Cruel Boy Page 11

  “Who are you talking to?” I ask.

  “Oh, Nadia. Says she had an officer question her today.”

  “What? Why?” I ask, clutching my books.

  “I don’t know. She says they started asking questions about Nina.”

  Nina. The beach, the water. Nate’s deadly stare. Don’t forget, don’t speak, don’t even think about it.

  “Something about her knowing what happened. The parents apparently asked for them to launch an investigation into her death.” Mo looks up at me. “They don’t think it’s suicide.”

  My lungs feel constricted, so I cough. “Why would they think that?”

  “Someone gave them a tip. A student,” she replies.

  “What?” I mutter, frowning as I dig around in my own memories.

  No one knew, no one saw what I saw … did they? We were alone on the beach, and everyone else was at the house. No one could’ve seen unless they knew beforehand what was going to happen.

  Goose bumps scatter all over my skin.

  “Sam?” Mo places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, shaking off the chills. “I’m just shook.”

  “Tell me about it. They’re actually interrogating people here. Right now. As if we’re all suspects or something. Someone must’ve talked.”

  “But she drowned, right?” I whisper. “Everybody knew.”

  “Yeah, but now they’re saying she may have been drugged,” she whispers.

  Suddenly, a door near the principal’s office opens and out walks a police officer … and Layla Parker. I look up, expecting her to be in cuffs. Instead, there’s a proud smile on her face while she walks off, and the police officer goes in the other direction.

  Oh, my God. Could it have been her? No, it couldn’t have. She would’ve been all over Nate if she were, and he was alone with Nina the entire time. I know because I was there.

  I swallow away the lump in my throat. The police officer let her go, which means she didn’t do it. Maybe he wanted more information from her; after all, she used to hang out with Nina all the time. She was part of their clique.

  Jenny approaches her and gives her a big hug as though she’s been through the worst. But the broad smile on her face tells me it’s not. It was a victory. Another way to smear another peer … and get them charged with murder.

  Murder. Murderer.

  Nate.

  Another horrible chill courses up and down my spine.

  Layla wouldn’t implicate him, would she? She’s obsessed with him. She wants him more than anything, and she still thinks they’re together. She’d never sacrifice that opportunity to get him behind bars just to spite him. It’s not like her. It has to be someone else.

  “Sam? Sam? Hello!” Mo’s waving at me right in my face. “Are you even there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was just lost in thought.” I blink a couple of times to stay in the here and now instead of spending time in my memories and thoughts.

  “You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look it. Maybe you should go to a doctor. You’ve been so off lately.”

  “What do you mean?” I raise a brow. “I’m fine.”

  “Really?” She follows me as I walk to my next class. “Because you don’t seem fine. Ever since that beach party and Nina … you’ve been acting weird.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  She suddenly grabs my arm and stops me in my tracks. “Sam.” The look on her face changes as though she’s fearful of something unspeakable. “Are you … involved?”

  “Involved?” I snort. “In what?”

  Her eyes glance around before she leans in, and whispers, “Nina’s death.”

  I look her dead in the eyes as my heart stops for a moment. “No.”

  It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told her.

  But I lie for her own good. And mine.

  Murderer.

  That same descriptor now applies to me.

  Lying by omission makes you look just as guilty.

  But we don’t know the full story. Not me, not her, not anyone.

  “Hey, have you seen Nate?” I ask Mo.

  “What? No, why? Did he bully you again?” She frowns and punches her own hand. “I swear to God, if he did, I’ll take care of him myself. You watch me.”

  I laugh and lower her hand. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

  “But I will.”

  “Stop,” I say, snorting. “Let’s just go to class.”

  “What did he do this time?” She raises a brow.

  “Nothing.” I sigh.

  She pauses and goes to stand in front of me, blocking me from walking farther. “Sam. Spill. It.”

  I don’t like this strict Monica, but I guess I had it coming for me. I groan out loud. “He stole my panties.”

  “What?!” she yelps.

  “And hung them on my locker.”

  “What?!” Each what is louder than the one before.

  Her face scrunches up, and she searches her bag for God knows what tool. “That’s it. I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

  I grab her hand and pull it out of her bag, forcing her to stop. “No. Just don’t.”

  “That fucker deserves it,” she hisses. “He messes with my girl; he messes with me.”

  She’s always so protective of me, and I can appreciate that, but it’s not helpful. Not this time. “No, please, just leave it. Okay? Please? For me?” I beg.

  She cocks her head. “Sam …”

  “I don’t want to make a scene. I don’t want any of this. If we ignore it long enough, he’ll stop.”

  “Do you think so, or are you just telling yourself that?” she mutters, folding her arms.

  “I …” I sigh again and rub my forehead. “Look, I don’t want you involved in this.”

  She makes a face. “Me? Involved?” she scoffs. “Shit, it almost sounds like you want me gone.”

  “No, I don’t mean it like that,” I say, closing my eyes briefly. Goddammit, why do I have to be so bad with words? “I mean—”

  “No, I get what you mean. You think I’m going to make a bigger scene than he did. That I’m going to embarrass you.”

