Dynasty (Boys of Winter 1)

The thought of Grayson being some kind of silent hero has my gaze sweeping his way only to find a dismissive pissed-off stare coming right back at me. I don’t know why, but for some reason, it cuts deep, and as the four of them pass by me, I feel completely drained.

I crash against my locker, leaning my shoulder into it and purposefully facing the opposite direction so none of them can see the torture ripped across my face at having to deal with them this early in the morning.

And to think I haven’t even had a coffee yet.

“So, uh… that was intense,” Ember notices, her soft murmur coming from beside me, making me realize that she’s still here.

My eyes bug out of my head. I must have looked like a love-sick puppy, and she was witness to it all. “Oh, umm … yeah. They—” I cut myself off with a drained sigh, honestly not knowing what to say about our unique little situation.

How the hell am I supposed to begin explaining to this little ray of sunshine that after being abducted by Knox’s uncle, the four devils of Ravenwood Heights had their ridiculously suspicious secret society pay five million dollars to save me from being sold to a rapist? Not only that, but they now own me, and stood by as I went out and murdered the man who gave me up.

Yeah … I know I was MIA for a few days, but no one is going to believe that shit. Though I did tell her about Sam over pancakes, and she was completely on board then. She may be a bit on the wild side, but she’s also an innocent soul, and I don’t want to be responsible for taking the light out of her eyes.

Ember nods, not commenting on my loss of words, but I see the understanding in her eyes. More than that, I see a raging curiosity, and despite her being the only real friend I have in Ravenwood Heights, I find myself biting my tongue, not quite ready to share the ins and outs of my relationship with the boys.

Feeling the exhaustion coming over me, I lean into Ember and take her wrist. “What’s the time?” I ask, twisting her arm around to get a better view of her watch. “We got a few minutes before the bell, and I need a cigarette. Are you coming?”

“You said the magical words.”

We walk out the front of the school to the very spot we had first met, and she lights up a cigarette before I steal the lighter from her hands and do the same. We lean against the brick wall in silence, watching the students as they walk into the school; the cheerleaders flirting with the football team as they all make complete asses of themselves while trying to play it cool.

We get halfway through our cigarettes when the bell sounds and I let out a sigh. “Damn it,” I grumble, dropping the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with my boot, but at least I got halfway through it, more than enough to keep me going through the day, but I’ll definitely need one tonight.

Ember goes to link her arm through mine when we see Principal Turner walking out through the front gates, and I come to an immediate standstill. Usually the sight of the principal walking around the school property wouldn’t bring me to my knees, but the two cops standing at either side of him are sure as hell doing the trick.

Principal Turner looks my way before pointing me out to the cops, and I instinctively take a step back as Ember looks over at me, meeting my horrified stare. “What are you doing?” she demands. “The bell sounded. We have to get inside.”

I shake my head, trying to pull my arm free. “No,” I say, watching as she follows my gaze to the cops who are rapidly making their way over here. “Go and get Carver. NOW.”

Ember looks between me and the cops three times before finally nodding like a bobble-head and taking off at the speed of light. I look around me for a way out, but I’m trapped in a corner, there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

My heart races. They know.

They creep in closer, the one on the right pulling out a pair of handcuffs as the students around us stop and stare while getting their phones out. With each step they take, it becomes clearer that my life is over. They have me; they know I killed him. There’s no backing away. I’ll be spending the next fifty years behind bars.

“Are you Winter, the foster child of Kurt and Irene Williams?” the burly one on the right asks, purposefully putting himself right in front of me, making it impossible to run.