Page 74 of Wicked Elites

“Really?” he snarled. “From where I’m standing, it looks like twelve against one.”

Geraldine curled her lip. “Don’t act like you haven’t done worse to a girl.”

“Be quiet,” he roared.

Geraldine flinched. “We were only joking.”

My heart jumped into my throat. What did that mean, and why didn’t he deny it?

“What about my face?” screeched Bianca.

Prakash snorted. “I know you well enough to predict that it was well deserved.” He turned to me, eyes softening, and held out his hand. In a voice as soft and as soothing as satin-silk, he said, “Come with me. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

I gaped up at him. Where was the reprimand? Where was the rebuke? Where was the reminder that a scholar like me didn’t belong to Brittas Academy? The compassion shining in his eyes brought a lump to my throat, and tears stung the backs of my eyes.

With the tenderest of smiles, Prakash gave me an encouraging nod. “Let’s clean up your wounds.”

I took his hand and let him pull me up. He wrapped an arm around my middle, encasing me in his warm, muscular body.

As we walked through the hallway, I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “When the police reopen Corrine’s case, and they compare it to what happened to me, they’ll be coming for you for that, too.”

* * *

Prakash occupied a room twice the size of Cormac’s, with paintings of Indian landscapes and buildings on the wall. Many were green mountains, but among the pictures, I recognized the Taj Mahal, the Golden Temple, and a structure that reminded me of a taller, grander Arc de Triomphe.

The white paisley embroidery on his ivory comforter shimmered like silk, and I longed to run my fingers over it to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

He settled me on a leather sofa, opened a cupboard, and produced a first-aid box the size of a workman’s toolkit.

“Why do you have such a large supply?” I asked.

“For minor sports injuries. I’m a trained first-aider, and sometimes my friends don’t fancy traipsing through the academy to find Dr. Forrester.”

I gave him an absent nod and cast my gaze around his room. It fell on a close up of him and a devastatingly beautiful older woman with the same straight nose and high cheekbones. “Is that your mother in the photo?”

“Yes.” He dabbed at my face with a wad of damp gauze. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils, and a cold sting on my cheek made me hiss and flinch. “Sorry.” He dabbed at another thin cut on my cheek. “But that’s what happens when you get into a fight with a gang of girls.”

“They started it,” I muttered.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Do you see why I keep telling you to leave? Those girls are predators. They either hound other girls into madness or are corrupting influences.”

An image of Ashley lying on a pile of shopping slapped me back into reality, and I shot out of my seat. “The auction!”

He drew back and furrowed his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“My sister put the family house up for sale. I was on my way out to stop an auction when the girls ambushed me. I have to leave before the house gets sold.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know.” My gaze flicked to the wall clock whose hands formed a perfect right angle. “Hopefully not at nine.”

“Come with me.” He stood. “I’ll drive you to Carlisle. In the meantime, give the auction house a call and tell them they’re selling a property without legal authorization.”

We raced together through the hallway’s parquet floors, down four flights of stairs, and out of the academy’s double doors. The cold morning air made my wounds sting, but I ignored the sensation to continue down the steps and into the courtyard.

Prakash pointed his keyring at a silver Audi TT coupé and activated its central locking.

After we both scrambled into the two-seater car, he sped out of the academy grounds and onto the main road. “Which auction house?”