My Sweet Bully

“Wait here.” He holds his hand out, and bounces it in the air, as if to show me where I need to stand.

“Okay, I got it.” Raking a hand across my cheek, I scratch at the light stubble on my jaw. “I'll wait here.”

Harlow twists, taking a step forward, then abruptly stopping. Spinning around, he squints his eyes, and snarls, “And keep your fucking eyes open. No bullshit, we can't fuck this up.” He points directly in my face, the bulbous nub of his finger almost crashing into my forehead.

Ducking my head, I swat his hand away, and give him a shove backwards. “Fuck you, Asshole, I know what to do. I'm not fucking stupid.” My voice is low, challenging. I'm here because he wants help, I'm not here to be his bitch.

He cocks a brow, curling his lip hard to one side. The look in his eyes is telling me this is serious, so I nod, assuring him with that single motion he can trust me.

I've never given him a reason to doubt my loyalty, he doesn't need to doubt me now.

Harlow moves suddenly, launching into a full sprint. He darts through the thick trees, and I watch him until he disappears into the darkness.

On a desolate street, I stand still, doing the only thing he requested me to do, because we're brothers, and brothers have each others back's.

There's no one on our side, no family to back us if we need it, no one to help. We only have each other. That's how it's been for years. Which is why I'm standing here right now, keeping an eye out for him.

This is revenge, revenge he says is well deserved. There's no reason for me to question his motives. I don't need him to give me a reason.

We're Ramon's, you don't fuck with the Ramon's. Period. The guy that fucked with my brother made a choice, now he has to pay. Simple solution to a simple problem. I just don't know what my brother has in mind, he didn't exactly give me the details of his plan.

The sun is almost down completely, but I can still make out a few of the taller buildings from the city in the distance against the charcoal backdrop.

The wind blows slightly, sending chills down my spine as it whips up my calves, and crawls across my skin. I shiver, tucking my neck into my jacket as I scan my surroundings.

Looking left to right, there isn't a car in sight. It's quiet. Too quiet. An uneasy feeling sits in my gut as the wind gusts across my face.

How long is this going to take him?

Glancing up, I see the street light flicker a couple of times before it pops on, casting a glow that's barely enough to make a full sized shadow.

I feel skittish, looking around in every direction. There's nothing, not a damn soul, and I know it. I just can't shake this uneasy feeling, like I'm being watched.

Checking over my shoulder one more time, I sit down on the side walk, and stretch my legs out in front of me. There's a pit in my stomach, it's heavy, making me sick. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it.

BOOM!

The world around me shakes, the sound so deep it vibrates my ribs, and makes me hold my breath. The pressure in my chest is heavy, spreading down my body, and through my legs.

Holy shit!

Jumping to my feet, I look in the direction that Harlow ran, and all I see is red and orange embers as they float through the air, disappearing like fireworks in the sky.

Shit! Fuck!

What the hell happened?

Raking a hand through my hair, I grip my jaw and start to move in the direction of the flames. All I'm thinking about is my brother. If he's hurt, if he's in danger, I have to help him.

I'm about to take off to find him, when the sound of feet on the road causes me to stay still. They slow to a stop, and I look back over my shoulder.

There's a girl in skin tight leggings, a tank-top and running shoes, her eyes huge as saucers as she looks past me into the trees.

Orange and red flames lick across her pupils, making her eyes seem even larger. They dance back and forth, watching the fire as it spears into the sky like a Roman fucking candle.

She hasn't noticed me yet. My nerves start to go wild, sweat is pouring down my temples as I stand like a deer in headlights. My feet are cemented to the ground, anchoring in, tethered to a promise I made my brother.

I won't fucking leave him, but now I can't go save him either.

Her gaze shifts as if she senses she isn't alone. Her eyes move down, slow, precise, until they stop. Fear simmers in the background of her giant orbs, almost as bright as the flames themselves.

