“No, you’re not,” Mattie snapped, sounding more serious than I’d ever heard her, “You didn’t come back to class, and you’re not in your room. So where are you, Violet?”
I could hear male voices in the background, but I was past the point of caring. Everything fucking hurt, including my pride. I’d just let that pathetic heap of steaming shit, Brandon fucking Morgan, beat me down. It was embarrassing, if nothing else.
Still… at least my secret remained safe. For now.
“Violet?” Mattie’s voice shrieked from my palm reader. “Violet, where the hell are you?”
Something about the level of panic in her voice suggested she knew what had just gone down. But… she would have warned me, right? Unless she wasn’t really my friend after all. Maybe this had all been an elaborate plan to put the poor charity case in her place.
“Why do you even care?” I groaned, the pain of all my injuries poking holes in my brain-to-mouth filter.
I heard her suck in a shocked gasp and the heavy thump of footfalls. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that,” she replied, sounding all kinds of hurt. “You’re my friend, Violet. When I saw Claudette call someone to say you’d left the class, I knew something was up. Is it Alex? Did he hurt you?”
Annoyed at her assumption that this had anything to do with Alex, I heaved myself off the floor. Not without a small moan of pain, though. Fucking Brandon had zero finesse or talent when it came to fighting, but you didn’t need a whole lot of skill when your opponent wasn’t fighting back.
“She’s hurt,” I heard Mattie tell someone, then muffled voices replied to her.
“I’m fine,” I snapped back. “Alex had nothing to do with this, so put your damn pitchforks away.”
“He had nothing to do with what, Violet?” Mattie demanded, sharp as a fucking tack. “What happened? Tell me!”
“Leave it alone, Mattie!” I barked back at her. I ached all over, my head pounded, and my uniform was covered in blood. Mattie was just looking out for me—I think—but she was going to catch the sharp edge of my foul mood if she didn’t drop it.
“I’ve got to go,” I added, gritting my teeth as I pushed up to standing. Sort of. I needed to support myself against the wall as my whole damn body shrieked at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mattie blurted something about Drake’s party, but I ended the call. There was no way in ice-covered hell I’d make it to Drake’s party. I’d be lucky to even make it back to my room in this state. Most probably I should be heading to the nurse, but I trusted that bitch less than zero. I’d figure out how to find the supplies to stitch myself up … somehow.
My wrist buzzed incessantly as I cracked the door open and peered into the hall. It was deserted again. I’d been there so long that the next class had started.
Blood trickled down from a cut at my hairline, and my anger burned.
One thing was for fucking sure, Brandon wasn’t getting away with this. Not by a long shot.
I made it about halfway down the empty hall before I needed to stop and lean on the wall for a rest. My wrist was still buzzing away, so I glanced down at the display.
“What the fuck?” I muttered out loud at Rafe’s smirking face lighting up the screen. Curious, I pressed accept. “How the fuck did you get my number?” I demanded. “And why is yours saved into my palm reader?”
“Where are you, Violet?” he snapped. Not “Cinderella,” huh? They must be really concerned. That or he just wanted to see my messed-up face so he could laugh.
“Go to hell, Rafe,” I replied, too tired to play games. I hit end on the call and sucked up enough determination to keep going.
My wrist buzzed the whole way back to my room, and when I only had one corner left to turn, I gave in and checked the display. Twenty-seven messages and eighteen missed calls from Mattie, a similar number from Nolan, nine messages and six calls from Jordan, and a couple of texts from Alex.
There was just one message from Rafe: Don’t be such a bitch, Vi.
The fuck?
Fuck you. We’re not on nickname terms, it’s Violet.
Rafe: Vi is short for Violence. A more fitting name for you than Vengeance.
Oh, so were dropping the act now, huh? Nolan must have ratted me out, the bastard.
You think?
I meant it sarcastically, and hopefully my tone conveyed over message. I sure as shit wasn’t in the mood for a voice call just to trade barbs with the infuriating prick.
Rafe: You’ll see.
Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. Ugh.
Angry at his cryptic reply, I leaned heavily on the wall while trying to figure out how to change his name in my contacts.
Angel: Reply to Mattie. She’s worried.
I smirked at his girly name in my contacts and decided not to reply. I’d been a bit of a bitch to her, and she’d really done nothing to deserve it. I’d call her later… after I’d cleaned up a bit.
I sighed, then pushed off the wall and kept going toward my room. It was a damn miracle I hadn’t run into anyone on my way back to the housing wing…
“Violet?” Alex’s sharp voice pulled me out of my one foot after another daze, and I froze. “What the hell happened to you?”
My new boyfriend was standing outside my bedroom door like he’d been waiting there for me. Funny that it was him staking out my room and none of the others.
“Uh…” I went to bite my lip, but holy motherfucking shitballs that hurt. “Probably not going to buy it if I say nothing, huh?”
Alex’s eyes damn near bugged out of his head, and I sighed.
“Come in. I’ll tell you after I shower.”
He looked like he wanted to argue or punch something. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, but he gave a short nod and waited while I unlocked the door and went inside.
“Who did this to you, Violet?” Alex demanded, following me to my bathroom and hovering in the doorframe while I fished a washcloth out from the little linen cabinet.
Standing in front of the mirror, I hissed a sharp breath as I took in my appearance. No wonder Alex looked like he wanted to kill someone. I legitimately looked like I’d just had the shit kicked out of me.
Which, I kind of had.
“I’m going to fucking murder that prick,” I growled to my reflection, forgetting for a moment that I had company. “He’s fucking dead.”
“Who, Violet?” Alex damn near shouted, coming closer but pausing with his hands inches from my body. Smart boy. Pretty much nowhere was safe to touch me right now. I was one huge walking bruise. “Who did this to you? Who are you planning on killing?”
“Brandon Morgan,” I spat his name like a bad taste. “Him and that raging cuntface Claudette.”
Alex’s brows shot up. Maybe he hadn’t expected me to name names, but I didn’t owe those bastards anything.
“They did this to you? On academy grounds? They could be sentenced to death.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotions. It was a tone I’d never heard from the charming Australasian prince, but it was kind of a turn-on. In a sick sort of way.
I met his gaze in the mirror while wetting my washcloth under the faucet. “For beating up the poor little ballot winner? The charity case that no one wants here anyway, but you all put up with for the positive public relations?”