Part 15 (2/2)
”Is this the room for AP physics?” one of them asks while cowardly sizing me up.
”You're late,” Duncan says, ignoring the guy who's trying to explain why they're late. ”This is Razor, he'll be taking the cla.s.s with you. I want partner matchups turned in to me this afternoon. What are you, morons?”
Duncan's across the room and yelling at some kid who has his hand caught in the blinds.
”Should we wait for the fourth person before we partner out?” one of the guys suggests, but I'm no longer listening as my gaze meets wide hazel eyes.
Breanna blinks when she enters the cla.s.sroom and I want to kick myself for not thinking ahead that she'd test into this course. She scans the room full of students, spots Kyle fuming, and I decide it's time to start f.u.c.king with the boy.
He demanded that I leave the situation with Breanna alone-threatening to destroy her if I interfere with his plan-but according to his rules, he can't do s.h.i.+t if I'm hanging with her because of school. Time to inform him he's not the only one holding some strings.
”Duncan,” I call, and that stops the low murmur of conversation that had started when Duncan went to untangle the idiot in the back.
”Yeah?”
”Miller's my partner.”
Breanna's head slowly tilts to the side as if I spoke in another language and she's trying to translate what I said.
”Works for me.” He gestures to a room in the back. ”Get in there and get working.”
The two guys head for the room, and when Breanna stays cemented in her spot, I wave my hand like a gentleman for her to go before me. I follow her as she trudges down the aisle. This time when Kyle looks at us, he doesn't smirk. This time he's p.i.s.sed and I lift my lips in grim satisfaction. Game on.
Breanna ”ARE YOU INSANE?” I whisper-shout. ”Have you absolutely lost your mind?”
Razor drops into the corner seat in the long, narrow room built to inventory textbooks. The walls are floor-to-ceiling metal shelves and have become a holding cell for me and the other AP physics students.
He angles his head so he can peer past me, and when I glance over my shoulder, I notice how the other pair reside as far from us as possible an entire cla.s.sroom length away.
”Most people do think I'm crazy.” Razor kicks out his legs and folds his hands over his stomach. He wraps his booted foot around the leg of a chair and angles it toward me like he's encouraging me to sit.
I collapse into it, then push back in an effort to create s.p.a.ce between us. I prop my elbow on the table that houses our computer and lean my head into my hand as my stomach plummets. This situation is absolutely hopeless.
”Kyle's mad,” Razor states.
”No kidding,” I mumble. ”And he's going to post that picture because of it. Do you care to explain how this helps me or were you lying to me about the whole protecting me garbage?”
”We do have an agreement.” An unfamiliar tremor runs through me with Razor's deep voice. ”Hewitt thinks he holds the power. I'm letting him know the power works both ways.”
”He's going to post that picture!”
Razor reclines forward and his blue eyes pierce me. His body is so ma.s.sive that he fills the windowless, cramped room that has more dust bunnies than square footage.
”Hewitt needs you. Never forget you also have power. I get you don't want the picture posted, but that b.a.s.t.a.r.d is using fear to control you. You hired me and I'm covering your six by showing him we aren't scared of him.”
My throat tightens. ”But I am scared.”
”Don't be. I'm telling you, that picture won't go up.”
My temples throb and I slip the spiral-bound, printed-out wannabe textbook off the table in an attempt to pretend these past two days never happened. My eyes scan the page as if I'm interested in the words, but I'm not. I'm mad at Razor. At least I should be, but with each second that pa.s.ses, the anger recedes.
”I heard what's going down on Bragger,” Razor finally says. ”You deserve better.”
I bite my lip, then summon the courage to look at him. ”I'm sorry, too. People have said terrible things about you and that's not fair, especially when what they're saying isn't true.”
”People talk s.h.i.+t. It happens. Don't worry about me. You okay?”
Not at all. ”I'll be happy when people move on to talking about someone else. Did you also watch Bragger today with agonizing despair?”
”I avoid s.h.i.+t like Bragger, but Chevy showed me some of the feed. I'm not interested in what most people have to say to my face, much less what they have to say when they have the safety of a computer to hide behind.”
”I wish I was more like you.”
”Sorry to break it to you, but only men can join the Terror. But if you're completely heartbroken, you can try to join the Terror Gypsies. That's the women's support group.”
”I wasn't talking about joining your gang,” I say.
”Club,” he corrects. ”Not gang.”
What's the difference? ”Fine-club, but even if I were, I don't know how to ride a motorcycle.” Like that's the sole thing stopping me from dancing over the line into crazy.
Razor rests his arms on his thighs, causing his golden-blond hair to fall forward. Through the strands, those beautiful eyes capture me, holding me completely and utterly under a spell. ”I'll teach you if you want.”
My mouth dries out and Razor's eyes focus on my lips as I lick them.
”Teach me what?” I whisper.
”To ride,” he says in this slow seductive slide as he inches forward in his seat. His knee brushes against mine and a zap of electricity shoots up my leg to very private places.
My temperature spikes and I have to remind myself that inhaling is essential. Razor eases back in his seat but extends his leg so that our calves are touching. A ball of energy zings to life from the small amount of friction between our bodies and it races through my blood. I take a deep breath, gather my hair and pull it off the back of my neck.
”Hot?” There's a definite tease in his voice.
Sizzling. This entire room is sizzling. From his voice to his eyes to that dimpled half smirk to those ripped muscles in his arms. Razor is so hot the fire alarms should be blaring. I wave my hand toward the ceiling. ”There's no vents in this room-no flowing air. It's stuffy.”
”Mmm.” That's his response to my attempt at logically explaining away my attraction to him. I have never felt like this with a guy before-like a moth drawn to the raging inferno. My entire body hums breathing the same air as him.
”Do you want out of our deal?” he asks, and the humming stops.
A mental pause. The real question he's asking is do I believe he can keep the picture from going up...if I can trust him to help me. ”I've heard your club kills people and I don't want that. I'm mad at Kyle, but I don't want him dead. I want out of the deal if he's going to get hurt.”
Razor steals a few seconds of silence as he methodically rubs his hands together. There's a hard glint in his eyes that causes a spark of fear within me.
”Our club isn't what you think,” he says as if he honestly believes he means it. ”Are you saying you don't want to work on my code?”
”No, I'm saying I'm not okay with hurting people even if they've hurt me.” It's an honest answer. ”I've seen the code. Even if I wanted to stop working on it, I can't. My mind won't stop turning over the possible solutions.”
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