Chapter 24
Callum
I can’t believe I said that to him last night.
Letting him know that I’d still rather go to bed with him than anyone else must have been a boost for his ego. As if it wasn’t the size of a mountain already.
He probably thinks I’m in love.
At the time, though, it just felt like “why should I care if he knows I want him?” I just want him to realize that he’s there because I say so. I’m dying for him to know that, actually.
Walking into the staff lounge, I see him and Ms. Oliver standing face-to-face, talking. He smiles down at her, and I slow, noticing she’s not even a foot away from his body. His hands in his pockets, he lowers his head, speaking too quietly for me to make out what he’s saying to her.
I talked to her about this, didn’t I? That’s not how I converse with teachers.
Dallas turns his head, and as soon as he locks eyes with me, the memory of his threat from last night returns. I’ll bet someone fucked or sucked him last night. Asshole doesn’t waste any time flirting.
I make my way to the cabinet, pulling out a coffee cup. Fuck if I care. That’ll end soon enough.
“Good morning,” Father McNealty says, dumping out his coffee into the sink. “I didn’t know you’d be in.”
“It’s a change of scenery from the house,” I explain. “Once I get my hands on some real estate, I’ll have need for a real office.”
I throw a look at Dallas as he moves to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup. By the way he’s glaring, I know he understands exactly what real estate I’m talking about.
“No complaints here.” McNealty rinses out his cup and sets it in the sink. “It’s good to have an alumnus around.”
He leaves, a few other staff and faculty lingering at the table or on the couches. Ms. Oliver has disappeared.
Stepping up to Dallas’s back, I slide my mug onto the counter in front of him. “Pour me some?”
I can hear the huff when he exhales through his nose, almost letting a growl escape. Lifting the pot, he fills my mug, and I reach around him again, grabbing two creams and a stirrer.
“What do you think you’re going to find in the Wolfe Room this weekend?” I ask. We are both safely out of earshot of everyone else in the room.
He turns with his cup, his eyes level with mine. “Pussy,” he says.
Staring at him, I hold back a smile, not because I’m amused, but because I’d be throwing him down on the floor if it was just us in here. Piece of shit, bastard.
It’s amazing how I could chastise Sophia for letting a bad man deceive her without a hint of irony. Seems I have a weakness for fucking pricks, too.
Dallas, on the other hand, does quirk a smile as he leaves for class.
In a blur, I fix my coffee, stirring in the cream, and stalk up to the Ministry offices.
I have more to deal with today than just him. He’s for later.
I enter the library, finding Vincent sitting at the table and studying my blueprints. Jerome hovers.
Vincent looks up. “What are these?” he asks me.
Taking a sip, I set my cup down. I texted them to stop by this morning.
“Mock-ups,” I say. “I’ve been pondering the logistics of expanding the campus.”
Stopping on Vincent’s left side, I join Jerome in gazing down at the plans I had drawn up. I couldn’t get it off my mind after speaking to Savanna Winslow last week.
I start pointing out the features of a new Marymount. “Reconstruction to an eight-lane track, renovating the fields and adding courts, auditorium upgrades for the theater performances, two three-story dormitories, and a dining hall…”
Jerome pops his head up, eyeing me, but I don’t stop.
“And a stadium with permanent concessions and restrooms.”
“Shit,” Vincent mumbles.
Jerome sounds breathless. “This is going to cost…”
“Fifty million,” I reply.
At least.
We can get a lot of it through corporations if we contract to use their tech, classroom materials, sports equipment, and maybe some minor advertising. Although, I’d prefer St. Carmen businesses sponsor the football games, theater productions, et cetera in exchange for us posting their banners.
But…all of that is a long way off.
“Do we want this?” Jerome asks me.
I won’t tell them about Savanna—and all the other kids in school now who are presently the same age Sophia was when this town spat her out.
Giving them a whole staff of adults—teachers, coaches, advisers—to keep them safe and set the right example is a step in the right direction.
Of course, that means the adults have to be heavily vetted and handpicked, but I’ll enjoy every second of that.
I love democracy in theory, but not when it comes to this town.
“Think about it,” I tell him. “Students from around the world coming here. Alumni the school can call on when we need, years down the road.”
Vincent nods. “Boosters.”
“A future of endless possibilities,” I add.
Our network of resources and contacts would expand by a factor of ten. There’d be no one with more power than us.
Than me.
Of course, this means students could potentially be coming here from out of town, out of state, and across the world, and it’s a whole new set of challenges, dealing with new influences and families, but I never expect anything to go smoothly.