  “I just want it all to disappear,” I say.

  “It won’t when you don’t do anything about it,” she says. “You’re always like this. You let people walk all over you because you’re too busy staring off into the distance, fantasizing about your photos and your paintings.”

  That hurts. Big time. Like full, gut-wrenching heart pain. “You can’t be serious.” I shake my head and try to pass her. “I’m going to class.”

  “Sam …” She tries to grab my arm, but I jerk free and leave anyway.

  “Sam! I’m sorry.”

  Her calls fall on deaf ears while I push in my AirPods and disappear into that fantasy world she talks about. That world where I’m safe and alone, and no one can touch me.

  Not even my own disappointment in myself.

  * * *

  I haven’t spoken to Mo for hours. My phone’s dead anyway, and I don’t feel like charging it. I might charge it later today, but for now, I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet … and the music blaring into my ears while I make these sandwiches.

  My boss normally isn’t okay with me listening to music, but I’m not behind the counter today, so he’s permitted it just for today. He’s a nice dude when he wants to be, and I can appreciate that. In fact, this is one of the best part-time jobs I’ve had at my age. Not that I’ve had many, but the ones I can compare (newspaper girl, babysitter, pizza delivery girl) all made me quit within a few weeks.

  But I’ve been working here since before the summer, and I kinda like it, especially when I’m not directly talking to customers like now. Just making BLTs, doing my thing, dancing while I squirt mayo onto the sandwich is the best thing in the world.

  No. Not having to think … that’s the best thing in the world.

/>   I work into the evening until the sky goes dark and the lights go out. I’m the one who cleans up at closing, and I’m okay with that. My boss pays me extra for the trouble. So when the last customer is gone, I grab the keys to lock the doors and make my way outside.

  Right as I close up shop, a car pulls up right in front of the building. Sweat builds up underneath my outfit, but I try to ignore the fear growing in the pit of my stomach. It’s dark, and I’m alone outside, a place and time any woman knows is dangerous. So I clench the keys in my hands and prepare to use them as my weapon.

  To understand what I’m dealing with, I briefly turn my head. I need to know if they’re here for me or for something else. The window rolls down, and a familiar face glares me down. I gulp. Nate … and he’s definitely, one hundred percent here for me.

  Two words are all that is needed to make me shudder. “Get in.”

  Chapter 17

  Sam

  For a second, I hesitate, but I know this guy. If I don’t do what he says, he’ll chase me down until I do. He won’t fucking give up, so maybe it’s time we had a proper one-on-one talk.

  I rub my lips together and tuck the keys into my pocket. My curiosity to know the truth outweighs the dangers rustling my heart, so I approach the vehicle. Nate stares me down as though I’m an escaped convict ready to be cuffed and sent back to the bureau.

  Not that he’d ever get a job at a police station with his track record.

  Yeah, I’m thinking that. We both are.

  He knows just as well as I do what happened last summer, and that’s exactly why he’s been stalking and bullying me all this time. Trying to push me to submit … whether I want to or not.

  I walk to the passenger’s side and get in. It smells of booze and liquor, so I glance around. There’s a bottle of Jack Daniels lying on the back seat, half empty. Has he been … drinking?

  He’s wearing that signature hoodie of his again, the one he uses to hide from the world. But I notice him; I always have.

  “Close the door.” I’ve never heard him speak with that tone to anyone before … as if he wants to murder and ravage me at the same time. And for some goddamn twisted reason, it turns me on a little.

  “Not until you tell me what you’re doing here,” I reply.

  I know it’s ballsy, but he wants something from me too, and he knows I won’t give it to him if he doesn’t give me something back. And I want information.

  He pushes a lock. All the doors close. I swallow away the lump in my throat.

  The engine revs, and the car drives off. God only knows where we’re going.

  Damn, how did I get pulled into this mess? I only wanted to be alone at the beach and take some pictures of the sea and the surrounding area. I didn’t mean to be a witness to a murder.

  Because that’s what this is all about. That’s why he wants those pictures … so he can erase them and pretend they never existed. So he can feign his innocence.

  But it’s too late now. The police are already on his trail, and he’s lost all credibility.

  “Was it you?” he asks, during the drive.

  “What?” I mutter.

  “The police!” he shouts, making me jolt up and down in my seat.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Bullshit,” he hisses, and he keeps driving faster and faster.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  He refuses to answer. All he does is grind his teeth and bite his lip with the occasional grunt slipping out. I can almost feel the burn all the way from here. This is dangerous. I can’t believe I actually went with this, that I willingly climbed into his car. I should’ve made a scene, should’ve called for help. At least then I wouldn’t be sitting next to the world’s worst bad boy.

  But that’s exactly the point … the reason he’s doing this; to scare me. Another tactic to persuade me to give him what he wants. As if those pictures are of any use to him now that the police are on this case. They’ll find out sooner or later that it was him.

  “You talked to them, didn’t you?” he growls.

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  He slams his steering wheel. “Don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not,” I say, trying to remain calm.

