16. Knox
Chapter 16
Knox
“I really need to discuss this menu with the dean,” I say, poking the prime rib on my plate with a fork as if it’s diseased.
“Better than lasagna.” Silas shoves a mouthful of creamed horseradish into his mouth. “’an’t ’ucking stand lasagna.”
I force myself not to crap him out for talking with his mouth full, or for having his knife and fork in the wrong hands, or for putting his fucking elbows on the table...but if drilling table manners into him at every opportunity in the past few years hasn’t already worked, I doubt it ever will. That’s why kids have to be taught table etiquette from a young age. As soon as their diapers hit a fucking highchair, in fact.
“Where is she?” I scan the cafeteria again in case I somehow managed to miss Nim the first seventeen times I looked. Dinner began ten minutes ago. Some students are almost done already. Mason included—he practically inhaled his broth and didn’t pause before moving onto his main course. His appetite is astounding.
I cut a sliver of meat and slip it in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. The cuisine at Cinderhart Academy isn’t world-class but, despite my complaints, it’s a sore sight better than what I eat when I’m at home. My mother’s food wasn’t exactly the tastiest, although there was always a metric shit ton of it—perfect when you’re an energetic teenage boy.
I should call her, find out if she’s okay. It’s been a rough two months for her. I never realized she was such good friends with Nim’s parents. Their death hit her hard. She was inconsolable for days after the funeral which she claims Nim didn’t even attend. Goes to show how much little Nim loved her own parents, that ungrateful bitch. I reach for my glass of Diet Pepsi and pause when two figures appear at the cafeteria entrance. I instantly recognize Nim’s honey-brown hair.
Why the sight of her wide hazel eyes makes me forget to swallow, I can’t fathom.Maybe it’s her school uniform that’s throwing me off. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in it. I’ve been too busy to keep track of her. We all have. Secretly, I think we were hoping she’d run home in tears after the way we treated her yesterday.
“Well slap my—” Mason begins, but I cut him off with a brisk,”Not today, Sally.”
“But she’s so fucking adorable ,” Mason says through a laugh, putting his fork down for the first time since we sat down at our bench. “What with that little bow? Oh my fuck, and those little stockings ?—”
“Would you shut it ?” I cut in.Students one bench over turn to look.
There’s always room at our table—only a handful of students dare sit near us. Even Mason’s fans keep their distance when he’s with Silas and me. If it wasn’t for us, he’d be swatting away girls—and some guys—with a squash racket.
We’re sitting side-by-side, Silas in front of us. He has a habit of zoning out when he’s eating. The Four Horsemen could have galloped out of an apocalyptic sky and his response would be to shove another mouthful of creamed corn in his mouth. Silas happens to look up and stops chewing when he sees our faces.
“Wha’?” He turns to look over his shoulder. “Ah, ’uck me.”
We watch them at the buffet line as they dish up food. I’m on my feet the moment Nim and Romi take a seat. Nim has a fork of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth when I stop beside their bench. When she looks up and sees me standing over her, her fork clatters onto her plate.
Romi sits forward on her seat, hands twisting nervously in her lap. “I got her up to code.”
I don’t bother looking at her. I wouldn’t have acknowledged her existence if it wasn’t for Nim.
“Stand,” I tell Nim, pointing to the space in front of me.
“What?” Her hazel eyes go even bigger.
“Now, Winters.”
Nim looks to Romi for help, but Furino knows better than to get involved. Her roommate bows her head and starts picking listlessly at her garden salad. Slowly, reluctantly, Nim slides out of her seat and comes to stand in front of me.
I take her in with a quick, condescending sweep of my eyes.
“That’s not how you tie this.” I grab the end of her silver bow and yank it loose. “Do you even know what a pussycat bow is ?”
“That’s my fault. I should have shown her,” Romi says. When I look at her, she wilts in her seat like a blow-torched dandelion. Nim doesn’t shrivel like Romi. In fact, she lifts her chin and pushes back her shoulders like she’s getting ready for a fight.
