Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

There’s clearly something wrong with him, but why? Did something make him this way, or was he born with something off in his head? Is he pure evil, or is there anything more underneath?

I shouldn’t even wonder. I shouldn’t even care. I’m curious by nature, but whatever the reason, Carter is who he is, and that’s someone dangerous. Someone to be avoided at all costs. Whether he doesn’t have a conscience or he can just ignore it more easily than most people, something makes him capable of hurting people. Capable of being amused by it.

Carter Mahoney thinks the rules don’t apply to him, and the damndest thing is—at least for now—he’s right. In this little town, football isn’t a sport, it’s a religion. Carter is the star quarterback, the handsome, shiny senior everyone expects to lead us to the state championships. His parents have also bought up half the town, so even if he did get in trouble, they can afford to bail him out of literally any situation.

I’d like to think someday he’ll fall, but the ugly truth is, he probably won’t. He has a dirty, rotten soul, but enough money and privilege that it will never matter. His victims will always be swept under the rug—and if one gets too noisy, I’m not positive there’s a line he’s afraid to cross. If he believes he’s invincible, what does he have to be afraid of?

I’d love to be the one to show him he’s not invincible, but how?

What is important to him? He says football doesn’t matter to him, and that could be true. Football gives him more power and status, so that’s probably what he likes about it, not necessarily playing the game.

Something has to matter to him. There must be something it would hurt him to lose. I don’t know how I would find out what it is, though, without actually interacting with him.

Last night flashes to mind again, him actually having the gall to invite me out to dinner. What the hell was he thinking? He’s so strange.

Now he puts his phone down and opens his notebook, grabbing a pencil and hunching over it, running the lead of his pencil across the paper in careful strokes. I crane my neck to try to get a peek, but I can’t see what he’s drawing.

A few minutes later, the bell rings. Carter flips his notebook shut, then grabs it and slides out of his seat. My gaze darts away before he notices me watching him. I shouldn’t be, but something tickles at the back of my mind, the idea that maybe I can find out what does matter to him, then I won’t be defenseless against him. I may not be able to bring him to justice, but it could benefit me to have some kind of ammunition to use against him. What if I could fight back in a less direct way, by costing him something that matters to him the way he took something that mattered from me?

Grace would tell me this is a bad idea. She would quote some Bible verse at me, or maybe that quote about digging two graves before you start on a journey of revenge. Grace would tell me to be the bigger person, to pray for him.

But Grace isn’t here, and that’s another reason I haven’t told her about all this. Well-meaning as she is, she’ll only piss me off with her unwanted advice. No one is going to tell me how to feel about my own experiences, how to feel toward the people who hurt me. Many have tried before it even got this bad, when Jake’s grabby hands were the extent of the damage, and I didn’t want to hear their bullshit, either.

The hell of it is, nobody would believe me a second time. A lot of people didn’t even believe me the first time, and the ones who did? They didn’t care.

I’m on my own now, and up against someone I stand no reasonable chance of defeating. Maybe no one else will defend my honor or stand up to the untouchables, but I’ll figure out a way. It’s not about hurting Carter because he hurt me, it’s about ensuring that he doesn’t do it to anybody else. I can’t tell on him, but I don’t want to keep my mouth shut and forever wonder if my silence endangered some other girl—maybe a bunch of them, littering the trail he blazes for the rest of his life.

I’m feeling stronger than I have since all this started, since even before Jake. I feel a little proud of myself, too. Carter may have knocked me down, but I didn’t let him keep me there; I picked myself up and dusted myself off.

Of course that is the moment Carter Mahoney walks up beside me and casually slings his arm around my shoulders. My whole body stiffens, but I’m infused with enough of my own protection that I’m able to look over at him and lift an eyebrow, as if unfazed.