We're staring at each other. The fear I see in her eyes is nothing like I've ever seen before. The girl's arms dangle at her sides, and I can tell instantly she's young, probably my age. Her chest rises and falls, taking in quick gulps of air.

Run. Get the fuck out of here!

I want to scream at her to go before my brother gets back. Maybe I want to protect her, maybe I want to protect him, I'm not really sure.

Opening my mouth, I try to yell, but my throat is too dry, and I can't form the words on my tongue.

She studies my face, her gaze shifting all around me, and I can see her taking note of every feature.

My legs itch to take off, eager to burst out from underneath me. Yet I stay, standing still, halfheartedly trying to convince myself she still hasn't actually noticed me.

The musty smell of smoke trickles between the trees, making its way out to the street. I can hear crackling and popping as the tree tops ignite from whatever the hell blew up.

Harlow comes flying out of the woods, his face lit up with joy, putting an end to the staring match between the girl and myself.

He smiles, lips pulling back to expose stained teeth, and his chipped front tooth.

Thank fucking God.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing him settles my nerves. At least I know he's alright, and not waiting for my help. Sirens start to blare in the distance, the blue and red lights reflect off the sky.

Harlow ignores the impending trucks and first responders on the way to put out the blaze. “Did you fucking see that?” he asks, slowing down as he reaches my side. Harlow grins, leaning over for a second to catch his breath.

I'm about to speak, when the sirens scream louder, causing my brother to cut me off. “Come on, we got to get out of here.” He jerks his body upright, oblivious to the fact we're not alone.

“Harlow.” My eyes move back to her. I can only say his name. I can't look at him. We're caught, she sees us, she's watching us, she knows what we look like.

“Wh—” he starts to say until he follows my eyes, and they land on the girl across the street. Harlow frowns, growling under his breath. “Go, go, go,” he demands, his voice thick and grainy.

Giving me a shove, it's the boost I need to get my legs working, and my brain up and running. We both take off at full speed, crossing lines that have obvious borders. Cutting through yards, and down alley's, jumping fences, and crushing gardens.

When we finally come to a stop, we're on Ginger Hill, about a half mile away. The fire engines roar as the sky lights up like a burning Christmas tree. The long arms of the flames whip between the treetops, nipping at leaves.

“Fuck!” Harlow calls out, raking his fingers through his hair and down his face. “Who the fuck was that? Did you recognize her?”

“I don't know,” I say between breaths. Bending over, I rest my palms on my knees, trying to slow down my lungs.

“Damn! God fucking damn it!” My brother paces in a small circle, scrubbing his jaw. “She saw us, the bitch saw us.”

“Yeah, but I don't know who she is, so she can't know us.” I'm trying to calm him down because he looks like he's about to lose his shit. “Harlow, I'm sure we're good, don't worry about her.”

He lets out a slow breath, dropping his arms to his sides, and peering at me. He's quiet, thinking about what I said.

“You're right.” Shaking his head in agreement, he turns to face the treeline. “Pretty, isn't it?” Harlow crosses his arms over his chest as a smile runs from ear to ear, and his eyes elude this sense of proudness.

But I don't feel happy. I don't feel excited and pleased with myself. I hate what I'm feeling. I'm not sure what just happened, and I have no idea what my brother did. But I can see the result burning in the distance.

“The fire?” I ask.

“Yeah, I mean it was an accident. That wasn't how I meant it to go,” he says, holding up his palm as he looks at me quickly, feigning an apologetic frown. Turning back to the fire, his smile thickens. “But you got to admit, fire is a beautiful thing.”

I cock a brow, my mouth hanging open slightly. Is he really serious?

It's not that I disagree with him, fire is an incredible, destructive force.

But how do you enjoy an accidental burn that big?

Is anyone hurt? What did he do exactly?

All of a sudden a bright light shines on us, and the static of a speaker catches us off guard.

“Don't move! Put your hands in the air!”

