Chapter Ten Sam #2
And as he continues to speak, Kane’s stare burns hotter.
Pissed? Jealous? Like I owe him a damn thing.
My spine straightens. Fuck that. If he wants to act like we don’t know each other, like my existence is such an inconvenience for him, then I’ll give him a reason to feel that.
I’m tired of people thinking that they can treat me however they want, talking down to me as if I’m just supposed to roll over and take it.
If Kane wants me out, then he’s going to have to man the fuck up and do it himself.
Something tells me he won’t, though. He doesn’t want his friends to know he’s associated with me.
To address me in a room full of his peers would mean answering questions as to why the presence of a new sophomore bothers him so much.
Deciding to get under his skin, I place a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. I don’t even flinch when he slips an arm around my waist. If Kane has a problem, he can choke on it. I barely hear Jackson’s next words. I’m too focused on Kane, and the way his expression darkens, his jaw tightening.
“How about I get us a both a drink,” Jackson offers, breaking my train of thought.
I almost refuse, but Kane is still watching, so I let Jackson take my hand and begin to lead me to the kitchen.
On my way out of the living room, I notice Alex leaning against the wall with a girl grinding on him, his eyes locked on me. Mountain remains a silent storm, barely moving, but watching. And Kane glares like I just did something unforgivable.
When I first got here, I was invisible; now it’s as if I’m the center of attention.
The second Jackson and I are alone, I try to come up with a plan. I was never going to take the drink. I just wanted to get under Kane’s skin. Now that I’ve done that, I can leave content. I’ll just have to find a way to let this poor guy down without bruising another fragile ego.
Christina waves me over from the dance floor. I hold up a finger, silently stalling. I could join her, that would get me away from Jackson for sure, but then I’ll have to indulge her drunken stupor. Plus, I’d rather not be within eyeshot of Alex, Mountain, and Kane.
Whatever decision I make isn’t being made fast enough because the next thing I know, Jackson shoves a cup into my hand.
“Here you go.”
With a fake smile, I take it. “Thanks.”
“No problem. You’re cute, you know that?” Jackson says while looking me up and down, his eyes lingering uncomfortably long on my thighs. “We don’t usually get girls that look like you around here.”
I have no idea what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
Jackson motions to get my attention, pointing toward the front door. “Now that we have our drinks, come outside with me while I spark up.”
Hesitation grips my chest.
“Oh, come on. Keep me company,” he pleads when I don’t move.
With a slow nod, I follow. It’ll be fine since I need to leave in this direction anyway.
Jackson leads me across the threshold and past a group of guys on the porch.
We descend the short staircase, and I take in my surroundings.
There’s double the number of vehicles here now than when I arrived.
People loiter about as we walk to the side of the house, where the party noise fades into the background.
Close enough to still see people, but isolated enough that no one’s paying attention.
When I turn to face Jackson, he’s already pulling a joint from the pocket of his ripped jeans.
The flame from his lighter flickers against his smug expression as he lights up, then takes a long drag.
Smoke curls from his lips, slow and lazy, before he exhales into the cool night air like he owns it.
He holds the joint out in my direction. “Wanna hit?”
I frown. “Naw, I’m good. That’s not my thing.”
“Suit yourself.” Jackson takes another puff while staring me up and down, his eyes gluing to my thighs again.
“They don’t do random drug screens or something?” I fold my arms, careful not to spill the drink, and watch the cloud dissipate between us.
He chuckles. It’s low and condescending, as if I’m cute for being concerned. Like he doesn’t have a single consequence in the world.
Which, judging by the way he’s looking at me with sharp eyes, and a grin full of challenge, he probably doesn’t.
“Why, you plan on telling on me or something?” Jackson smirks.
“No.” I glance around. “It’s your lungs you’re nuking.”
He laughs, then his gaze drops to my untouched drink. “You didn’t even sip that.”
I shrug. “I’m not really thirsty.”
“That’s kind of shitty to waste perfectly good liquor. Plus it’s rude to make me drink alone.” His stare lingers too long.
Fine. Just a sip if it’ll get him to back off about it. I bring it to my lips as he watches me intently. I glance at the cup, more out of habit than anything. A frown forms along my brow, and I tilt the red cup just to be sure I’m not seeing things.
Turns out, I see just fine.
There’s something floating near the surface.
My stomach twists. I frown, tilting the cup under the dim light coming from the floodlights on the side of the house. It’s small, but it’s there. A film of something.
Jackson moves closer. “It’s just foam.”
My pulse spikes. I didn’t say anything about what I’m looking at, yet he has an answer for it.
My fingers tighten around the plastic, breath coming too fast. “Did you put something in my drink?”
His easy expression cracks, in its place a cold, defensive stare.
I step back but he grabs my wrist.
“Relax. You’re overthinking—”
Yanking free, I stumble. Some of the drink sloshes onto the ground. His face twists, frustration boiling over into something ugly. Before I can fully make sense of what’s happening, Jackson lunges, shoving me against the house, his breath hot and sour against my cheek.
“I said relax. We’re just talking. Getting to know each other better.”
I grunt, twisting and turning under his weight, my shoulder scraping against the cold siding of the house.
“You tried to drug me,” I blurt out, voice shaky but loud enough to punch through the haze of weed and alcohol between us.
Jackson stiffens; his joint and cup hit the ground with dull thuds as his hands shoot up to silence me.
“Shut the fuck up.” His voice drops into a growl that only I can hear but sharp enough to split me open. One hand clamps around my mouth, the other tightens on my arm, and suddenly the party noise fades behind the ringing in my ears.
“Do you know who I am?” he hisses, face so close I smell the whiskey clinging to his breath. “No one’s gonna believe you. I run this school, and I take what I want.”
My blood runs cold under the bruising force of his grip. I thrash harder, my heart thundering, panic roaring inside me. And all I can think is I’ve been here before. Trapped. Cornered. Abused.
But not this time.
This time, I scream.
“Get off me.”
His fingers grip my neck, squeezing just enough to make my pulse hammer.
The music is too loud, so no one seems to hear me.
Those fight instincts rear their ugly head and without another thought, I bare my teeth, snap forward, and sink them into his arm.
His grip loosens for a fraction of a second. It’s all I need.
I knee him between his thighs. Jackson huddles over, grabbing himself, pain staining his face, and that’s when I do it: I draw back, and drive my boot into his kneecap with all the strength I can muster. A sickening crack pierces the air between us; then he crumples to the ground with a sharp yell.
“AHHH! You fucking bitch!”
It’s either him or me—and it damn sure won’t be me. I don’t stick around, taking off before the words fully leave his sadistic lips. And as I sprint to safety, I hear voices behind me.
“Sam!” It’s Christina’s voice. “Oh my God! Jackson, what happened?”
I won’t stop. Not until I’m far, far away from here.