Devlin’s brows shoot up in surprise.
This is the most I’ve ever heard Thea speak in four years of school together. We usually have at least one class together and she has a reputation for keeping quiet.
Bishop breathes out a harsh laugh and leans close to Thea. Whatever he whispers to her, it makes her blush beet red. Thea ducks her head and tugs on the cuffs over her blazer that’s at least two sizes too big. Bishop reclines in his chair with a mean twist to his smile that makes him lose that charming jokester vibe. He kicks his feet up to rest on the back of Thea’s seat while he pulls out his phone.
I narrow my eyes, but don’t voice what’s in my head. If Thea can speak her mind, then she is capable of handling her own shit. I didn’t ask for her help and I have my own monster to deal with in Devlin.
“Let’s get started,” Mr. Coleman announces at the front of the room.
My shoulders slump. I debate hiding my phone under my desk so I can demand Devlin pay me. I’ll corner him later.
For the whole class period, Devlin ignores my attempts to catch his eye, appearing vaguely bored with the lesson. Bishop’s attention is glued to his phone and I can make out a pinch between his brows, his smarmy attitude falling away. In front of him, Thea squeaks. Like, actually squeaks. Bishop shifts in his seat, unaware of Devlin’s suspicious glances.
As Mr. Coleman talks with his hands at the front of the room, my attention drops to the shredded essay on the floor.
I can handle his game, can’t I? How much worse can it get?
Ten
Blair
On my way to lunch, I stop by my locker to drop off my morning books and grab my notebook for my next class. I pause when I open it.
An envelope is inside, sitting askew on top of my stuff. It must have been shoved through the slot in the locker door. Glancing at the other students at their lockers, I grab it.
Thumbing the flap open, my breath catches. Money. Crisp bills fill the envelope.
A small sound escapes me as I lean my shoulder into the cool metal.
There’s no note or anything written on the envelope. It’s plain and nondescript.
Devlin wasn’t kidding after all. My lips twitch as I turn that over in my head. I wanted the payment, but now that I have it, alarm bells are going off like sirens in my head.
Sure, he’s loaded, but it doesn’t make sense. Why is he actually giving me money after I was stealing his beloved car? I rub my chin and ignore the echo of slamming lockers in the hall.
This was all his idea, but I wasn’t sure he would follow through. I didn’t trust doing what he wanted would result in money in my pocket. After English earlier, I thought he might dangle the carrot and laugh when I tried to jump for it.
An uneasy wariness buzzes through me. I tap the envelope against my hand. For now, I tuck it deep in my locker, hidden between a thick book on the art history of Japan from the school library and a math textbook. I squeeze the hard metal door, then shut it.
My thoughts swim as I bleed into the flow of milling students on my way to the cafeteria for lunch.
I don’t trust the hand feeding me. I’m prepared to bite it at a moment’s notice.
When I get to the cafeteria, the lunch period is in full swing. I join the line and pick up a tray. The lunch lady nods to me and slides my meal across. While the others buy pizza and the stuff offered that’s not on the main lunch menu, I get the food assistance program meal. Today’s is a scoop of mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, an apple, and a cut of roast chicken breast. It’s almost the exact meal Devlin took off me last year and dumped on the floor to be a douchebag.
Without Gemma, I’ve returned to sitting alone by the window at the table I get to have to myself. No one else wants to sit with the notorious sticky fingers. Not after Devlin put my tricks on blast on TikTok in retaliation for stealing from his soccer buddies. Those idiots challenged me to my face when they heard I could pick pockets. Before people avoided me because I’m the poor girl, but now everyone keeps their distance because Devlin branded me as a thief.
If only they knew where that landed me.
I pick at the food on my plate and consider what my back-up plan is if the deal with Devlin goes south. There’s no way Devlin has a hidden heart of gold behind his cold eyes. There’s not a helpful bone in his demonic, athletic body. He’s not giving me money because he wants to, he’s doing it to show me he has the power here.
Things that are too good to be true often are. Men are all the same—they take what they want and leave you to pick up the shattered pieces.
Either I follow along with his rules, or he turns me in. Both give him full control over me.
With a sigh, I drag my fingers through my hair. What have I gotten myself into?
* * *