Page 80 of Heartless Sinner

He smacked away the finger I jabbed at his chest. “I have eyes, asshole. I’ve watched my parents live it every day.”

I scoffed and kept walking.

“Keep trying to fight it,” he called to my back. “It’ll only make things worse.”

“Bullshit.”

He hung back as we headed toward Locker Hall. Halfway there, my vision tilted, and I caught myself against the wall.

Cedric caught up and helped me without saying, Told you so, fucker. Probably the nicest thing he’d ever done for me. He stayed at my side without a word.

We stumbled into Locker Hall. He dropped me onto the cold metal bench, and I rubbed my throbbing temples.

“For that little speech in the corridor”—I pointed at him—“I’m voting you get a Fawn next.”

He opened his locker, tossed in his mask, and traded the robe for a black turtleneck. “If I ever lose my mind over a girl, please do.”

“You Marchettis don’t have feelings.” I leaned forward, forearms on my thighs. “How do I get rid of mine?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We don’t give a fuck about our enemies.” He slammed his locker shut. “People we love are a different story. You want my advice?”

“Fuck no.”

“Too bad. Either burn the fucking world down for Daphne or let her go when her year is over.”

I wiped blood from the corner of my mouth, then spit some on the floor. “Words of wisdom from a killer.”

“Words of wisdom from someone with a goddamn brain.”

I forced myself off the bench.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Either help me get to Daphne’s dorm, or I’m going back in there to finish Cory.”

“Jesus, fuck.” He sighed and slung my arm over his shoulders. “Come on. If you pass out on the way there, I’m leaving your ass.”

Nineteen

Daphne

“No, I don’t want no scrub …” I sang off-key, bobbing my head as I typed in rhythm.

Like every responsible procrastinator, I had five hours left to finish my research paper.

It was two in the morning, and Blair still wasn’t back, which meant she was probably sleeping at Enzo’s. I always left the door unlocked for her until I went to bed, just in case.

My typing stopped mid-sentence when the door swung open.

Cedric walked in with Brooks slumped over his shoulder, looking completely unbothered about carrying a half-dead president’s son.

He peeled Brooks’s arm off him. “He’s all yours.”

Brooks looked like he’d just survived a war. He collapsed onto the floor like a drunk getting dumped outside a bar after a fight.

He looked bad. Really bad.

His face and hands were a bloody mess. Split knuckles. Busted lip. Dark purple bruises already on his skin.