Harlow and I stand still for a second, neither one of us reacting to the orders being shouted. I'm frozen, unable to really grasp that this is actually happening.

Shit. This isn't fucking good.

“Hands in the air, and drop to your knees!” A second light pops on, blinding me.

Blinking rapidly, my hands go up, and I'm on my knees without pause. The two cops are hidden behind their car doors, guns drawn on us.

What the fuck did my brother do?

Harlow growls, a dark and evil growl, from deep within his chest. “Don't say a fucking word, understand me, Max? Lawyer up, don't fucking say shit!”

My brother is shoved to the ground, and I hear the metal cuffs as they're latched around his wrists. His eyes turn to slits as two cops yank him to his feet, and put him in the back of the car.

Our eyes connect as my arms are pulled down to the small of my back, and cuffs dig hard into my wrists. The metal burns my skin as I'm torn to my feet, and led to the back of the other cruiser.

This isn't how it's supposed to go. Not like this. Harlow said it would be easy, that we'd be in and out. Now, I have no idea what's coming next.

But, I do know one thing, shit is about to change.

Prairie:

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you—”

The words fade into the back of my ears, soft and faint as I stare off into dancing orange flames. They flicker and pop, moving back and forth. I'm drawn in, like a moth to the bulb outside the door on a muggy summer night. Mesmerized.

My heart starts to beat faster and faster as the flames move with each breath I exhale. The tips wave side to side, chasing the oxygen, and I can suddenly see the boys. Vivid, like a movie.

Both their faces burn in the candle, just like that night when the sky lit up with red and yellow flashes, and black smoke poured into the air.

It started out as one, just one boy, with one set of intimidating eyes. They were the biggest, greenest eyes I'd ever seen. He looked terrified of everything all at once; the fire, the sounds of crackling and combustion—of me across the street. The fear as our gaze met melts down his face, and his jaw drops open wide.

Another boy runs up beside him, the second boy looked older, but not by much. Taller, He was wearing a big smile on his face at first, and a look of satisfaction as his eyes scan the sky behind him. That smile, that smile isn't built on anything good. I had never seen such darkness in a smile before. It scared me instantly.

His smile fades quickly as he follows the first boy's glare, and spots me where I stand. The corners of his lips curve down, and rage begins to spill from him like water from a fountain. I can feel it from where I'm standing, the way it grows on him like mold, spreading quickly.

It sends a chill down my spine as his eyes hold me in place. I can't move, my legs are anchored to the ground as if he's holding my ankles.

We all stand still, twenty feet away from each other, and no one says a word. It couldn't have been more than a second, but it feels like forever.

Sirens echo through the trees, moving closer and closer as red and blue lights start to mix with the orange flames, ending our unconventional introduction.

The angry boy shoves the other one, and they run off into the darkness together, disappearing until we meet face to face again in the courtroom.

“Happy birthday dear Prairie, happy birthday to you!” The room explodes around me, bringing me back to the present, erasing their faces as I force a smile, and blow out the candles.

My mother grips my shoulders from behind, leaning in and resting her cheek against mine. “I can't believe my baby is eighteen.” Kissing my cheek, she playfully cries in my ear. “Eighteen, my heart hurts, but I'm excited for you, I really am.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I'm doing my best to be happy and show my appreciation for the small party my parents have put together for me.

There's a small bunch of pink and gold balloons tied to two of the chairs at the kitchen table. A banner is hanging across the entrance that says, 'Happy Eighteenth Birthday!' A small square cake is sitting in the center of the table, with a giant pink eighteen and gold flowers. Next to the cake is a gift bag with a bow and curly ribbons, and tissue paper poking out of the top.

My parents mean well, I know they do, and I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, but it just isn't the same. Things are different.

My dreams are plagued by that night. By the fire. By the look on the older boy's face when I pointed him out in the courtroom. I wake up at night in cold sweats, with my heart pounding, gasping for air. It's the same every time. I can't breathe, it feels like I'm drowning, and for a brief moment, I actually think I am.