I tilt my head, fascinated by her defiance, but before I can get another word out, Silas steps up beside me.
“Your hair is a mess,” he tells her.”Do you own a brush?”
She pats self-consciously at her messy bun. “Yes, of course?—”
“Then have Furino show you how to use it.” He grabs her hair tie and yanks it from her hair. She gasps when it gets caught, grabbing her scalp and gaping incredulously at Silas.
It serves her right. If she’d bothered brushing her hair, it wouldn’t have gotten stuck.
“Are those stockings laddered? ” Mason grumbles to my other side. “Un-fucking-acceptable, Winters.”
A few of the students sitting nearby are starting to pay attention. Fuck, who am I kidding? The entire cafeteria watched me walk over here. Everyone within earshot is listening, and those who aren’t are wishing they had Wolverine’s hearing so they could be listening.
It’s not uncommon for me to single out students. I share Cinderhart Academy’s sense of school pride—and I’m a brutal enforcer on my best day. But Mason and Silas don’t normally jump on board like this.
“Hands,” I say.
She stares at me with open shock.
“Your hands, Winters.”
Hesitantly, she holds them out, palms up, as if she’s expecting me to give her something.
I look at the ceiling, blatantly composing myself.
“He wants to see your nails,” Romi hisses at her from the bench.
“You’re fu—” Nim begins, but Romi cuts in with a loud cough. When I look down, Nim’s mouth is in a furious little line, but she’s holding her fingers out straight so I can inspect her nails.
There’s nothing I can fault her on there, except maybe having too dainty hands. I hope she’s not planning a career in anything that requires physical dexterity.
She’d need to use both hands to hold my dick.
Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t spend ten seconds around this girl without turning into a horny teenager. I blame those big eyes of hers. Glittering with innocence in one blink, full of fury the next.
“You’re a fucking mess, Winters,” I snap, an uncharacteristic edge in my voice. “I’ve known show dogs who clean up better than you.”
Finally, there it is. The prettiest pink touches her cheeks as her anger simmers into embarrassment. She’s bruised, but I want—need—to break her.
“Even mutts can be taught,” Silas says quietly, his words meant only for the four of us. “That’s what makes dogs such good pets.”
“You’re right, Miller,” I muse, putting my head to the side as I study Nim. “This bitch simply lacks the necessary training.”
“Easy fix,” Mason says, his voice at its lowest, its roughest.
Heholds out his hand, and I hand him Nim’s necktie. All jokes aside, I really do have to show her how it’s done. A proper pussycat bow on a neck as slim and pale as Nim’s? Mmm .
Her nostrils flare when she catches sight of my expression, and I turn to Silas to break eye contact. He gives me Nim’s hair tie, her eyes darting between Mason and me as we both step closer to her. Mason makes his move first, looping her tie over the back of her neck and tugging her close. She immediately starts struggling, especially when I walk behind her and grab her hair.
The entire cafeteria has gone silent, even Romi. No one dares interfere in case they become our next target. Mason goes to work tying a simple knot at Nim’s throat, leaving about two feet of shiny satin free as a leash, while I plait her hair into a quick French braid. A messy one, since I don’t have a brush, but it’s enough to keep her hair out of her face so everyone can see how she’s glowing with shame. I come around to the front, giving her another once-over like I’m assessing the changes we made.
“Down,” I say, snapping my fingers and pointing at the floor.
She stares at me with incredulity and shock painted on her oval face. Mason tugs at her leash until she bends at the waist. Slowly she lowers onto hands and knees.
“Good girl,” I murmur, reaching over her to grab an olive from Romi’s salad bowl. Her roommatesits back in a rush, her head still bowed, and does nothing to stop me.
No one ever does.
I force that stuffed olive between Nim’s lips, and we watch as she chews, grimaces, and swallows.
“Clever little bitch,” Silas says.
