Chapter2

Smack.

A hand slammed against the metal locker right beside my ear.

Jace boxed me in against the steel. He gazed down at me, wearing a smile—not the gentle, easygoing one from before, but something much more direct. Unapologetic.

"Siena."

His voice was soft, laced with an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.

"I spent all night thinking about what you said yesterday."

I stared at him deadpan.

"Thinking about what? How I saw right through you?"

He didn't panic. He didn't freeze.

He smiled.

"Saw through me?" He tilted his head. "You're right. I just love watching them lose their minds over me."

I narrowed my eyes.

"So you're dropping the act today?"

"What's the point of playing pretend with you?" He leaned in half an inch, locking onto my eyes. "You figured me out on day one. What took the others a year to completely miss, you dismantled in three sentences."

There was no anger in his tone. No shame.

Just the raw, pulsating thrill of a hunter realizing his prey actually bites back.

"You know, Siena," his voice dropped to a dark murmur, "when you slapped me... you were the very first person who ever dared to lay a hand on me."

"And?"

"And I think you're absolutely fascinating."

Chloe was standing at the top of the stairwell, hugging a stack of books to her chest.

The moment she saw Jace pinning me in a corner—the undeniable intimacy of his posture—her face contorted.

Jace definitely noticed.

But he didn't pull away. Instead, he dipped his head closer, his breath ghosting over my ear.

From Chloe’s vantage point, it looked exactly like he was kissing me.

His lips hovered a mere centimeter from my ear.

"Look at her face," he whispered, a sick, irrepressible thrill threading through his voice. "She's losing her mind all over again."

My mouth twitched in disgust.

"Do you have any idea how sickening you are?"

He leaned back just enough to hold my gaze. The smile on that flawless face only grew wider.

"I know," he said. "But you still didn't pull away."

"Move."

"I'm serious." He didn't budge, lowering his voice. "You're not like the rest of them. They cry, they throw tantrums, they beg. But you? You slap me."

He paused.

"That's exactly what I like about you."

I looked into those blue eyes of his. The clean, tender shell had completely shattered, and what was seeping out from underneath—was pure, feverish euphoria.

"Do you realize you look exactly like a dog in heat right now?"

His smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. A flash of irritation flickered in his eyes.

But just as quickly, the smirk returned.

"You've got a sharp tongue, too." He slowly licked his lips. "Keep going."

I raised my hand.

He didn't flinch. He knew I was going to hit him. He was actually anticipating it.

Smack.

The back of my hand cracked hard across his cheek.

His head jerked to the side. Then, slowly, he turned back to me, the curve of his mouth stretching even wider.

"God, that felt good," he breathed.

Absolute revulsion washed over me.

"I told you last time," I warned, my voice deathly low. "Cross me again, and it won't just be a slap."

"I know." He stared at me with hungry eyes. "But you're still pulling your punches. You're enjoying this little game too, aren't you?"

I held his gaze.

He was testing my limits.

"You're going to regret this."

He didn't step back. He was still smiling.

I drove my boot viciously into his gut. A choked grunt escaped him as he crumpled to the linoleum.

I didn't spare him another glance, turning on my heel and walking straight toward the athletic field without looking back.

---

Gym class.

I stood alone on the edge of the outfield dirt. The moment the coach called out the teams, it was painfully obvious I had been quarantined.

Fine by me. I hate crowding around idiots anyway.

My father always said crowds were the most dangerous places on earth. Not because of the people themselves, but because a sea of bodies blocks your view of their hands.

The pitcher dominating the center of the diamond was a six-foot-two meathead. I recognized him—the varsity star, and more importantly, one of the loyal lapdogs trailing right behind Chloe.

He tossed the baseball up a couple of times, feeling the weight.

Then he pivoted, cranked his right arm back, and hurled the fastball with homicidal intent directly at my head.

"Ah!" A girl in the bleachers let out a terrified shriek.

The coach didn't even have time to shout a warning.

Up in the stands, Chloe’s smug smile widened.

I didn't blink. My eyes locked onto the white blur.

My father always said bullets moved a hell of a lot faster than a baseball. If a simple pitch could tag me, I would’ve died in a London alleyway years ago.

Calculating the trajectory in a split second, I violently slipped my torso to the left—

The wind from the ball whipped past my ear before it slammed into the turf behind me.

The pitcher’s jaw slacked.

I pivoted, scooped the ball off the grass, and casually tossed it from hand to hand.

"Hey," I called out, flashing him a smile. "Your ball."

I whipped my arm back.

The sphere ripped through the air like a tracer round, grazing the rim of his ear before detonating against the chain-link fence barely half a meter behind him.

Clang. A heavy thud echoed as the thick wire caved inward, leaving a dent the size of a fist.

His legs gave out. He hard-planted into the dirt on his ass.

I dusted the chalk and grit from my palms.

"Slipped."

Up in the bleachers, Chloe stomped her foot, her face livid.

I ignored her and walked off the field.

Lunch period.

The ostracization was now absolute. Thanks to Chloe’s unspoken threats, I was officially radioactive.

I carried my tray out to an old oak tree and sat cross-legged. There wasn't a single soul around me.

Faint, painfully hesitant footsteps approached.

I didn't look up.

Not until a pink, foil-wrapped candy was held out right in front of my eyes.

"Eat something sweet... it might make you feel better," Maya stammered.

I took the candy, peeled back the wrapper, and popped the pink drop into my mouth. The taste of cheap, artificial saccharine bloomed across my tongue.

"Thanks." I leaned back against the trunk, letting some of the frost melt out of my voice.

Hearing my response, Maya’s shoulders exhibited a microscopic drop in tension. But she didn't leave. Instead, she crouched right beside me.

"Siena."

Her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper.

"Don't take the back alley home after school tonight."

I turned my head to look at her.

"I was dropping off paperwork at the admin building, and when I passed the corner, I heard Chloe on the phone." Maya suddenly grabbed my right cuff, her eyes welling with tears. "She's insane. After the pitcher completely botched it, she... she started looking for someone."

"Looking for who?"

"I don't know exactly who." Maya was visibly trembling. "But I heard her say 'alleyway,' 'photos,' and 'cut off her hands'... and something about 'finding a crew to teach her a lesson.'"

She choked back a dry swallow, staring dead into my eyes.

"She said she was going to make sure you could never... never try to seduce Jace again."

My gaze drifted over Maya’s quivering shoulder, settling on the main academic building in the distance.

Cut off my hands?

My father always said the only thing more pathetic than a threat, is a threat from someone who has absolutely no concept of the weight class you operate in.

I slowly bit down, crushing the cheap strawberry hard candy on my molars.

What a hopelessly blind little flock of lambs, begging for the slaughter.

"Alright."

I dusted the grass off my jeans and pushed myself to my feet.

"Then let them come."