Dulce

5

Ilook at the map and wonder why, out of all my skills, map reading isn’t one of them?

I’m two seconds from ripping the thing to shreds when I’m shoved from behind.

I stumble but don’t fall. Turning, I glare at the person and am not surprised to see the lead member of the bitch brigade walking past me, her minions a little farther away, laughing.

“I’m sorry, did you forget your glasses today?” I shout out.

“Was I ever such a dumbass?” I mumble to myself as I start to walk away, but stop when a voice shouts out once more.

“Slut.”

Turning, I wink at her. “Funny, that’s what your dad called me this morning too, when his dick was in my mouth.”

I ignore her screech of indignation and keep going until I sense someone behind me.

I swing around, ready to put whoever it is on their ass, when I realize the man in front of me must be a teacher.

He cocks a brow at me…and good God, what are they putting in the water around here? It’s like I’ve walked into another dimension and all the men are hot as fuck.

“Sorry. New girl means new target. I thought you were one of them sneaking up on me.”

He frowns at that, turning toward where the girls last were. Of course, they have conveniently disappeared now.

I sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to find my way to my dorm, so I can text my aunt to get my stuff dropped off.”

“Which one are you in?” His voice is deep and sensual, with a touch of an accent.

I check the papers in my hand, looking for the name.

“Ah, here it is, Blackwell House.”

He snatches the papers from my hands and scans them, his eyes wide.

What the fuck?

“Is something wrong?”

“What?” He looks up and sees my face, which makes him smooth over his feelings on the matter. I’m not sure why me being in this particular building pissed him off, but pissed he is.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing. We just usually don’t have many people housed there anymore.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“You need to follow this path all the way to the end, then turn left and left again. You can’t miss it,” he tells me, evading my question.

“Thank you…?”

“Luke, Luke Gavin.”

Gavin? So this is the mysterious counselor. Interesting.

“Okay, well, thanks again.” I wave and walk away when he doesn’t say anything else. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what to make of this guy. It doesn’t happen often, but Luke is hard to read. Except for that one slip when he showed his feelings about me living at— “Fuck.” My mouth drops open when I get a look at the building that’s going to be my home for the next, however long it will be.

It’s huge, as in enormous. I have no idea how many students are at this facility, but if all the dorms are this big, even if the rooms are only half-filled, there must be thousands of kids here.

I don’t know why I thought it was smaller. Perhaps because information about the place is so guarded. Mostly because every single person who walks through those gates has to sign a nondisclosure form. I hadn’t thought much about it until now.

Missing girls aside, whatever this place offers seems to be working. Sugar had someone do some digging, even going as far as to track down a few people she knew were former students. An actress, a politician, and a news anchor. All of them had been tight-lipped. It surprised me. It’s not that I think everyone can be bought, it’s that someone usually can be. Even if it’s one person in two thousand. Someone is always looking to make a quick buck, and a scoop on this place would definitely give them that.

No, whatever is keeping them quiet is something bigger and more effective than a nondisclosure agreement.

I take a deep breath, crack my neck, and shake off the tension.

At least this place is nice. It’s a hell of a lot better than some places I’ve stayed at. Hell, this place could fit my whole apartment building inside it.

“And so, it begins,” I whisper under my breath as I walk up the steps of my new home, ignoring the strange feeling at the base of my neck. The one I always get as a warning when I know everything is about to get fucked-up.

The building is as opulent on the inside as it is on the outside. It’s so clean and expensive-looking, I’m almost afraid to touch it.

Almost.

I get to work exploring the first floor. Because as much as I’d like to go up to my room and disappear for the afternoon, I need to do a little recon first. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know I need to know where all the exits are.

To the left is a full gym. It’s empty right now, but with such an array of equipment from treadmills to weights to bikes, I know it must see its fair share of usage. Lord knows I’ll be using it to work out some frustration.

On the opposite side of the gym is a game room. It seems to have a little of everything—games, consoles of every variation, arcade games, a pool table, and a few other things I’ll check out later.

I make my way around the rooms down here, finding a state-of-the-art kitchen at the back, as well as an indoor pool and a library.

I’m pretty sure I want to live here forever. How much is this place? I never asked Sugar because it didn’t occur to me, but the price tag for all this cannot come cheap.

The upstairs is a slightly different matter. There is a long corridor with two bathrooms and a steam room, of all things. I walk past them with a shake of my head and keep going until I end up in a living area of some sort. There are three of these rooms downstairs, all in different styles, but this one seems the most comfortable and lived-in.

Everything is light and airy in here, unlike the rest of the house, which has a somewhat dark vibe to it, thanks to the mahogany wood paneling on the walls and the wooden floors.

Up here, the flooring is a light beechwood. The walls are cream with two large corner sofas in a light gray that are perpendicular to each other.

A bright geometric rug, partially hidden by a huge light wood coffee table, and abstract art on the walls add pops of color. Stylish multicolored glass lamps that catch the light remind me of a kaleidoscope and make this place feel more like an expensive hotel room than a place teenagers live.

Double French doors covered by a white gauzy material lets lots of natural light into the room and I can just make out more sofas on a balcony, which I’ll check out later.

On both sides of the room, there are two doors on the left and two doors on the right.

None of them are numbered, which is really helpful. Not. I check the pamphlet again, but it doesn’t give me a room number. I should have double-checked before I got all the way here.

With no other option, I walk over to the first room and turn the knob. The door clicks open with a squeak.