Chapter 12 Assholes
It’s pitch black. My ears ring from the silence. Anxiety threatens to take over. I remind myself to breathe.
Light floods the space, my eyes burn.
“Get out.” Daniel’s voice is gruff.
I scramble to get out. He grabs a fistful of my hair and throws me against the wall.
“Hurry the fuck up. You’re so slow.”
I grit my teeth against the pain as I stand. I keep my eyes trained to the floor.
“Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
He slaps me, my whole body crumpling against the wall.
“No, what?” he spits..
“No, sir.” Silent tears run down my tears.
“You pathetic, weak, excuse of life. Such a waste of space. Crying over a little slap.” He grunts, yanking my arm so hard it nearly pops out of the socket.
I’m suddenly in the living room, cheek rubbing against the carpet.
The deranged laugh track blares in my ears.
“You’ll never be anything.” His fingers dig into my hips.
I try to move but I’m tied down.
“Such a good girl for your daddy.”
I scream.
The sun barely cuts through the drawn curtains when the alarm buzzes on my phone. I groan, rolling over, the sheets twisting around my legs. My body aches like I ran a marathon in my sleep.
Even here—behind locked doors and motion sensors—I couldn’t stop it.
By the time I drag myself through the shower and into my uniform, I feel like a ghost wearing my own skin. I line my eyes in kohl to hide the tiredness. Tame my hair into a ponytail. When I finally step out into the hallway, everything feels too bright.
Too loud.
I keep my head down throughout the morning, the nightmares following me like a cloud.
Before third block starts, I take a seat up near the back, hoping to blend in. I should’ve known better.
Jace slides into the seat behind me. I feel him before I even hear him — that cold presence like a knife drawn quietly in a dark room.
“Rough night, Ashthorne?”
His voice is low and smooth, a private whisper against the back of my neck.
I stiffen, straightening without turning around. “Why? Looking to send a sympathy card?”
A soft chuckle. “Not exactly. Just thought you looked a little…” He pauses. “Haunted.”
I clench my pen tighter. My hand stills over my notebook.
“Must be the lighting,” I mutter, not trusting myself to say more.
He leans in, voice dipping even lower. “You’re not sleeping well. That’s a shame.” A beat. “Blackmoore’s supposed to be safe, isn’t it?”
I turn just enough to meet his eyes. Blue. Cold. Studying me like a question he already knows the answer to.
“Get a hobby,” I say quietly.
He smiles—if you can call that twist of his mouth a smile. “You are my hobby.”
Then he sits back, completely at ease. The teacher starts the lesson. I don’t hear a word of it. I feel the burn of his stare between my shoulder blades the entire time.
I know something is wrong the second I step into the atrium on my way back to my dorm.
It’s too quiet. Not the good kind, either. The kind that hums under your skin and makes your instincts curl up like a cornered animal.
Too late now. They’re waiting.
Tex perches up on the arm of a leather couch like a predator scanning for prey. Luca, sprawls nearby with an apple in hand, a lazy smile as his eyes track me. Noah’s already staring at me, the blue glow of a tablet reflected in his face. And Jace, of course. Standing. Silent. Watching.
I move to walk past, pretend I don’t see them—but Noah lifts the tablet, and my name flashes across the screen.
ISOBEL GRACE ASHTHORNE
My blood runs cold.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, voice low.
Noah smirks. “Just some light reading. School files are surprisingly easy to access when you know where to look.”
I lurch forward, hand outstretched. “Give it—”
“Did you know,” Luca interrupts, grinning lazily, “you’ve moved… what, six times in the last five years?”
Tex whistles. “That’s gotta be a record.”
“Foster homes. Group homes. Temporary placements,” Noah lists, flicking through the file like he’s swiping a menu. “Oh, here’s a fun one— ‘removed due to suspected domestic abuse.’ But no charges were ever filed.”
Jace doesn’t say a word. Just watches me. Waiting.
My mouth dries. I can’t breathe. It’s like they’ve cracked me open without touching me.
“You read my file,” I say, voice hoarse. “You violated—”
Luca laughs. “Violated? Sweetheart, that would require rules. There are none for people like us.”
“It’s funny,” Tex says. “You act like you’re so tough. But this? This is who you really are.”
I take a step back, but the door feels miles away.
“Damaged,” Noah murmurs. “Disposable.”
“I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m not—”
“You're a charity case,” Jace says, finally breaking his silence. His voice is razor-sharp and soft all at once. “A broken little girl Daddy couldn’t keep hidden anymore.”
Something inside me cracks. I want to scream. I want to hit them. I want to disappear. But I won’t give them that. Not a single tear. Not an inch of weakness. I belong here. I won’t run from my legacy.
