Rizzo has a busted lip and his eye is already turning black as he stands, glaring at me.
“Explain what happened.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Nitkin cuts me off.
“Not you. I want to hear it from Rizzo.”
Rizzo shrugs. “A disagreement, sir.”
“Mutual?” Professor Nitkin asks.
He nods in response. Clearly he’s no snitch. “Yeah, just a mutual disagreement.”
“Fine, both of you sit down. I’ll deal with you later.” Nitkin doesn’t look like he believes Rizzo as he narrows his eyes at me.
Rizzo sits in my seat again, looking cocky as he gives me a knowing look.
I grind my teeth and take my seat elsewhere, hating that the new kid forced me to back down in front of everyone. If it weren’t for the professor arriving when he did, I’m sure I would have forced him to back down. Although, the way he laughed when I hit him repeatedly makes me wonder how much pain he can take.
“What the fuck is with that guy?” Damien whispers as he takes the empty desk next to me.
I shrug. “No idea, but at least he didn’t grass me up to Nitkin.” I can’t deny that anyone gutsy enough to stand up to me on his first day deserves my respect.
“True,” Damien replies, opening his text book.
“Today, we’re going to learn about the parts of the body that inflict the most pain.” The look in professor Nitkin’s eyes is one of pure sadistic joy at announcing that. He’s a fucking crazy son of a bitch, who everyone fears being punished by, even me. Although I wouldn’t admit it out loud. “Please turn to page seventy-six in your textbook.”
I thumb my way through the pages detailing archaic ritual torture and killings. It’s hard to believe that these kinds of books exist, but the mainstream have buried them. Only the Syndicate Academy would be fucked up enough to unearth them.
I sit back and tune out the humdrum of the lesson, since I hardly need to learn anymore than my family taught me about torture. The cartel is renowned for creativity with our victims.
My mind wanders to thoughts of my pretty little pet, and I hate myself for it. It makes my stomach churn as the girl I’ve hated more than anyone else has morphed into an obsession I can’t scrub from my mind. An obsession can be a dangerous thing, even if it is born out of deep rooted hatred.
4
NATALYA
It’s been three days since Elias blackmailed me. In those three days, it feels like the asshole has been avoiding me on purpose, forcing me to look over my shoulder at every turn. I’m waiting for him to strike at any moment, and I don’t like it. Life at the academy has always been this way since he arrived, but it feels worse now I know his intention for me this year.
He has sent me texts tormenting me with stupid comments, but I’ve not acknowledged most of them. A few I sent one-word answers back, but if he thinks he can play me for a fool, he can think again. Yes, he has leverage over me and my family, but he’s been clear on what he wants in return. My innocence. I’ll give it to him to keep my family safe, but I won’t let him treat me like nothing more than a slave who has to do everything he says.
The memory of the way he touched me in that empty classroom sends an involuntary shudder down my spine. After all the things he’s done to me over the years, he craves the ultimate control over me—sexual submission. It’s sick and twisted and exactly the kind of shit I’d expect him to pull.
A sense of unease sweeps over me as I walk down the empty corridor toward my next classroom, as I had first period free. I walk faster as I get the sense someone is following me, making my heart pound at a thousand miles an hour between my rib cage.
“Not so fast, Gurin,” he says, that voice I’d know anywhere. It haunts my nightmares.
I swallow hard as I knew this moment would come sooner or later and stop, turning to face him. “What do you want?” I ask.
A callous smirk spreads onto his too beautiful lips. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Natalya.”
I clench my jaw and pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. “No idea what you mean.”
He closes the gap between us, towering over me in all his grandeur. “Is that right?” His lip curls up. “Then what the fuck are these?” he holds up his phone, scrolling through his texts and my replies.
I shrug. “I replied, didn’t I?”
“Not to all of them,” he growls, eyes furious. “It’s as if you are goading me to ring up Grigory Lebedev and tell him I know where his family is hiding.”