he’d never seen a naked chick before. Surprising he even noticed one more, with all the others who are always naked around him.
He throws the ball at Reggie. It bounces off his chest, as his hands are hanging at his sides and he’s too busy looking at me to notice the flying object coming his way. Then his view is blocked by the towering wall of muscle barreling toward me, his eyes like the darkest pits of hell. As he approaches, he lifts one arm, gripping the bottom of his t-shirt with the other hand.
I let myself be completely absorbed by watching him, so I don’t have to feel all the eyes watchingme.
He drags the hem of his shirt up, and my breath catches as I watch the muscles ripple along his arm, up his side. He’s even got muscles on his ribs. His long, silky basketball shorts sit low on his hips, and when he lifts his arms to peel the t-shirt over his head, the V of muscle inside his hipbones makes my head swim. His shoulder muscles bunch and flex as he wrenches the shirt over his head, down his other bulging, tattooed arm.
Usually I think Lennox is the fine one. Maddox is too big, too rough, too angry. Lennox would be a fun boyfriend. Maddox would be… Brutal.
But today, it doesn’t matter. Today, I watch him like my life depends on it, until he’s standing right in front of me, his inside-out shirt dangling from one hand, his bare chest heaving with each breath, the tattoos flexing. He shoves the shirt at me. “Put this on,” he snaps, his voice low and trembling with rage.
I stare at the sweaty wad of fabric, not wanting to take my arms away from my body and show him everything. “Can you get my clothes back?”
“Put it on,” he roars, his voice so loud it makes me jump back against the door, cowering away from him. He jerks the shirt the right way out, then wrestles it down over my head before I can question him again. I try not to notice that his body heat is in the shirt, that the smell of a summer storm engulfs me. He manhandles the garment over my shoulders, roughly jostling me against the door until he can let the long shirt fall down over my body. Then he steps back, his breathing harsh and his dark eyes deadly. He doesn’t look at me like the other guys, like he’s appreciating seeing me like this. He looks like he wants to kill me.
“Who did this?” he asks, his fists clenching, his inked arms flexing, his abs tight.
I swallow, trembling with fear at the power in his sculpted body, each muscle chiseled to perfection, as if an artist carved him from marble for the sole purpose of inflicting pain.
“No one,” I say quickly, the answer coming automatically. “I—I fell against the door, w-while I was changing, and it came open and…”
My answer doesn’t even make sense, since the door opens inward, but eighteen years of training to keep my mouth shut has programmed the excuses into me.
“Who?” Maddox demands, his jaw clenching, the veins along his thick arms standing out like a map. I try to focus on those and not the fact that he’s looking at me like he might grab my head, twist it around, and snap my neck with his bare hands if I don’t tell the truth.
I know better.
Keep your mouth shut.
“No one,” I whisper. Somewhere along the way, protect the family turned into protecting all enemies. Otherwise, they just make it worse. Everyone knows that. I’ve already felt what it’s like to be called a rat at this school, and that was without actually ratting anyone out. It will be a hundred times worse if I actually snitch.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Maddox says slowly, each word low and laced with menace. “Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing,” I insist. “I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.”
His jaw clenches, and he brings up a hand and swings. I almost scream, but instead, the muscle memory of how to protect myself in an attack takes over, ingrained in me since I was five years old. In an instant, my eyes snap closed, my head ducks down, and my hands fly up, covering my face.
I hear the blow, a crack that echoes through the gym, and feel the door give behind me. I stumble backward, pinwheeling my arms and trying not to fall on the other side of this door for the second time in five minutes. Once I get my balance, it takes a second for my brain to catch up, to realize Maddox didn’t hit me—he hit the door beside me. Now he’s towering over me in the doorway to the locker room, still breathing hard, his murderous gaze bouncing from one girl to another. He grabs the back of my neck like he did the other time, like I’m a doll he’s going to dangle from his grip and shake at them.
“Who’s responsible for this?” he demands, his deep voice echoing off the tiles.