15. Elle
15
ELLE
I s it possible to be shell-shocked even though you’ve never been to war? It must be. Because that’s how I feel right now. I feel like a bomb just went off and I was hit by the shockwave.
What the hell just happened?
Lifting my hand, I brush my fingers over my lips while I watch Tristan stride away from the alley. The muscles in his back shift underneath his black t-shirt as he rolls his shoulders and then flexes his right hand. Repeatedly. I stare at those stunning tattoos that cover his arms before I drag my gaze up to the back of his head again.
My fingers remain against my lips.
My utterly, thoroughly, kissed lips.
Disbelief rings like bells inside my skull.
What on earth just happened? I thought he hated me. But God, the way he kissed me. That’s not how you kiss someone you hate. You don’t even kiss someone you hate at all. So what is going on here?
And more importantly, why did I kiss him back? He has been making my life hell since the day I got here. I shouldn’t have kissed him back. I should have pushed him off. Slapped him. Run away. Screamed. Something. Anything. Anything except kiss him back.
Standing there frozen by the wall, I watch Tristan disappear from view.
The sight fills me with both relief and an unexpected pang of disappointment.
There is something about Tristan Kane that makes me feel wild. Makes me feel free in a way that I never have before. As if I can shatter the suffocating rules and restrictions that have dictated my life from the day I was born. Something that makes me feel as if I can scream and react and feel and breathe, and that that’s okay. And every time I see him, he somehow pushes me farther and farther towards that version of myself.
It terrifies me. But at the same time, it fills me with excitement so intense that it leaves me lightheaded.
Letting my hand drop from my mouth, I draw in a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I feel breathless. My pulse still pounds in my ears and my skin is on fire from where he touched me. I have to resist an incredibly strong urge to lift my hoodie and press my palms against my stomach to see if I can still feel the heat of his hands there.
Instead, I raise my hands and rake them through my hair a few times until I have smoothened it down again. Then I give my head a firm shake to clear it of all the stupid thoughts that still linger in there.
Crouching down, I push my new bed linen back into the paper bag and then lift it from the ground. It rustles faintly into the now silent afternoon.
The sound of it snaps me back to reality. The reason that I went to the shop to buy these sheets was because Tristan left a dead rat in my bed. Not three hours ago, I was ready to kill him for that. And now I’m suddenly reeling because he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me as if he had waited his entire life for it.
God, I’m pathetic. And stupid.
I don’t know why Tristan is playing this game of hot and cold, but I need to get my head on straight and focus on what’s important. Rebuilding my perfect reputation so that I will never have to hear the disappointment in my dad’s voice again.
Straightening my spine, I give myself a determined nod and then stride out of the alley.
Winds whirl down the street, pulling at my hair and making me shiver. I’m glad I put on the hoodie before I left. I usually only wear hoodies inside my own home, since it’s not proper attire for the daughter of the mayor, but after everything that went down with the rats, I found myself not caring if people saw me in a hoodie. I won’t be able to wear it again, though. At least not if I want to repair my public image.
I glance up and down the road as I reach the one leading to my dorm room. Freestanding houses made of white stone line the street on my left while the buildings on the right are much larger, since they contain dormitories. The small lawns around the houses are neat. A few people sit in chairs outside one of the houses, and a couple of people are coming down the sidewalk on the other side. But no sign of Tristan.
Not that I was looking for him or anything.
Letting out an annoyed breath, I shake my head at myself yet again and then pick up the pace.
I have almost reached the large building that houses my dorm room when I spot two people I recognize. They’re coming right towards me on the sidewalk.
Dread seeps through my veins like ice. But I keep walking with my head held high. It’s not as if they’re here for me.
They draw closer.
I barely remember to breathe as the final distance between us evaporates and we’re right on top of each other. Keeping to the side, I get ready to simply slip past them. But an arm right before my chest blocks my path.
“Elle Summers.” Davidson, the campus police officer who wanted to arrest me for drug possession last week, keeps his arm out to block my escape while he gives me a sharp look. “I need you to remain here for a minute.”
I glance towards the woman next to him, the same woman who was also there when they searched my room, before I meet his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
Instead of answering, he looks to his colleague. “Ginny, search her bag. I’ll pat her down.”
Alarm spikes through me. But before I can say anything, the female officer, Ginny, rolls her eyes at him.
