23. Willow
23
WILLOW
T he halls of school are louder today, buzzing with whispers that hum around me like a hive on the verge of chaos. I don’t need to strain to hear them—snippets of conversations and stolen glances follow me like shadows. Something has shifted since last night, something electric and tangible, though no one would dare say it to my face.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m practically swimming in Cast’s oversized button-up. Or maybe it does. The soft fabric brushing against my skin feels like a shield, a brand that declares who I belong to without a single word. But there’s more to this tension—it’s heavier, darker, a prelude to a storm.
I turn a corner and nearly collide with Ricardo, his imposing frame appearing like he materialized out of thin air. His face is locked in its usual dark expression, the permanent scowl etched so deeply it might as well be carved in stone.
“Morning, sunshine,” I tease lightly, trying to meet his gaze. Nothing. His eyes dart around, scanning the crowded hallway, looking for threats I can’t see.
“You know, a simple ‘good morning’ wouldn’t kill you,” I say as we fall into step together. Silence. “Seriously, Ricardo, you’ve got to work on your people skills. I mean, how do you even order coffee? Do you just point and grunt?”
Still nothing.
“Okay, fine,” I huff, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t have to talk to me, but at least pretend I’m not completely invisible.”
Ricardo doesn’t even blink. His gaze is locked on something—or someone—down the hall. I follow his line of sight, but there’s nothing there but a group of freshmen giggling over their phones. He’s been like this for three weeks now, ever since Cast declared that I couldn’t be alone for more than a minute.
I sigh and shake my head, muttering to myself as we reach my locker. “It’s like talking to a wall. Except walls don’t carry guns.”
Ricardo shifts slightly, his hand brushing against his jacket where I know he keeps one of his weapons. He doesn’t need to say anything; the gesture is enough to remind me that he’s not here to chat.
I roll my eyes as I spin the combination on my lock. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
The door swings open with a metallic groan, and for a second, I’m lost in thought, rummaging through my books. But then the smell hits me—floral, sweet, and intoxicating. My breath catches, and I freeze, my eyes landing on a bouquet of white lilies nestled inside my locker.
They’re beautiful, almost too perfect, their petals pristine and delicate. But it’s not the flowers that make my heart race—it’s the note tucked among them, the stark black lettering on crisp white paper.
For the new reigning queen.
The world narrows to that bouquet, the lilies so white they almost glow against the dull metal of my locker. My heart stutters, and my fingers tremble as I reach for the note tucked between the petals.
For the new reigning queen.
The words loop in my head like a song I can’t turn off, each repetition louder and more intoxicating. My cheeks warm as the realization settles over me—Cast must have sent them. This is his way of finally acknowledging what I’ve been to him, what I could be.
Not just a pawn. Something more.
I clutch the note to my chest, grinning so wide it almost hurts. Without another thought, I slam my locker shut, startling Ricardo, who steps closer like he’s ready for an attack.
“Relax,” I say, breezing past him with a bounce in my step. “I’ll be back.”
He follows, of course, his boots heavy on the tile floor as I weave through the crowded hallways. I don’t care about the stares or the whispers. My head is buzzing, my pulse thrumming with excitement.
When I finally push open the doors to the bleachers, the cool air hits my face, clearing some of the fog of my giddiness. Cast is there, of course, sitting on the top row like he owns the whole world, a joint hanging loosely between his fingers. Smoke curls lazily around him, the scent earthy and sharp.
“Cast!” I call, my voice carrying across the empty space.
His eyes flicker down to me, green and sharp, narrowing slightly as I bound up the steps two at a time. By the time I reach him, I’m breathless, but I don’t stop.
Without thinking, I drop the note and the flowers on the bench beside him and throw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his. He stiffens at first, startled, but he recovers quickly, his free hand gripping my waist, pulling me closer.
“Thank you,” I murmur against his mouth, my words tumbling out in a rush. “For the flowers. And the note. I knew you saw me, Cast. I knew it.”
He pulls back, his brows furrowing as he looks down at the bouquet and the note. For a moment, he says nothing, his face unreadable. Then, he takes another drag of his joint, exhaling the smoke slowly before speaking.
“Willow,” he says, his voice low and measured. “I didn’t send those.”
The words hit me like a slap, and I blink at him, confused. “What? But… who else would?—?”
“Not me,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for doubt. His gaze shifts to the flowers, sharp and assessing, before he grabs the note and reads it again. “And it wasn’t any of the guys either. Trust me, I’d know.”
My stomach twists, the giddiness evaporating like smoke. “But…” I trail off, my voice shaky. “Then who?”
Cast flicks the joint to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. His expression darkens, his jaw tightening as he pulls out his phone.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, his tone clipped as he types out a message. “We’ll find out. In the meantime, you’re not moving without one of us, got it?”
I swallow hard, my pulse racing for entirely different reasons now. “But what if?—”
“No ‘what if,’ Willow,” he snaps, his eyes locking onto mine. “This isn’t a game. Whoever sent this isn’t playing around.”
