Stalked (Blackwood Brothers #4)

Chapter 1 Lia

LIA

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO…

Islam my textbook on the desk, not even trying to hide my irritation as Vane Blackwood saunters into AP Chemistry like he owns the place. Ten minutes late. Again.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Blackwood,” Mr. Peterson says, barely looking up from the equation he’s writing.

Vane smirks—that infuriating half-smile that makes the girls swoon and makes me want to slap it off his perfect face. He slides into the seat beside mine, the only empty one in the lab.

“Morning, Morgan,” he whispers, leaning closer than necessary. “Miss me?”

“Like a case of strep.” I shift away, focusing on my notes.

Mr. Peterson pairs us up for the experiment, and I contemplate the odds of accidentally poisoning my lab partner. Vane reaches for the beaker at the same time I do, his fingers brushing against mine. I pull back like I’ve been burned.

“Problem?” His green eyes lock on mine, challenging.

“Just wondering how someone who can’t be bothered to make it to class on time is going to contribute anything useful when they missed the assignment discussion entirely.” I measure the sodium hydroxide, refusing to look at him.

“I got the highest score on the midterm.” He leans against the lab table, arms crossed. “What's your excuse for coming in second?”

My cheeks burn. One point. He beat me by one point, and he’s never let me forget it.

I roll my eyes and return to the experiment, carefully adding the base to our solution. One point. It shouldn’t bother me this much, but with Vane, everything gets under my skin.

“You could at least pretend to care about your education,” I mutter, watching the liquid change color. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of skating by on natural talent.”

Something shifts in his expression—a tightness around his eyes that I’ve never noticed before.

“You don't know anything about me.” His voice drops, losing its trademark cocky edge.

“I know enough.”

He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “You know what I let you see.”

I pause, pipette hovering over the beaker. There's something in his tone that makes me look at him—really look at him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his face looks thinner than I remember.

“Everything okay at home?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Vane stiffens. “Spectacular. Xavier's working double shifts at the garage, Landon's a freaking psycho, and Knox set the kitchen on fire trying to make dinner last night.” He shakes his head. “But hey, at least we're not in an abusive foster home anymore.”

The casual way he drops this information stuns me into silence. I knew the Blackwood brothers bounced around foster homes since their parents died. What I didn't know is that Xavier is supporting his brothers at the age of twenty.

“I didn't know.”

“Why would you?” He measures out the next chemical. “It's not like I advertise it.”

“Is that why you're late all the time? Taking your brothers to school?”

Vane's jaw tightens. “Someone has to make sure they get there.”

I watch him work, suddenly seeing beyond the arrogant facade to the responsibility weighing on his shoulders. It doesn't excuse his behavior, but it explains a lot more than I expected.

I open my mouth to say something—I'm not sure what—but Vane's face has already transformed, that brief glimpse of vulnerability vanished without a trace.

“Don't get all soft on me now, Morgan.” His smirk returns, walls rebuilt higher than before. “I don't need your pity.”

“Trust me, pity is the last thing I feel for you.” I focus on titrating our solution, refusing to acknowledge the twist in my chest. It's easier this way, returning to what we know.

Vane leans over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. “You're adding too much. The indicator's about to change.”

I jerk away from his proximity. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Clearly.” He watches as the solution turns bright pink, overshooting our target endpoint. “Perfect work as always, second place.”

“The difference between us is I'm here to learn, not just to make everyone uncomfortable,” I snap, hating how easily he gets under my skin. “Some of us actually care about our future.”

“And some of us have more important things to deal with than Peterson's boring classes.” He takes the flask from my hand, our fingers brushing again. This time, I don't pull away fast enough, and something electric shoots up my arm.

Vane notices—of course, he notices—and his lips curl into something darker than his usual smirk. “What are you thinking right now?”

“Just wondering if arrogance is contagious.” I turn away, hoping he doesn't see the flush creeping up my neck. “I'd hate to catch your particular strain.”

He laughs, the sound low and genuine enough that several heads turn our way. “You couldn't pull off arrogance if you tried. Too busy being perfect.”

“I'm not perfect.” The words come out more defensive than I intended.

“No?” Vane leans in again, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something woodsy that absolutely does not make my pulse quicken. “Could've fooled me.”

His eyes drop to my lips for a second before he turns back to our experiment, leaving me flustered and furious with myself.

The bell rings, and I've never packed up so quickly. I need to get away from Vane and the strange effect he has on me—especially now that I know things I wish I didn't. Knowing about his family situation makes it harder to hate him, and I need that hatred. It fuels me.

I rush down the corridor and almost walk past my friends.

“Earth to Lia,” Megan says, leaning against the lockers. Her curly hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun that somehow looks effortlessly chic. “You look like you're plotting murder.”

“I am,” I mutter, joining her and the rest of our group. James and Zoe are already deep in conversation about the calc test later, while Dani scrolls through her phone.

“Let me guess,” Dani says, looking up. “Vane Blackwood?”