Then I open my eyes.

“Well, did you make a wish?” my father asks.

I wish I never went out that night. . .

“Of course I did.” Giving him an innocent smile, I fiddle with the napkin in front of me.

“And? What did you wish for?” Leaning over across the back of the chair, he swipes his finger through the frosting on the side of the cake.

Grimacing, my mother swats my father's hand. “Get out of there. And don't tell him, Prairie, unless you don't want your wish to come true,” she says, tapping my shoulder as she walks around the table and starts to cut the cake. “You get first pick. What piece do you want, honey?”

“I don't care. Any piece is fine.”

My mother passes me a small square, hands my father one, and takes one for herself. Sitting down across the table from me, her eyes are steady. “So, school starts this week. Are you excited?”

Shrugging a shoulder, I lick the frosting off the back of my fork. “Should I be?”

“Come on, you must be a little bit excited. I hear they have a good track team.” My father takes a big bite of cake and tries to keep talking. “They won state the last two years.”

“Really Tim?” she rolls her eyes and cocks a brow. “We can barely understand you.” My mother flashes puffed cheeks as she pokes my father. “At least swallow first.”

My father bounces his shoulders up and down as he finishes chewing, giving me a wink.

Giggling, I answer him. “Yeah, I heard that too.” Pushing my fork lightly against my cake, I take a small bite. I know I don't sound excited at all, but it's hard to be excited when all I can focus on is one thing.

One, unforgettable, nightmare creating, life changing, thing. I'm not the same. I'm not sure I'll ever be.

My parents look at each other, and I can see their concern. They know what I'm going through, but they don't understand what I'm feeling. No matter how much they say they get it, they don't, and they never will.

Reaching across the table. My mother touches the top of my hand. Her eyes soften as she gives me a thin lipped smile. “I know this move hasn't been easy on you. You've had a rough start, I get it, but it's your last year, Prairie, make the best of it. Don't let what happened get to you, you did the right thing. Remember what Dr. Marcos told you, you're not the one to blame. You did nothing wrong, they did.”

Nodding, I pull the cake in closer and start to eat. My mother's right. I wasn't the one at fault, I hadn't done anything wrong. I need to stop blaming myself for the choices of others. Those two boys lit that car on fire, not me.

I've known this since it happened, but no one else saw the look in that boy's eyes. No one else could feel the hate I did in that older boy's stare. It wasn't natural. It was raw and feral, like a rogue coyote with rabies.

The only difference is he didn't lash out and bite me—yet.

“This is delicious, Mom,” I say, quickly changing the subject. I don't want to talk about it, not anymore. It's on my mind enough, talking about it just adds another layer I don't need.

My mom hands me the present and takes her seat. “Here, happy birthday, sweetie.” She's smiling big, waiting for me to open my gift.

Pulling out the tissue paper, I pull out a small box. Opening it up, there's a silver bracelet with a small charm of a girl running.

Taking it out, it lays flat over my fingertips. “It's beautiful,” I say, folding it over my wrist and clipping the latch. “I love it.”

Kissing my cheek, my mom rubs my back. “Good, I'm glad.”

The party is small, it's just my parents and myself, but it's exactly what I need to get my head straight. School starts in four days, and I'm trying like hell to find some sort of normalcy here.

The next few days go by quickly. My parents fall into a routine of their own with my father starting his new practice, and my mother volunteering at the local library. The only people we know in this city is my Uncle Greg, who's a local cop, and his wife Cynthia.

Applying a thin layer of lip gloss, I smack my lips together, and wipe the excess off around the edges. I take one last look in the floor length mirror, before closing my bedroom door.

“Mom, I'm leaving!” I call out to her, grabbing my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. “I'll call you if I'm going to be home late.”

“Okay, Prairie, have a good first day. Hey, did you eat?”

“I got an apple, I'm good.”

