When I reach my floor, I cautiously make my way down the hallway, my head on a swivel as I watch out for any traps or cat-eyed bitches lurking behind corners. I reach my door without incident and release a breath of relief. At least I can scratch getting jumped off my list of first week fuckery.
Then I go to unlock my door.
And when I find it unlocked, my heart stops.
What the fuck? Is someone inside?
That prospect is more terrifying than the idea of being ambushed in the hallway. I shouldn’t go in. I really, really shouldn’t.
But doing things I shouldn’t has kind of become my thing.
Slowly, I push the door open and peer inside.
Fuck.
I think I would’ve preferred the pissy mean girls. At least after they tried to kick my ass, I wouldn’t toss and turn all night thinking about them. Not like I do with the bastard lounging on my bed, looking particularly delicious in jeans and a tee shirt that’s as black as his soul.
“What are you doing here?” I snarl, hurrying over the threshold and slamming the door behind me.
Saint tilts his head and gazes up at me, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re still swimming,” he points out.
“No, I only walk around campus carrying a towel and a duffel bag for shits and giggles.” Slamming said bag to the floor, I kick it under my desk as I place my hand on my hips. “Saint, why are you here?”
He pushes himself into a sitting position, and the squeak of the mattress beneath him evokes memories that unleash butterflies in my belly. “You and I need to talk.”
“You could’ve just texted me like normal, then. You didn’t need to use a different phone and be all dramatic about it.”
This time, both his eyebrows shoot toward his golden hairline. “What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t text you.”
“Y-you didn’t?”
Before I can even take a breath, he’s on his feet, his expression thunderous. “Someone texted you to meet here? In your room?”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap, but the back of my neck tingles. “And what are you doing here anyway? You just decided you could let yourself in?”
He stalks toward me, and I can feel the heat from his body wrap around my own. My heart begins to race, and my core spasms as my brain replays all the times he’s been here before, and all the things we did together in this very room.
Fuck, why does he still have such an effect on me?
Why can’t he just leave me alone?
“You don’t think it’s my business?” he growls, and I shiver. “You don’t think every aspect of your life is my damn business? Are you forgetting who you belong to?”
“I don’t belong to you,” I hiss. “Not anymore. You threw me away, remember? Reminded me why you’re a bad guy I should stay far away from.”
“I threw you away, but you came back. As long as you keep crawling back, you’re mine.”
I half expect him to reach up and wrap his hand around my throat like he always did when he wanted to assert his dominance and make me melt. He doesn’t, though. His hands remain at his sides.
Good.
I want him gone. I can’t think straight when he’s around.
I open my mouth to spew some retort and tell him to go straight to hell, but three thumps on my door startles us both. I move to open it, but he grabs my shoulder and pushes me back.
“Not a chance in hell,” he snarls before stepping forward to answer the door himself.
I don’t really know what to expect, but the person on the other side?
He ain’t it.
It’s a guy, go fucking figure, but I don’t recognize him because he’s definitely not from this school. For starters, he can’t be any younger than 20—and that’s pushing it. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and boots, he’s nearly as tall as Saint and good looking but in a rough, dangerous kind of way. Buzzed black hair, dark eyes, and tattoos from his tan wrists to his neck, where there’s an especially interesting piece of artwork in the form of a skeletal hand wrapped around his throat.
And the best part about his hot, scary ass?
He barely spares Saint a glance before his gaze locks on me.
“You Mal?” he asks in a voice that’s low and gritty and makes Saint release a low and gravelly sound of his own.
“Yeah,” I say softly, nervously tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind my ear. “That’s me.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Saint demands, but the guy continues to ignore him.
To this guy, Saint-Fucking-Angelle is invisible, and although his expression and demeanor are relaxed, his eyes are intent as they bore into me.
“JJ sent me,” the stranger drawls.
Well, hell.
10
JJ.
I haven’t heard Jenn called that in at least five years, not since she stopped hooking up with guys that she found on Backpage after Carley discovered what she was doing and ripped her a new one for being reckless.
The sad part is I don’t even have time to properly react to the news that this guy has been in touch with my mom before Saint issues a low, rumbling noise.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says. “Who are you and who is JJ?”
The dark-haired guy turns his gaze to Saint, as if remembering he’s standing there for the first time. “The fuck you care?” His voice is so calm, it makes his words that much more menacing. “I need to speak to Mallory. Alone.”
“I’m not leaving her alone with you.” Widening his stance, Saint folds his arms over his broad chest and levels the guy with a hard glare. I don’t know why he’s acting this way. It was only a month ago that he so ruthlessly humiliated me, but now he’s pretending to give a shit. I can’t keep up with him.
Tilting his head, Tattoos arches one dark eyebrow. He doesn’t look intimidated by Saint in the least, which is a strange thing to see. Everyone is intimidated by Saint Angelle. Everyone cowers when he glares at them like that because they’re convinced the bastard is God.
Not this guy. Because even though I don’t know him, I recognize the look on his face. He’s from my world, not Saint’s.
“Listen carefully,” the newcomer says in a tone that sends a shiver running down my spine, but it’s not the same kind of shiver I get when Saint talks. It’s a warning. “I don’t give a fuck how rich or pretty you are. You get in my way, I’ll fuck you up. Bad.”
I can see in his pitch-black eyes that he’s serious, and I know just how bad someone like him can hurt another person. Saint doesn’t.
Pushing past Saint, I plant myself in between them and turn my face up to his.
“Angelle, go away,” I order.
His slate blue eyes flash with fury. “Are you fucking deaf? I already said I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“I trust him more than I do you,” I snap back. It’s a somewhat low blow, but I really shouldn’t worry about hurting his feelings, now should I?
“Mallory—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head sharply. “Don’t start that shit with me. Don’t pretend you actually care what happens to me. Just get out before I call the campus police to escort you out.”