Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
The pellet struck him dead in the mouth. Owen retched, gagging on the paint. Witnesses rushed me as I let loose.
“Whoa. What the hell?”
“What’s going on?”
“Is that Owen?”
“Someone get him down!”
A pellet struck his stomach, tearing a cry out of him. It didn’t come from me.
Lindsay moved me aside, leveling the paintball lower. She smiled at her horrified friends. “What’s the panic? Someone will get him down eventually. In the meantime...”
The two girls looked from her, to the bucket, to Owen, and then at each other. They both picked up guns.
An hour later, Owen Thasher was a mess of paint, welts, and soggy paper.
“P-please,” he sobbed. “Let me down. Help... me.”
I leaned against the back booth, grim satisfaction tugging the corners of my mouth up, though I repeatedly forced it neutral. I couldn’t stop myself. Almost everyone who found Owen in this state responded in one of three ways: they picked up a paintball gun, took out their phones to record his misery, or called their friends to join in. Seven a.m. on a Wednesday and the cafeteria was packed with nearly every Dreg in the school and most of the Royal girls.
No one tried to help him until one of his friends burst in, shouting for someone to get security and snatching guns out of the girls’ hands. Soon his other friends were there backing him up, keeping people away from him, though they couldn’t get him down. All they were doing was giving an unobstructed view to the complete wreck that was once the great and popular Owen Thasher.
“—move. Excuse me. Out of the way this instant.”
A man in a sharp, tailored black suit and wire-rimmed spectacles pushed through the crowd. I recognized him immediately.
Dean Simmons.
He took one look at Owen and surprise blew apart his professional mask. “Heavens, what on earth— Out,” he cried. “Everyone, out. The café is closed for the rest of the day.”
A paintball splattered across Owen’s cheek.
“Miss Donahue! Put that down right now,” the dean snapped. “Out!”
I peeled off the booth, following the crowd trudging outside. Security blew past us as we escaped the café, two of them carrying a ladder.
Movement out of the corner of my eye turned my head toward the side of the building. Rafael posted up against the wall, head bobbing to music only he could hear. He saw me and winked.
The handsome figure in leather and jeans was gone by the time I escaped the crowd’s clutches and rounded the rail. That didn’t matter. I knew where he went.
I ran all the way to the archeology building. Bursting around the corner, I found all four Rogues exactly where I left them the night of the party. They said nothing as I caught my breath.
“Who?” I rasped. “Which one of you came up with that?”
“I’d like to take the credit,” Rafael said, “but Wilder was the mastermind on this one. Some of his best work.”
I ran to Wilder, arms out. Throwing myself at him, strong hands seized my arms and suddenly the world spun. I stumbled in the grass, facing the opposite direction. I rounded on Wilder crouched with his hands up, readying for my second attack.
“I was trying to hug you, weirdo. And I’m going to try again.” Pushing his fists firmly down, I slid my arms around his broad shoulders, burying my face in his neck. For a paranoid, angry conspiracy theorist, he smelled like apples and rain. I hugged him tighter.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I thought— Man, I don’t know what I thought. That all of this was a trick, or maybe you were secretly working with the Royals and getting close to me was step one in destroying another Sinclair-Bowden. But there’s absolutely no way—”
Wilder untangled and shot out of my hold. “Your thanks is noted and unnecessary. Especially in the form of physical affection. I don’t know your decontamination routine. You could’ve exposed me to countless pathogens.”
I blinked. “Did you just say you don’t know if I shower?”
“Sounds like it,” Lucien said lightly. The out-of-place outfit of the day was a paisley ascot, matching vest, high-waisted pants, and polished black boots. His unnaturally sharp canines gleamed as he grinned. “But no. Wilder’s referring to a CDC-level decontamination that no one in the world puts themselves through on a daily basis... except for him.”
“Right.” I lurched forward like I was going to hug him again, and his hands flew up to defend himself from one hundred and twelve pounds of me. I giggled. “Like I was saying, I was so twisted up about you guys coming out of nowhere, for a second I thought you could be working for Owen, Levi, and those other shitholes. But there’s no way on earth Owen agreed to that humiliation to get you guys in with me. That was amazing.”