They stare at the blueprints—the quick mock-up conveys only the merest idea of how the campus buildings would look once everything is constructed, but thankfully we have enough land. If necessary, we can always expand into the woods behind the school.
“We’re going to need to double the size of the parking lot,” Vincent points out.
I smile, taking that as them coming on board.
“And move the cemetery?” Jerome points to the spot of land near the woods. “You know how hard that’s going to be?”
Not hard, per se. Just time-consuming. The red tape required to relocate graves.
“The community won’t like moving family graves,” Jerome warns. “The history—”
“What’s this?”
We all look up, seeing Milo enter the room. He struts over, his black hair perfectly coiffed, his collar open, his cologne flooding the library.
Softly, I pick up the gavel on the table. I used to like cologne on men.
“Callum wants to make Marymount a boarding school,” Vincent tells him.
I move around him.
“Fuck yes.” Milo’s eyes widen. “Please tell me it’s just for females.”
But before he realizes what I’m doing, I grab his wrist, pin it to the table, and slam the hammer down on his knuckles.
“Ah!” he howls.
Fire lights up in my veins and my fingers tighten around the handle; I swing it again, hearing the crack of his metacarpals.
“What the fuck?” he screams.
I back off as he collapses over the table.
“Hold him.” I move around the other side.
Vincent is standing, and Jerome looks at me, stunned.
“Hold him,” I prompt again.
Quickly, they grab him as I move to the other side of the table. I jerk my chin at Jerome, gesturing to Milo’s other hand.
Putting his weight on our friend’s back, he pushes his fist up the table.
“What are you doing?” Milo growls at me, the scar running down his face wrinkling with his grimace.
“You know what.”
He falls silent, searching my eyes. Then it hits him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he cries. “Are you seriously not fucking her?”
I clench my teeth, fisting the gavel.
“Why not?” he charges. “Your father made it very clear what she was for!”
My chest boils with anger, and I rear my hand back, slamming the hammer down on his other hand.
“Ah!”
His face contorts in pain, and I watch blood spill from his hand.
I hit him again, ignoring the looks from all of them. “I’ve wanted to do this for years,” I say, “and I’m just sorry I didn’t do it when I should’ve, before you put a hand on her.”
He’s shaking with every breath, but his guttural words still taunt. “Everyone knows who all she fucked in the Wolfe Room,” he grits through his teeth. “She’s not some virgin!”
Murder erupts from deep down in my stomach, and I can’t stop myself. Whipping the hammer, I crash it across his face, the end flying off the handle.
He gasps, dropping his head to the table, whimpering. Blood spills from his cheekbone. I toss what’s left of the gavel.
“The only reason I’m stopping is so you can drag your own ass out of here,” I bite out. “The locks will be changed tomorrow. Get out.”
They release him, and he stumbles back, hunching over and keeping his broken hands close to his chest. The door opens of its own accord, Mrs. Calderon on the other side, no doubt having heard everything.
He scurries out, the door closes, and I fix my tie and my cuffs. My breathing slows, and I lift my eyes.
Jerome and Vincent stand still, watching me.
“I hope everything was clear,” I say.
They heard and can infer for themselves. Sophia is dear to me. Make her cry, and I make you bleed.
Jerome nods. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” Vincent adds.
Good. We move back to the blueprints, making a list of potential alumni donors for the reconstruction.
—
“The definition of morality varies around the world,” Dallas tells his class. “Based on the recurring societal or cultural expectations in that region, in that community, et cetera.”
I linger outside, listening. I found it so hard to believe he’d be capable of the position he holds, I had to lurk and listen one afternoon last year when I’d come home for a long weekend. I’d snuck in and stood back. He didn’t even know I was in town, I don’t think.
“In some places, you share resources. You help each other,” he goes on, his voice traveling around the room as he moves. “In others, you earn it, you keep it.”
I’m not just a former Marymount student anymore, though. I fund his position. I have the right to observe him whenever I want.
Sliding my hands into my pockets, I stroll in, watching him lift his head. Not saying a word, I drift to the back of the room, finding Sophia perched on the window ledge. She smiles at me, I wink at her.
Leaning back against a wooden desk, I face the backs of everyone’s heads as Dallas flexes his jaw.
“What are some moral rules we follow?” he asks loudly.
“Don’t steal?” a student announces.
Followed by others. “Don’t kill.”
“Be punctual.”
“Hold the door open for a lady.”
A round of laughs go off.