He stands, pocketing his phone and signaling to Ricardo, who’s already at the base of the bleachers, watching us like a hawk. Cast turns back to me, his hand gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
“Stay close,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. “You don’t take a single step without one of us there. Understand?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a quick, rough kiss to my forehead before stepping back. He picks up the note again, his fingers tightening around the paper until it crumples.
As he stalks away, I sink onto the bench, staring at the flowers as dread creeps in, cold and unwelcome. The lilies that had seemed so beautiful just minutes ago now feel like a warning.
Cast’s fingers fly over his phone as he walks away from the bleachers, his usual swagger replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. I glance at Ricardo, who is stone-faced and silent, standing just a step behind me like a living shadow.
“Damien,” Cast growls into the phone, his tone a razor-edged command. “We’ve got a situation.”
He pauses, listening, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. “No. This isn’t subtle. Someone’s making moves, and they’re using Willow to do it.” His eyes flick to me briefly, and I can see the tension carved into every line of his face.
Another pause. Then, “Meet me in twenty. Bring everyone.” He hangs up without waiting for confirmation.
When Cast turns back to us, his expression is unreadable, but his energy feels like a storm about to break. He points at Ricardo. “You’re glued to her. Not an inch of space. Not for a second. If she needs to go somewhere, you’re there. Understood?”
Ricardo nods sharply, already stepping closer to me.
“And you,” Cast says, his gaze locking onto mine. His voice softens slightly, but his authority is still ironclad. “Don’t test me on this, Willow. You don’t go anywhere without Ricardo. Not to class, not to the bathroom, not to breathe fresh air. Got it?”
I bristle, crossing my arms. “Cast, I’m not some porcelain doll. You can’t?—”
“I can,” he interrupts, his voice cold and firm. “And I will.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about control. This is about keeping you alive. That note wasn’t a joke. Whoever sent it wants you rattled—or worse.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to stand my ground. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with something almost primal. Then, more softly, “You’re not a pawn to me, Willow. Don’t make me regret letting you in.”
The weight of his words steals the air from my lungs, and I falter, unsure what to say.
Before I can respond, he turns to Ricardo again. “I’ll handle Damien. Keep her here until I get back.”
Ricardo gives another curt nod, and Cast spins on his heel, disappearing around the corner of the building, his phone already vibrating in his hand.
I sink onto the last row of the bleachers, my chest tightening as Ricardo settles into place beside me, his broad frame radiating silent vigilance.
The weight of Cast’s words lingers in the air as Ricardo and I sit in tense silence on the bleachers. He hasn’t said a word since Cast left, his dark eyes scanning the campus like he’s waiting for something—or someone—to make a move.
When his phone buzzes, he pulls it out, glances at the screen, and immediately rises to his feet. “We’re leaving,” he says curtly.
I blink up at him. “What? Where?”
Ricardo’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, his jaw tightens. “Safe house. Cast’s orders.”
A prickle of irritation shoots through me. “I’m not going anywhere without an explanation.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he grabs my bag from the bleachers and slings it over his shoulder, his body language making it clear there’s no room for debate. “Now, Willow.”
I follow, my heart pounding with frustration and something darker—fear, maybe, though I hate admitting it. Ricardo’s presence is overwhelming, and as we weave through the parking lot to a black SUV, I can feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me.
The ride is quiet, save for the sound of the engine and the occasional murmur from Ricardo’s earpiece as he communicates with whoever’s on the other end. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to read him, but his face is a mask of cold efficiency.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “You could at least tell me why this safe house is necessary.”
Ricardo exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t look at me. “You already know why. That note wasn’t a game, Willow. Someone’s testing the waters, and if they get the chance, they’ll drown you to make a point.”
I cross my arms, staring out the window as the city blurs into suburbs, then into nothing but open road. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No one asks for this life,” Ricardo says, his tone low and measured. “But once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”
His words send a chill through me, and I turn to face him fully. “How long have you been in?”
He glances at me briefly, his expression unreadable. “Long enough to know there’s no turning back.”
I look down at my hands, letting the world speed past us as we drive in silence for a while.
“You’re special,” he says quietly. “But not for the reasons you think.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
Ricardo turns into a neighborhood full of pastel houses, unassuming and normal, “Do you know what Cast represents? What his name means to the people who follow him?”
His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, and I shake my head, my frustration giving way to curiosity.
“He’s not just some cartel heir,” Ricardo continues, his voice low and reverent. “He’s the prince. The one who’s going to lead us into a new era. Tito’s gone. Cast is it now. And you?” He smirks, though there’s no humor in it. “You’re the queen, whether you like it or not.”
I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. “I’m not a queen,” I whisper.
Ricardo’s gaze sharpens. “You are if Cast says you are. And whether you realize it or not, people are watching. Waiting. Long live the prince.”