“I will pat her down,” she says. “You can search the?—”
“That was not a suggestion,” Davidson snaps.
I flinch at the sharp tone. God, he really seems to hate me. And I don’t even understand why.
Ginny hesitates. But apparently, Davidson outranks her, because she shoots me an apologetic look and then reaches for the paper bag in my hand. I hand it to her.
“Hold out your arms,” Davidson orders.
“On what grounds?” I ask, but I do hold my arms out to the sides as instructed. “I don’t understand. What is going on?”
The paper bag rustles into the silence as Ginny searches through it while Davidson starts patting me down as if I’m some kind of criminal. Each touch of his hands on my body sends unease rolling through me. But to his credit, he at least doesn’t touch anything inappropriate. He simply conducts an efficient pat-down.
Then his eyes light up as he reaches the pocket of my hoodie. I open my mouth to ask again what’s going on when he pulls out a knife from my pocket.
My mind goes blank.
With my mouth still open, I stare in stunned disbelief as he holds up the weapon in front of my face.
“Carrying a knife in public is illegal in this state, Ms. Summers,” Davidson says with both a hint of threat and smugness in his tone.
A knife? How on earth could he have found a knife in my pocket? I didn’t?—
Realization slams into me with the force of a freight train.
Tristan.
That’s why he kissed me. Not because he wanted me but because he needed to distract me while he slipped a knife into my pocket.
“Son of a bitch,” I blurt out, completely stunned.
“Excuse me?” Davison snaps.
“Oh, no. Not you, sir.” Shaking my head, I raise my hands while staring at him with desperate eyes. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t directed at you. It’s just… the knife isn’t mine.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Yeah, that excuse is starting to get a little old now, Ms. Summers.”
“But it’s true! I swear.”
Ginny shifts my bag of sheets to her left hand and then takes my arm in a gentle grip with her other. “I’m afraid you will still need to come with us. ”
Desperation washes over me, and I glance helplessly between the two of them. “But?—”
“No,” Davidson interrupts. His eyes are hard as he cuts me a look while he takes up position on my other side before they start leading me away. “No buts. I despise people like you. People who think that the rules don’t apply to you just because your parents are rich. People who have never had to work for anything in their life. People who?—”
Ginny clears her throat. Loudly.
Davidson blinks, startled, as if remembering himself. Raising his chin, he lets out a frustrated huff but doesn’t continue his arbitrary list of reasons why he hates me even though he knows nothing about me except for what he can read in my registration file.
I would’ve been furious at his presumptions and his strange vendetta against me if I hadn’t been so freaking nervous. What if I’m actually charged with carrying a weapon?
“Please,” I say, softening my voice as I glance between the two of them again. “I swear that the knife isn’t mine. I was set up.”
Ginny gives me a curious glance, but Davidson just keeps staring straight ahead.
“You received another anonymous tip, right?” I press on. “That’s why you came to search me. And how you knew where to find me right at this particular moment.”
Their silence is answer enough. Ginny flicks a quick look at Davidson, but he just keeps his chin raised and his eyes on the road ahead.
“It’s because I’m being set up,” I say.
“By who?” Ginny asks.
“Tristan Kane. ”
He just planted a weapon in my pocket and called campus police on me, so I have no qualms about throwing him under the bus now. He deserves it. That damn snake.
“He wants revenge for something that happened when we were in high school,” I explain. “That’s why he’s doing this. He put the drugs in my room and tipped you off last week. And now he put the knife in my clothes just a few minutes ago and then tipped you off again.”
They say nothing.
“Please,” I beg. “You can test the knife for fingerprints. I’ve never touched it.”
“Do you really think we have a full-on CSI lab on campus?” Davidson retorts, sounding both frustrated and insulted at the same time.
“But—”
“Save it.”
Closing my mouth again, I swallow down the dread crawling up my throat. Panic clangs inside my skull. But somehow, both of those emotions are almost completely drowned out by the rising wave of burning rage that consumes my entire soul.
Tristan Kane.
Oh he’s a member of the White Serpents, alright. What an absolute snake he is. I can’t believe he had the audacity to kiss me like that only for it to turn out to be a ruse. And not just any ruse. A ruse to get me arrested for carrying a weapon in public.
I’m going to kill him for this.