Hired By The Arrogant Quarterback Bully

Jordan’s Point of View  

“Where is my wallet?” Uncle Greg bellowed as his heavy boots connected with my stomach.  

“Ugh!” I groaned, air knocked out of my lungs, my body had barely processed the pain when the tip of his shoe slammed just above my ribs again. “Please, uncle, I-I didn’t take it.” 

“You fucking little liar!” He yelled as I crawled away from him.  

I gripped the door handle for support, lifting myself from the ground, but he shoved me so far back that my back crashed into the dresser in my room; excruciating pain shot up from that part of my body. “I took you in, and this is how you repay me? By stealing from me?” 

Fuck.  

I could barely see now, and there was a sharp ring in my head; any more hits and I would pass out.  

Greg stomped around my room, his hands tossing and turning things, he didn’t care whether they broke or not—he dug even deeper into my things looking for his wallet that was not there.  

I sprang to my feet with the last burst of energy left inside me, I grabbed my bag and phone from the ground, and dashed out of the room.  

“You little bitch!” He cursed, his heavy footsteps thundered right behind me.  

“Ah! Ah!” My breath came out in painful pants as I jumped down the last set of stairs before sprinting out of the house, as fast as I could. I kept running down the street even though I was already out of the house, only stopping when I couldn’t hear him anymore. 

“Ugh uh…” A noisy breath escaped me, I crouched trying to catch my breath, pain exploded in my side and stomach—all the places he had punched and kicked me—I was lucky he missed my face today.  

I wiped the tears that lingered in my eyes, thinking about how to get to school in my condition. A sharp ring from my phone echoed, and my blurry eyes stared down at the caller ID.  

Venus Appointment Agency.  

My fingers trembled as I answered.  

“Hello, am I speaking to Jordan Eckett?” A deep male voice asked curiously, and I sniffed.  

“Yes, you are.” My heart pounded aggressively in my chest.  

“I’m Agent Harold. Regarding the position you applied for, you passed the test review—”  

“Really?” I squealed. “I’m getting the job?”  

“Yes, the agent will communicate details of your employer to you; mind you, passing the screening doesn’t guarantee your employment.” He explained.  “You will meet with your employer for the final interview, which will then guarantee your employment.”  

“Ok. Ok.” I took a moment to breathe. “It’s a live-in position, right?”  

“Yes—”  

“And when do I get the details?”  

“This afternoon,” He answered, “Also keep in mind that failure to respond to the employer within twenty-four hours of receiving the details will automatically mean disinterest.”   

“Sure, thank you so much.” I squealed again as the line of the phone went blank; my entire body was trembling from both relief and pain. 

  Finally, I was going to get a job, one that pays fairly well, and would keep me away from my uncle and his miserable family—I had just one shot at this, and I’m not going to let it escape.  

The bus stopped at a short walk from the gates of hell, which is my school, Hiliary Lockwood High School. Apart from moving in with my uncle after my parents died, coming to this school was the second-worst thing to ever happen to me.  

On my first day here, the king of Lockwood High gave me three rules.  

One, stay out of my sight.  

Two, stay at the bottom where you belong.   

And three? Don’t break any of the first two rules, or you’re dead.  

And that is exactly the reason I pulled on my hoodie the moment I stepped into the hallway, trying my best to remain small and hidden.  

“Shit!” Air was knocked out of my lungs, and a person on a skateboard smashed into me, the impact throwing me off balance. I fell face-first to the ground, and all the things that I was holding crashed to the ground.  

“Ow,” I moaned. 

“Get out of the fucking way, you freak.” Joe towered over me, snatching up his skateboard. “Are you blind or just fucking stupid?”  

Within seconds, a crowd had gathered, and students stopped to record with their expensive phones. In this academy, two things spread as fast as wildfire: gossip and humiliation. 

It didn’t matter who the victim was.   

Eager to get out of there to leave the spotlight, I snatched my books from the floor, shoving them into my bag, and then…. 

…my phone.  

Oh no! 

One half of the screen was broken, and I pressed the power button desperately.  

Once.  

Twice.  

But it didn’t come on, panic seized me, everything crashed over all at once, making me dizzy.  

The agency was supposed to send me details of my employer this afternoon—No! This couldn’t be happening. 

Not now that I’m almost free.   

“Let’s go,” Joe’s friend, Andrew, nudged him softly on the shoulder.  

“Where do you think you are going?” My voice came out in a broken whisper that surprised even me.   

The giggles that once echoed around us died into curious whispers and murmurs. 

“You can’t just leave.”  

“Is this bitch talking to me?” Joe scoffed.  

“Are you fucking crazy?” Andrew asked. “If you’re looking for problems, go somewhere else.”  

“Y-You were riding your skateboards in the hallway,” I winced slightly from the pain in my rib. “You broke my phone, and you have to fix it.”  

“There is no way she is talking back to him.” Someone muttered in the crowd. 

“Wait till the King finds out about this.” The mocking continued.  

My blood turned ice at the reminder.  

The King… 

My worst nightmare, and the devil in human flesh.  

But right now, the only devil I can see is Joe.  

“I’m not fixing shit.” He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm, forcing him back.  

“You can’t—” The words left my mouth when he shoved me hard, and I wobbled. 

My back slammed into something solid, and I should've realized what was happening the moment the hallway fell silent. 

The taunts stopped. 

Banters died. 

One by one, students lowered their phones; the amusement in their faces was replaced with tension. 

His scent hit my nose first, a sweet, expensive musk mixed with the smell of rain.  

I recognized the scent.  

God, no—please, not now at least.   

My gaze slowly lifted to meet the beautiful emerald eyes that glared at me, his gaze cold like a frozen lake. There was only one person with eyes like that in the whole school.  

The King of Lockwood, golden boy, and star quarterback of the school’s football team.  

Killian Fucking Maddox. 

Or as I personally called him.  

The Killer Mad Dog.