“Prairie, that's not enough. Have a yogurt or a cereal bar!” Her voice gets louder as I walk out the door.

Leaning in, I yell back, “I'm good, Mom! Thanks!”

Closing the door quickly before she can start to throw toast at my head like ninja stars, I hop into my car. Putting the key in the ignition, it starts to kick on, only to sputter and die.

No, no, not today. Of all days, not today.

Gripping the key, I whisper a small prayer and turn it again. “Come on, come on, don't do this,” I say as the engine spurts and pops while I pump the gas pedal. “Let's go, you want to start.”

The engine kicks on for a second and I'm about to breathe a sigh of relief when it coughs and dies again. “Fuck!” I yell, slamming the wheel.

What the hell do I do now?

I don't want to ask my mother, even though I know she'd give me a ride to school. Showing up on day one and getting dropped off by mom isn't exactly how I want to start the year.

Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I let out a slow breath and decide to give it one more shot. The ignition dings as I twist the key forward. I rub the wheel, wishing it to start.

“Come on, start you fucker.” My voice is soft, but I speak the words out loud.

Vroom!

The engine purrs on as if it hadn't just fucked with me for ten minutes.

“Thank you, thank you.” I'm tempted to kiss the wheel, but I don't, throwing the gear shift into reverse instead, and backing down the driveway.

Taking a few turns, I'm on the main road, heading toward the school. My nerves are on edge as the anxiety of starting a new school gives me butterflies. I don't feel ready. I wish I had taken some time during the summer to go out and meet people, maybe make a few friends before school started.

I never did. I let the summer consume me in a terrible way. I secluded myself, afraid to break down the walls.

It's not my fault. I didn't build the walls, I only lived behind them.

Stopping at the red light, I stare off, wondering if I'm going to like this school.

I always thought I was going to graduate with the kids I had been with since grade school. Not once did I expect to have to start over as a senior.

The light turns green and I hit the gas, turning the wheel to take the right. Out of nowhere, a horn blares loudly, and I can hear people yelling.

Looking in my rear-view mirror, the car behind me is riding my ass, and keeps laying on the horn.

I didn't see them when I was at the light, and I have no idea where the hell they came from. I feel bad, and I'm wondering if I cut them off and didn't know it. Waving a hand out my window, I hope they know I didn't mean to almost cause an accident.

Focusing on the road, I keep checking the car behind me. They're still there, the car hasn't gone anywhere. Every turn I make, it’s right behind me. It's starting to make me uncomfortable.

Are they following me?

I take a left, so do they. I take a right, so do they. I can barely see the headlights on the car because they're so damn close to my bumper. But I do my best to ignore them, hoping that when I turn into the school they give up and leave.

Only they don't, it follows me into the parking lot. My heart is racing, afraid that the person behind the wheel is crazy.

Who follows a girl into a school lot and isn't crazy?

Parking my car, I stay inside, and peer out my rear-view mirror as the car stops behind me, blocking me in. Reaching over to my purse, I dig my phone out and hold it in my palm. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Call the police, call my parents, scream at the top of my lungs so everyone around knows I'm in trouble?

Will they come to the rescue of a stranger?

The doors open, and three guys climb out. I notice the driver is wearing a football jacket with the same colors as the school. The other two guys come to his side of the car, both of them in matching jackets.

It's fucking students, they must be on the football team or something.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I open my door, ready to apologize and introduce myself. It's not how I want to start my first day, but it is what it is. Fitting right into how my life has been going lately. Shitty.

“Hi—” I start to say, but I'm quickly cut off.

“Are you fucking serious? Where did you get your license? A fucking cracker jack box?” The driver arches his brows as he frowns. “You didn't even fucking look.”

