Malice

3

Over the last several months, I’ve seen Saint Angelle angry. At me. At his own friends. At the fact that he was born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in his arrogant mouth.

And I’ve heard how he reacts when he’s pissed off.

But I don’t think I’ve ever heard him like this—with pure violence dangling off every syllable he churns out. He wasn’t even this furious after I pelted him in the back of the head with that stupid fucking apple and cemented my spot in prep school purgatory.

“Where is she?” he bellows again, and someone says something in a hushed whisper that earns them a snarled, “Get the fuck out of my way.”

I sit up straight in my chair, too stu

He finds me. Like a rotten Prince Charming.

Moments after his angry shouts bounce through the room, he’s barreling past a dumbfounded Officer Fallon and storming inside.

I gawk up at him, wondering for a moment if he’s a ghost rather than a real live person. Has he come back to haunt me? Is he refusing to leave me alone, even in the afterlife? My misery is his unfinished business.

I was so certain he was dead. Hell, I felt it deep in my gut. That’s how the officers made it seem, at least. Why would they ask me about threatening him if he was alive? I thought that was the whole point of all this.

What exactly is happening right now?

Saint’s stormy eyes lock on me, and I notice that his bronze skin is flushed, his gaze a touch crazed, the white t-shirt he was wearing earlier rumpled and dirty. Has he been worrying over me? My heart skips at the thought, but I order it to calm the fuck down. I tell myself it doesn’t matter if he was concerned. It’s great that he’s alive—a huge weight of fear and sadness from my shoulders—but he screwed me over, under, and in every other direction tonight.

I can’t forgive him.

Headmaster Aldridge and Mrs. Wilmer come bursting into the room after him, slightly out of breath with their own eyes bulging.

“Mr. Angelle, what do you think you’re doing?” the Headmaster barks.

Saint doesn’t bother to look at him right away. It’s clear he doesn’t give a shit that there’s anyone else in the room. His eyes are glued to me, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves even a centimeter.

It’s u

“Why is she being questioned?” he demands after several moments, whirling on our principal. “She hasn’t done a thing.”

“Saint, could we please discuss this outside?” Headmaster Aldridge’s tone is surprisingly urgent and … contrite. I’ve never heard him be anything but stern. That, plus the fact he’s using Saint’s first name speaks to a familiarity between them that goes beyond student and administration.

Then again, Saint’s parents do basically own this place.

They’ve probably had Aldridge over for di

I need the anger. Have to clutch onto it and keep it close to remind myself that Saint is a bad guy, and I’m not supposed to feel anything for him other than the worst kind of loathing. Relief that he’s alive, sure, because I’m not an ogre, but that’s as tender as I’ll get.

“I’m not going anywhere, and I dare you to try and do something about it,” Saint says with a sneer, his hands balling into fists by his sides. Aldridge’s eyes pop wider, and for a beat, I get the impression that he’s scared of Saint. I might be, too, if I were facing down that brick wall of rage, but I doubt Saint would go so far as to actually hit the man.

Really. He wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“This matter will soon be out of our hands, and I’d rather you not get mixed up in anything legally speaking. Your father—”

“What do you mean, it’ll be out of your hands?” I speak up, shooting to my feet and slapping my hands on the table. “What’s going on now? I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.”

Aldridge’s eyes narrow into slits. There’s no hint of the same reverence he was showing Saint just moments before, but that’s what you get when your parent is the redneck, methed-out version of Tony Montana and not the fucking controlling interest of an elite academy and the biggest social media network in the world.

“Ms. Ellis, I need you to sit back down and remain calm. You need to be very mindful of your behavior right now.”

This is such bullshit. I’m a suspect for something I had nothing to do with, and Saint, the king of stomping all over rules and laws with no regard for those around him, is treated like a goddamn prince. It’s a blatant double standard, all because he’s rich and co

I open my mouth, ready to lash out, but to my shock, Saint beats me to it.

“If you value your job, Aldridge, back off,” he says in that low, dangerous voice that summons goosebumps all over me.

“Now, Saint—”

“Job, Aldridge,” Saint coldly reminds him before turning his attention back to me and zeroing in on my cheek. His full lips squash into a colorless line. “I’m assuming all you motherfuckers are blind since you didn’t notice she’s bleeding.”

I hadn’t even noticed I was bleeding. My hand automatically reaches for my cheek, and my skin stings when my fingertips skim over the cut. “I’m fine,” I mutter, but he snorts.

Ignoring my weak ass statement, he sweeps the rest of the room with a dark look. “Mallory hasn’t done anything wrong, so you can just stop treating her like a criminal. This ends now.”

I’m amazed he’s defending me. I briefly have another flashback of Je

What the hell is his end game?

“Ms. Ellis’s i

Authorities? I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this is all about to get so much worse.

There’s a sharp knock on the conference room door, but before anyone can actually answer it, it swings open and two officers from the Santa Teresa Police Department fill the threshold. They’re both men, older than Meyers but younger than Fallon, so I’m guessing they’re right in that sweet spot where they still have something to prove, and they know just how to do it.

They peer around, taking in the scene before them.

I am so done.

I peek toward Officers Fallon and Meyers. Neither looks particularly thrilled to see the new arrivals walk in. I feel a strange sensation of satisfaction that they’re losing their lofty roles as the biggest assholes in the room, even though having the real cops here means I’m definitely screwed.

“Headmaster Aldridge?” one of the cops, a dark-haired guy with a rugged jaw, speaks up. “I’m Officer Lee and this is Officer Be

Well, that solidifies that Fallon and Meyers were full of shit.

I’m surrounded by liars and manipulators, all with their minds set that I’m guilty before there’s any actual evidence. It’s fucked up that Saint’s the only one willing to step in to defend me. Of everybody in this room, I’d have thought he’d hang me out to dry.