“He's insufferable! You should've seen him today, swaggering in late like he's God's gift to chemistry, and then having the nerve to criticize my lab technique.”

James adjusts his glasses. “To be fair, he is kind of a genius.”

“Not helping,” I hiss.

“Speaking of the devil,” Dani murmurs, nudging me.

I turn to see Vane walking past with a few guys from the basketball team. He slows when he spots me, that infuriating smirk appearing instantly.

“Already telling your fan club about our chemistry class?” he calls out. “Don't worry, I won't tell them you almost blew up the lab.”

“I did not—” I start, but he's already walking away, laughing with his friends.

“Why do you let him get to you?” Megan asks as we head toward the school exit. “Free period coffee run? I need caffeine before Spanish.”

“Yes, please,” Zoe agrees. “I'll text Jordan to meet us there.”

“I don't let him get to me,” I insist, following them out into the crisp autumn air. “He's just so...”

“Hot?” Dani suggests, grinning when I glare at her. “What? You can hate someone and still acknowledge they're attractive. It's called having eyes.”

“It's called having terrible taste,” I counter as we cross the street toward Beans, our favorite local coffee shop.

“Terrible taste is James's thing,” Megan says, dodging James's half-hearted swipe.

“My taste in friends, apparently,” he retorts, but he's smiling.

The line at Beans stretches almost to the door, but we claim our usual corner booth while Megan and James brave the counter.

“So,” Dani slides in next to me, her voice dropping. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to strangle Vane today?”

“Fifteen,” I say, pulling out my calculus notes. “And before you start with the sexual tension theory again—”

“I didn't say anything!” Dani holds up her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk says everything.

Zoe laughs, settling across from us. “Your face gets all flushed whenever his name comes up. It's kind of adorable.”

“It's called rage,” I correct her, feeling that telltale heat creeping up my neck. “Pure, unadulterated rage.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dani's knowing look makes me want to disappear under the table.

James and Megan return with a tray of drinks, saving me from further interrogation.

“One vanilla latte for the woman who's definitely not thinking about Vane Blackwood's biceps,” Megan announces, sliding my drink toward me.

I nearly choke. “I was not—”

“Your words exactly when we passed him at the gym last week were; It should be illegal to fill out a T-shirt like that,” James reminds me, adjusting his glasses with a grin.

“That was... I meant it was distracting the female population from their workouts.” I wrap my hands around my cup, focusing on the warmth rather than the memory of Vane's arms.

“Right,” Zoe says, stirring her chai. “Just like you hate his stupid smirk and his stupidly perfect jawline.”

I groan, dropping my head onto my textbook. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”

The truth is, Vane Blackwood is objectively attractive.

I'm not blind. But acknowledging that feels like conceding something in our on-going rivalry, like giving him power he doesn't deserve.

It's easier to focus on how much I hate his arrogance, his casual disregard for rules, and that infuriating way he has of making me feel like I'm always one step behind.

“Fine,” Megan relents. “But denying you find him hot doesn't make it less true.”

“I can find someone physically attractive and still think they're the human equivalent of a paper cut,” I mutter into my coffee.

“Enough Vane talk, I’ve got a question about the calc test,” Zoe says, mercifully changing the subject, “did anyone understand that weird integration formula Kendall was talking about yesterday?”

I latch onto the lifeline, grateful for anything that isn't Vane Blackwood. “You mean the integration by parts?”

While James launches into an explanation that's somehow both more complicated and less helpful than the textbook, I try to focus on my latte.

The warm, sweet vanilla normally calms me, but today my thoughts keep drifting back to chemistry class.

To those dark circles under Vane's eyes.

To his casual mention of him and Xavier taking care of his younger brothers.

I shake my head slightly. Stop it. I refuse to feel sorry for him. Plenty of people have hard lives and don't act like entitled jerks.

“Earth to Lia, again,” Megan waves her hand in front of my face. “We're talking about Jordan's party this weekend. Are you coming or what?”

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Yeah, probably. Depends on how much homework we get.”

Dani rolls her eyes. “Of course it does.”

“Some of us care about our futures,” I say, then wince as I realize I'm echoing exactly what I said to Vane earlier.

“The future can wait one night,” Zoe says. “It's senior year. We're supposed to have some fun before college applications eat our souls.”

I nod, pretending to consider the party while my mind stubbornly circles back to Vane. I picture him at home, making sure Knox doesn't burn the house down, checking Landon's homework. It doesn't fit with the image I've built of him over the years.

“Did you guys finish that English essay?” I ask, desperately trying to redirect my own thoughts. “I'm not sure about my conclusion.”

James groans. “Don't remind me. I've rewritten mine three times.”

Good. This is safe territory. School, assignments, normal friend stuff. Not green eyes that seem to see right through me, or the strange electric feeling when our hands touched.

I take a large sip of my latte, burning my tongue in the process. Perhaps physical pain will override the malfunction occurring in my brain today.