“I'm sorry, did I cut you off? Because if I did, I didn't mean to.” I’m trying to be nice, there was no need to get pissed. Accidents happen. Holding out my hand, I attempt to introduce myself. “I'm Prai—”

“I don't give a flying fuck who you are.” The driver runs his hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at his buddies. “But you need to know who I am.” I arch a brow, waiting for him to answer, because obviously I don't have a damn clue who he is. “I'm James Galligan, quarterback, lead varsity pick, and two time champion of Rosedale High.” Jabbing a finger in my direction, he chirps, “And you almost fucking hit me. I was turning left at the light, didn't you fucking see me?”

“Left? Isn't left supposed to yield?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head. I'm no expert, but I think I remember the rules from the driver's education class.

James lets out another scoff, rolling his eyes like I just insulted him. I see it immediately, I know exactly who this guy actually is.

He's a spoiled douche bag, who Mommy and Daddy let run their lives, and fund his every fucking demand; and I just ruined his day. That’s it.

“Look,” I say, holding up my arms with my palms facing outward. “I said was I sorry, if that isn't enough for you—”

“You're right, that isn't enough for me. I don't know where you're from, but let's get one thing straight,” he snaps, taking a long step forward so his face is inches from mine. “This is my school. I make the rules, I call the shots, I say what's enough. And your apology doesn't fucking cut it.”

James takes another intimidating step forward, forcing me to take a step back. There's a look in his eyes that says he wants to hit me, and I actually think he might. His hands fist at his sides as the vein in his forehead throbs.

The two guys with him are standing on either side, ready to follow their leader into the pit of assholery just to be cool. Looking around the parking lot quickly, I don't see anyone I can call to for help.

The hesitation I feel about yelling doesn't come from lack of an audience, it comes from lack of knowledge. Who is this guy? And why would anyone come to help the new girl?

“Get out of my face,” I bark. I'm not easily intimidated, and I'm not going to let some football jock get in my head. If I can't depend on anyone else, I at least know I can help myself.

“Or what?” he asks, lunging forward and stepping on my toes.

I try to step backwards, but I stumble on my heels as his feet trip me up. Falling back, a strong set of arms grab me around my waist, catching me before I hit the ground.

Helping to steady me, he pushes me behind him and puffs up his chest. But his hand stays on my side, protectively securing me out of reach.

Standing tall, the stranger squares his shoulders. “What the fuck is wrong with you, James? Can't win against a guy, so you go after a girl instead? Did your dick shrink over the summer or something? “The stranger pauses briefly, then answers his own question. “Wait, you never had a dick, so. . .”

“Fuck you, Ramon. Did your Daddy cash in some change to buy you a backbone and those clothes?”

“No, I fucked your mother, and she gave me your clothes instead.”

The two growl at each other, but the boy who stood up for me jerks his shoulders forward like he's about to charge, and James takes a long, submissive step back.

The guy on James’s left slaps his shoulder and nods his head for them to go. Three against one seems like the better odds, but all three of them appear to be intimidated by this guy.

“I'll be seeing you, Max, you can bet on that.” Climbing back into his car, they drive away and park in another spot in the lot.

“You all right?” he asks, turning around to face me. He reaches for my arm, touching me lightly, then quickly pulls it away.

Holy shit, it's him.

His eyes expand wide as he takes a few steps back. Clearing his throat, his brows crinkle as I watch the recognition fall over his face. He remembers me.

How the hell could he forget you? You pointed him and his brother out to the judge!

Max grunts, disgust smearing his face as he wipes off the hand he had touched me with on his pants. Running his palms back and forth over his jeans, it's like he's trying to remove any remnants of me all together. Like I'm a disease and he's been infected.

Squinting, his eyes dance back and forth over mine, filling with a million thoughts, a million words he looks like he wants to slap my face with. Only he doesn't. Max sucks in a slow breath through flared nostrils.

Turning away, he takes a step forward like he's about to walk off, when I blurt out, “Hey, is that guy always like that?”

I have to say something. This sense of desire settles over me, and I can't help but want to talk to him. There's no way for me to explain what the feeling is that spreads through my body, all I know is I just don't want him to go. Not yet.