“Come, girl,” I say, snapping my fingers at my side as I start walking away. When I glance over my shoulder, Nim is glaring white-hot daggers at me. But Mason starts walking, tugging at her leash, and she has no choice but to follow.
The cafeteria breaks into laughter and whoops as we lead Nim back to our table on her hands and knees. Luckily her stockings were already laddered—it would have been a shame to ruin a perfectly good pair.
I slide quickly onto my seat. I’ve been sporting a semi ever since I watched Mason tie that knot around Nim’s throat. And from the way Silas was watching Nim’s ass sway when we crossed the cafeteria, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s having some dirty thoughts of his own.
“Sit,” Mason commands, giving the leash a harsh tug when Nim doesn’t instantly obey. She sinks back onto her heels, her head hanging low.
I honestly thought we’d broken her when we start eating and she doesn’t look up. But then Mason makes a kissing sound, and Nim tips her head back to see what he wants. He holds out a baby carrot for her, making louder kissing sounds like he’s trying to entice her.
The rage in her eyes is otherworldly but she leans forward and takes the snack from him with her teeth. When some butter trickles over her bottom lip, she licks it up.
“Our little pet likes carrots, doesn’t she?” Mason says in a baby voice.
“Want more?” Mason asks.
Nim says nothing.
“Beg,” he instructs.
Seniors one table over start laughing.
Nim doesn’t obey. She sends that scathing glare over all three of us, grabs the edge of the table and comes up to her knees, leaning close. “I’ll tell them what you did,” she whispers, breathless, enraged. “When, where, how. ”
I grab the leash and yank her close, lifting her chin so I can stare down into her eyes. She grabs onto my thigh to steady herself, and my cock thickens in my lap like it thinks she’s about to start blowing me.
“Then do it, little Nim,” I whisper, stroking my thumb along her bottom lip. “Do it, and see what happens.”
I grab the front of her throat and push her backso hard that she topples onto her side, flashing a pair of black and pink polka-dot panties at us before she can recover and pull down her skirt.
That’s not all I see. The pink S-shaped brand on her pale inner thigh is clearly visible. Suddenly, I’m too aware of all the eyes on her. Everyone who can see what we did to Nim.Except, no one knows it was us.
She tugs her dress down so quickly, it’s like she’s been practicing to keep that mark a secret.
I don’t want anyone to see that mark. I don’t want anyone to see her. And when I stand and happen to catch Mason and Silas’ eye, I see that inexplicable possessiveness mirrored on their faces.
“Go to your room,” I instruct her, pointing to the cafeteria’s exit. “And if I ever see you in such a state of disarray again, I’ll have you suspended.”
Nim wastes no time getting up, but she doesn’t run from the cafeteria like a scared little girl. She pulls her clothes straight, slowly unties the bow around her neck and rips her hair tie out of her braid.My hands curl into fists when she stares me down and slowly starts undoing my braid, one twist at a time. She says nothing—from how the muscles in her neck cord, perhaps she’s too emotional to speak.Her silence, the stony anger on her face, it makes me want to pull her onto my lap and warm up her ass with a few slaps.
“Knox, relax,” Mason murmurs, and perhaps just in time because I was about to launch myself at her, and I know exactly what I would do when I got my hands on her.
“Get out!” I yell, stabbing a finger at the exit.
My voice seems to echo too many times. Hollow, unstable. Nim flinches, but when she backs up, it’s slowly. And when she finally turns and walks out of the cafeteria, it’s with her head held high.
I sit down, reach for my drink, and yank my hand into my lap when I see how it’s shaking. Focusing on my plate for a second, I wait until the tremors have dissipated, and then draw my serviette over my lap and pick up my knife and fork.
“She’s a fucking mess,” Silas says.
“Yes.” I cut a sliver of meat and pause, my wrists resting on the table as I look at each of them in turn. “But she’s our mess. And we need to clean that shit up.”