  He blows off steam and drives even harder.

  After a few minutes pass, we’re up on a hill overlooking the city. There, he parks the car inches away from a cliff. His face turns to me, eyes like those of a fierce lion ready to pounce on its prey and eat it alive.

  “You’d better be telling me the truth,” he says.

  “Oh, like you are?” I raise a brow.

  “Don’t mess with me,” he says. Suddenly, he pulls out a knife.

  My pupils dilate, and I raise my hands. “I swear. I didn’t.”

  His nostrils flare. “Then who did?”

  “I … I …” I gulp. “I don’t know.”

  He takes in a deep breath and slams the steering wheel again. “Bullshit!”

  I’ve never seen him this volatile before, this upset. It’s as if he’s ready to burst out into violent screaming and crying all at the same time. His head lowers, and he takes a couple of deep breaths. The knife remains firmly clenched between his fingers as they rest on the steering wheel, and I briefly contemplate stealing it from him. But that would probably put me in more danger than I wanna be.

  “The police were at my door today,” he grumbles, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Asked me about the party … Nina. Everything.”

  So they finally caught on to his scheme. Who could’ve told them? Did anyone else see?

  Because if that’s the case, they would’ve also seen me.

  I gulp in some air. “Did you tell them about me?”

  “No,” he says, glaring at the blade.

  Then he tucks it away in his pocket and grabs the bottle of liquor instead. He unscrews the lid, swallowing down several gulps. When he keeps going, I snatch the bottle from his hand.

  “Hey!” he spits.

  “You’re not fucking drinking and driving,” I say. “Not on my watch.”

  He tries to snatch it from my hand, but I quickly roll down the window and chuck the bottle out. It shatters on impact.

  “Fine,” he growls. “You’re even worse than Layla.”

  I snort. “Thanks. I’ll consider that a compliment.”

  He cocks his head, and says, “Why did you get into my car?”

  “Because you asked so nicely?” I raise a brow.

  He snorts and shakes his head while fishing something from his pocket. “Because I’m dangerous.” There it is again, the knife. Always looming in the background. “And I’m really going to need those pictures now.”

  The knife flickers as he points it in my direction. I swallow away the lump in my throat. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Cut me?”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he replies with a dark voice.

  “I don’t have them on me,” I say.

  “Your phone. I know you keep them in there,” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “Lie,” he says.

  “They’re in a secure cloud,” I say. It’s the first truth I’ve given him. “What happened to you, Nate Wilson? You’re threatening to hurt me with a goddamn knife.”

  His nostrils flare. “People change.”

  “No, they don’t. Not like this. People look up to you. You’re everyone’s idol, and you’re acting like a fucking idiot who actually wants to go to jail.” I know I’m stepping on dangerous ground here, but I need to get through to him.

  “Don’t call me a fucking idiot,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Why? Does it hurt? Well, so does being bullied by the school’s biggest athlete,” I reply.

  “Bully? You think I’m bullying you?” He narrows his eyes as though he’s actually interested in the reasoning behind my words.

  “You stole my laptop, ridiculed me in front of other classmates, threw me in a poo
l, and hung my panties on my locker. That’s bullying to me.”

  He licks his bottom lip and sucks in a breath. “A bully …” He shakes his head and leans away for a second, allowing me to breathe just a bit more. “The school’s biggest athlete everyone looks up to,” he repeats. “Yeah, well, this star athlete isn’t someone anyone should aspire to be. Ever.”

  “I know,” I reply.

  His face crumples as though he’s been sliced by his own knife, wounded by the words he knows are true.

  “I’m dangerous,” he murmurs, gazing up into my eyes with beauty and pain all mixed into one still-life painting. But this boy is no canvas, and I’m not the painter. He made his own decisions but led us both into disaster.

  “You were right. You should fear me,” he adds, the knife still in his hands, still the central focus of this conversation. “I’m a bad motherfucker.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t know what he wants me to say.

  “I suppose you’re glad you at least got your laptop back,” he muses.

  “I’m surprised you noticed,” I retort.

  “I found a suspicious item lying on my floor.” He fishes something out of his pants. My scrunchie. “Yours?”

  I snatch it from his hand and tuck it into my pocket. I won’t answer his question because that’d be admitting to a crime, and I’m not fucking doing any of that.

  “I guess I had it coming,” he muses, casually toying with the knife, flicking it back and forth in his hand.

  “It was my laptop. How dare you come into my room and steal it?” I say.

  A devilish smile forms on his lips. “How dare you come into my room and steal it back?” He leans in. “I know you were there. I heard you on my roof. I didn’t know what it was at first, but when I found that scrunchie, I knew.” He grabs a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. Goose bumps scatter on my skin. “It was you … watching me after I came out of the shower.”

  The memory of his tight ass reappears in my mind.

  No, don’t fucking think about it, Sam.

  He leans in even farther, the knife still dangling from his fingers like an omnipresent threat. “Did you like seeing me naked?” he whispers in my ear, setting my body on fire.