I meet Jace’s gaze, and, somehow, I manage to stand taller. My voice shakes, but I make it work.
“You had to dig through my file to find something to hurt me with,” I say. “Must be hard, being so powerful and still that pathetic. I’ve survived a lot worse than four spoiled assholes in blazers with nothing better to do with their time.”
The smirk fades from Luca’s mouth. Noah’s fingers pause over the screen. Tex’s expression darkens.
Jace narrows his eyes. “You’ll regret that.”
I already do. But I don’t show it. I just walk.
Even though I feel like my legs might give out any second, I walk. I don’t look back.
The trees loom overhead, the branches clawing like they want to pull the night down with them.
Someone has strung fairy lights between trunks, their glow flickering gold through the dark like fireflies on a sugar rush.
Music pulses in the distance, carried by the wind and the laughter of too many rich kids with too few consequences.
Dakota tugs at my sleeve. “You sure you’re okay? We can bail. Say the word.”
I adjust the leather jacket around my shoulders. “It’s fine. I’m not going to let them get to me.”
The woods are alive with commotion—bottles clinking, shadows dancing between fire pits, someone already shrieking with laughter near the edge of the clearing.
The energy is feral, different from the marble halls and cold glances of Blackmoore Academy.
Out here, no teachers. No uniforms. Just teenagers and trouble.
Dakota nudges me as we step fully into the clearing. “That's Cressida Lorne. Junior council. And over there’s Felix, he’s—well, kind of a jerk but his family bankrolls a lot of the academy’s events. He’s a sophomore.”
“And the host?”
She tilts her head toward the center bonfire. “Tall guy in the black hoodie, sipping something from a flask. That’s Kellan. Sophomore. Trust fund anarchist. Throws these ‘forest ragers’ every few weeks. Teachers pretend they don’t know.”
I take it all in, the way people melt into each other, conversations sparking, cigarettes glowing like embers between painted nails. Someone already has a speaker on full blast, blasting bass that makes the dirt hum underfoot.
Then I feel it.
That shift in atmosphere. Heads turning. A subtle ripple of tension passing through the clearing. Dakota stiffens beside me.
“They’re here,” she mutters.
I don’t have to ask who.
From the shadows, they emerge one by one—black coats, lazy grins, danger glinting in their eyes.
Jace walks with intent, clearly expecting people to move aside like he’s royalty.
Luca wears a smirk with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, dragging his fingers through his hair.
Tex shoves someone out of his path with his shoulder without even looking at them.
Noah brings up the rear, the lights reflecting in his glasses.
Jace’s eyes meet mine. No smile. Just that quiet calculation. I don’t look away.
Evie and Brynn appear at my side with two plastic cups in each of their hands, breathless and flushed.
“I bribed the guy with the good stash,” Brynn grins, offering me one of the cups. “Tastes like lighter fluid, but it’ll do the trick.”
Evie hands Dakota the other cup.
I accept it, eyeing the liquid warily before taking a small sip. It does taste like lighter fluid, with maybe a hint of lime.
“God, that’s awful,” I cough.
“Exactly.” Dakota grabs my free hand. “Now c’mon. We don’t come here to stand around.”
I hesitate. The clearing has turned into a writhing mess of limbs and sound—bass thumping through the speakers, people grinding, hands roaming. I’m not used to this kind of chaos. It makes my skin buzz, but not entirely in a bad way.
Dakota tugs me again. “Come on, sister.”
I follow her and the girls into the fray. The crowd swallowing us whole.
Heat and sweat and laughter blur together. Dakota twirls, her curls bouncing as she dances. Evie and Brynn dance next to us wildly. I keep my movements smaller, guarded, but let the beat settle into my bones. For the first time in a while, I’m not watching the world move around me. I’m in it.
Evie leans close, yelling over the music, “See? Not so bad!”
I smile—an actual one, I think—and raise my cup toward her in mock salute. “Maybe a little bad.”
We spin back into the rhythm, surrounded by strangers but cocooned in our own reckless energy. I almost forget the boys in the shadows, watching like wolves waiting for prey.
Almost.
I can feel eyes on me. I turn away from them. Let them watch, let them all watch, the little voice inside my head chants encouragingly.
I take another gulp of the lighter fluid, forcing it down. Letting the warmth spread through to my fingertips and down to my toes in my black combat boots. I let my hips swing more, my eyes closing, and my head falling back. The simple tight navy dress I’m wearing is soft against my body as I move.
Hands wrap around my waist and hot breath fans my ear.
“Let’s dance, sexy.” He squeezes my hips.