Rogue's Cross (Saints Purgatory MC Book 5)

Prologue

16 years old…

“Skye Summers.”

My eye twitches when Mrs.Smith, my homeroom teacher, calls my name. Her nasally voice is enough to grate on anyone’s nerves. I’ve zoned out for most of the period, thinking about meeting Clint, but her saying my name thrusts me back into the fires of Hell… high school.

“Yes?” I ask, bored.

“Ms. Summers, pay attention.” She sighs. “Maybe if you were paying more attention during classes, your grades wouldn’t suffer.” Mrs. Smith holds out a piece of paper. “Come up here and get your report card before I give you detention.”

That lights a fire under my ass. Nothing in this world is worse than sitting in school for eight hours a day and having another hour added for detention. I scurry to the front of the room and snatch the paper out of her hand.

“Sorry,” I mumble and return to my desk. I slowly unfold the report card and glance down.

Fuck. I knew it would be bad but not this bad. What am I going to do now?

I drop it onto my desk and stare at it like it’s a snake ready to strike. School has always been difficult for me, but this? This is bad. One F, two D’s, one C, and one A.

Figures the one good grade I managed to get is in Art. I love to create things, but I could care less about everything else. I just need to get through a couple more years, and then I can get the hell out of this town.

The only reason I’ve made it this far is that most of the teachers pass me just to get me out of their classes, having deemed the girl who struggles a waste of their time. Math is by far my worst subject. I never seem to get the numbers right, no matter how hard I try. Staring at a problem for hours doesn’t even help the answers come. Sure, some teachers have tried to help, but once they gave up on me, I gave up on myself.

Why continue with the charade?

The shrill ringing of the bell snaps me out of my stupor, and I make a mad dash for the hallway.

“Did you see her report card?” Libby whispers loudly, obviously not really trying to be sly about what she says.

Libby, Miranda, and Cory are the bane of my existence. The three stooges have made my life miserable since fourth grade. They’ve made it their life’s mission to break me.

Newsflash: I’m already broken.

But I refuse to let them see me cower. I hold my head high and push between them to get into my locker.

Miranda snickers. “Probably all Fs.”

“Dumb and trashy, like her parents,” Cory sneers.

I stiffen my spine and square my shoulders, but other than that, I don’t react. Last time I let them goad me into more, I was suspended from school for fighting. It was worth it, giving Cory a black eye, but Grandma was disappointed.

I spin the combination lock and open the door to grab my books for the rest of the day. If I have to return to my locker, I’ll have to deal with Larry, Curly, and Moe, and I’m not up for that.

They’re still laughing when I turn on my heel and walk away.

The day drags on, and my skin tingles with anticipation for the last bell to ring. As soon as it does, I make a beeline for the parking lot, where Clint’s waiting for me by his car.

“Hey, Skye!” he shouts as I run toward him.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly when I reach his side.

Clint is my best friend… has been since preschool. He’s the only one who understands me.

“Did you get your report card?” he asks.

I kick at the gravel and hang my head. “Yep.”

He lifts up my chin, so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “That good, short stack?”

I shrug. “Is what it is.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Movies and smoothies.” I giggle. “I have a feeling I’ll be grounded though.”

“Want me to come over and flash these baby blues at Grandma?”

“If I thought it would work, I’d drag you home with me.”

“She can’t resist me.” He bobs his brows.

I push his chest, and he staggers. “You’re a dumbass.”

“I think you got that backward,” a voice says behind me.

“Get the fuck outta here, Libby,” Clint growls.

Cory saunters up next to Libby and drapes his arm over her shoulders. “Now, that’s not very nice, Clint.”

I clench my fists at my sides and step forward, but Clint grabs my arm, holding me back. “They aren’t worth it.”

“Why do you waste your time with this idiot, Clint?” Miranda asks haughtily. “Your parents must be real proud of the trash you hang out with.”

Clint unlocks his car doors, and we both get in, shutting out their heckling. He peels out of the parking lot and heads toward home.

“They’re wrong, you know,” he comments after a few minutes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deflect.

Clint shakes his head. “Don’t do that, Skye. Not with me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I cry. “That I know they’re just words. Sticks and stones and all that bullshit.”

Clint reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Shortcake, you’re the nicest, sweetest, and smartest girl I know.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

I roll my eyes. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only to you.” He brushes his thumb over my hand. “Grades don’t mean shit. Your grandma and I know the truth. You. Are. Smart.”

“Thanks, Clint.” I look over at him and see a truck heading straight for us. “Watch ou?—”

Tires screech, metal crunches, and glass shatters around us. My head bounces off the side of the door. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to clear my vision.

“Clint… Clint… Clint!”

He’s slumped forward, and blood gushes from his head. Sirens blare all around me. It feels like hours before they make it to us, but it probably isn’t more than fifteen minutes. Clint still hasn’t woken up when the paramedics pull me from the wreckage.

“He’s not breathing!” a firefighter yells, pulling Clint through the window.

I struggle to get off the gurney. “No, Clint.”

I watch them continue to perform CPR on him as they load him into the ambulance, and I pray for God not to be that cruel. I lost my parents the same way. Drunk driver, in the middle of the day, took them out when they were on their way to a school conference about my grades.

The doctors run around in a frenzy at the hospital, working on both of us. I have a broken arm from where I slammed into the car door, and my head needs stitches. While a doctor tends to me, I constantly ask how Clint is, but no one will give me any information.

Grandma waddles in the room as the nurse puts the finishing touches on my cast.

“Thank God.” She kisses my forehead.

“Grandma.” My voice wobbles. “How’s Clint?”

Tears run down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Skye.”

“No… no… no!” I scream. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone, sweetheart.”

Noooooooo!