Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ve already gotten one warning that I need to be smarter about how I deal with the Royals.” Rafael and his leaves floated through my mind, leaving behind warm cheeks. “Two warnings and bruised knuckles are enough for me to take the hint.”
“Did you get the hint?” He stood up with me, slinging his messenger bag up his shoulder. “I’m not going to hear you punched a Burkhardt again?”
I crossed my heart. “I swear that I shall not knock out a bitch, unless my sister’s name gets in her mouth. So sayeth, so shall it be.”
Victor wandered off, a mumbled “weirdo” floating over his shoulder.
I stayed behind for as long as I could. The Rogues didn’t show up for breakfast, but Owen did—laughing and joking with a bunch of his friends. There wasn’t a scratch on the asshole.
Standing up, I went to return my tray. A hard body slammed into me, knocking me to the floor.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” A girl with red hair and glasses helped me up, dusting off my back. “I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Grabbing my fallen bag, I dumped my stuff and continued to class. Whispers and not-so-quiet murmurings followed me to the English building.
“...Sinclair...”
“...that girl’s sister...”
“...heard she knocked out Saylor Burkhardt. Badass.”
The last comment came from a guy leaning on the rail leading into the building. I caught his eye and he nodded at me, smirking. “It’s about time someone made one of the Royals eat it. Nicely done, Sinclair.”
I nodded back, though unease laced my smile. I’ve never seen that guy before in my life. He wasn’t a Royal, in my dorm, or in any of my classes, but he knew exactly who I was and what went down the other night. If everyone knew who I was, they know about Winter. You didn’t forget the girl who committed suicide on campus.
Thor forbid I credit the weirdos in muzzles and Victorian dress with being right, but if the people who publicly tortured Winter dropped dead, why wouldn’t I be the first person they looked at? My hope of flying under the radar was blown. If I was going to see this through to the end, I couldn’t let anyone stop me. There couldn’t be proof even if there was suspicion. Maybe I do need help—
I cut the thought off at the knees.
I don’t need the Rogues or anyone else. I have a plan. The other night I was raging and panicked about losing Owen. Next time, I’ll pay attention to my surroundings—make sure no one sees me going after Owen, or follows me.
I do not need the Rogues, I repeated to myself. I can’t trust those guys. This is too important to risk on guys who say they’re not in with the Royals, but break off their engagements and trade their favors.
Professor Anthony stood at the whiteboard, writing the last letter in ethos, pathos, and logos. I lingered longer than needed as I headed to my seat.
The reason I blew off dinner was because I spent all of Thursday night rewriting his paper. Every time I thought it was good, I got in my head, wondering if my sentences read as airport advertisements. I crashed at three a.m. not able to type another word. That left Friday night and Saturday morning to perfect my outfit for the ill-fated party.
I wondered if Adonis showed and made up with his parents. I wonder if he read my paper. The big fat coward I was, I dropped it off outside of his office hours, leaving it with a teaching assistant who texted me later confirming it was in his hands.
“Hey, Luna. Luna.”
Blinking, I turned, falling on three waving girls taking up the fifth row.
“Over here,” one called. “Sit with us.”
“Ah. No, it’s okay,” I replied, not slowing down. “I like sitting in the back.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. Sit with us. Dregs got to stick together.”
The giggling girls from the week before passed by. “Yeah, because that’s what everyone wants—the trash to clump together.”
Her friend chimed in, “Like the nasty wad of slimy, dirty hair in the drain. Why don’t you Dregs do everyone a real favor and get out of our school?”
“Why don’t you shut your mouth before I make you eat that slimy hair wad,” I snapped. “If you three don’t have business, get some.”
“Excuse me?” she screeched. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
I brushed by and pointedly sat down beside the “Dregs.” “I don’t have a clue who you are, so you can’t be that important.”
“Bitch.”
“Common street trash.”
They stormed off, cursing everything about me. I didn’t care. They could say what they wanted. I’ve always had a tough skin. You developed it under the tutelage of nuns. Their tongues were sharper than the starched lines of their habits.