He's the only person I know here in a weird, uncomfortable, indirect way. How I know him isn't good, we met under strained circumstances. But I know him, he isn't a complete stranger like the world I'm about to walk into.

He stops and glares at me over his shoulder. “A dick? Yes.”

That's it, that's all he says. But his eyes, his eyes pierce me where I stand. They're so green, bright like emeralds as the sun hits them, causing them to spark with silver bursts.

I hold my breath as he peers at me, his gaze alarmingly vacant, void of everything, but still full with so much emotion. Hate. Hate for me, that's what I'm seeing.

“I, uh, I figured as much.”

Max doesn't say anymore, he simply turns his head and starts to walk toward the school.

Grabbing my bag out of the back seat, I run up beside him. “I'm Prairie.”

“I know who you are,” he says coldly into the air, not acknowledging me at all.

Bobbling my head on my shoulders, I'm embarrassed I said something so dumb. Of course he knows who I am. Nodding, I pick up my pace to keep up with him.

“Right, right, of course you do.” Shifting the bag on my shoulder, I push closer to his side. “That guy was a fucking ass, should I expect that daily? Or is it just because I'm new?” I keep my eyes on his face, unable to stop myself from talking. “Because being new is hard enough, if I have to deal with him acting like that all year, I'm going to lose my mind.” I chuckle awkwardly, knowing he doesn't want a damn thing to do with me.

Can you blame him?

I'm a bumbling fool. I can't stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. And all they're doing is casting a shadow of annoyance on his face.

“I know—” I start to say, but I quickly eat my words as he whips his head in my direction.

Max grabs my wrist forcefully, stopping us both. There's anger in his touch, but all my skin feels is the heat off his fingertips, and the strength in his hands.

The power. The dominance. The pure control.

His skin is rough, coarse, like he's been working for years. He holds me firmly, digging his fingertips into my arm. I try to pull my arm away, not out of fear, but out of reflex.

Max grips me harder, yanking me in closer. “You want advice, let me give you some advice,” he says, his voice a dark whisper. “Stay clear of me, stay clear of James, and keep your damn mouth shut.” His eyes steady on mine, mouth folding into a frown. “I'm not your fucking friend. I'll never be your fucking friend. Watch your back, or this school will eat you alive.” A devious smirk curls to one side as he points his middle finger in my face. “A girl like you; you're new, you're weak. You're fresh meat for the lions—you'll never last here. Remember, enemies don't make good friends.”

“I don't have any enemies,” I say, my voice softer than I want it to be.

“You have at least one, I know that much.” His smile thickens as he bites his bottom lip and gives me a knowing look. “And it isn't that asshole you met this morning.”

He didn't have to say it for me to know what he meant. I identified him to the cops; why would I ever think I could talk to him like nothing happened between us?

Flicking his bottom lip with his thumb, he twists on his heels, and starts walking again to the school.

All I can do is stand there. Stunned. Numb. But so fucking hot on the inside.

My body is tingling, the skin where his fingers touched me is buzzing and warm. Every nerve in my body is firing off as sweat beads up on the back of my neck.

I watch him, admiring the muscles in his back and arms as they flex with each move. He looks hard as stone, cut like marble, strong as granite. The hard lines of his jaw are defined, with sharp angles and clear edges. His skin is smooth, with the faintest of stubble on his chin.

He doesn't look like the same boy I saw that night. Everything about him is different. His demeanor, his stance, his eyes, his voice. Max that night was an uncertain, confused kid. Max today is a confident, determined man.

He looks like an adult as he passes a small cluster of freshmen still hanging on the front steps. Max towers over the group, his muscles far superior to the pubescent boys around him. The small group splits like the Red Sea as Max moves through them like they aren't even there.

The bell rings, knocking me from my trance.

And as I head into school, I already know. . .

Max Ramon is going to ruin me in more ways than one.