Storm (Elemental 1)

He started walking again, toward the dark corner by the edge of the building.

She paused before following him. There were still kids out here, a few standing under the trees smoking.

“Why’d you do it?” she demanded. “Do you know the last six weeks have been hell for me, Drew? Do you know people think I slept with half the school—”

“Maybe you did, Becca. Who knows?”

“I do.” She pointed to her chest, feeling her eyes burn. “I know.”

He glanced off into the darkness. “Whatever. Like it matters.”

“It matters to me.” Her voice broke. There had to be a reason why he’d done it. Had to be. Would he have spread such vicious lies for nothing more than a stupid whim? That was almost more crushing than everything else.

She swiped at her eyes and forced her voice to be strong. “It matters to me, Drew.”

He didn’t say anything. She heard the distant thrum of music from inside the gym, occasional bursts of sound as students came and went. Wind looped between the buildings to lift her hair and cool her neck.

Just when she was going to give up and go in, Drew spoke.

“I thought you were going to press charges.”

It took a minute for this to sink in. Then she wanted to explode with fury. “But I didn’t! I didn’t want anyone to know! And then school started on Monday, and everyone—everyone knew. They knew about you and me, and all your friends. But they thought we’d—they thought—” She shoved him in the chest. “Why would you do that? Why, Drew?”

“Don’t be stupid, Becca. I have a scholarship to Virginia Tech.” His voice was cruel, his eyes hard in the night. “I wasn’t going to let some silly girl who couldn’t hold her liquor f**k that up.”

Then she got it.

He’d thought she was going to report him. So he’d made her look like a tramp and got his friends to back it up. So if she ever tried to go to the cops, no one would believe her. He was Drew McKay, captain of the soccer team. Who was she?

Just Becca.

And all for some stupid scholarship.

“Now everyone thinks I raped you,” he said, his voice vicious. “Coach kept me on the bench for the game. It’s my senior year. Vickers is on my case. People are calling the house, leaving messages. Someone spray painted my car, Becca—”

“Sounds rough.” She started to turn.

“Well, I’ve made a decision.” He grabbed her arm.

She glared up at him, feeling his fingers pressing into the muscle. Other students remained nearby, and she made her voice strong and clear. “Let me go, Drew.”

It worked. One of those figures by the tree straightened and headed their way. A cigarette flared red in an arc to the ground, where it died under a shoe. “Hey.”

Drew’s hand tightened on her bicep. “I think it’s time to level the playing field.”

“Let me go,” she said again. “Right now.”

Another student moved toward them.

Drew dragged her close, and for the first time, she felt fear slide around her chest and jerk tight.

“Isn’t there some stupid saying?” he said. “Something like, ‘If I’m going to do the time—’ ”

“Shut up!” She swung her free hand, driving her fingers at Drew’s throat the way Hunter had shown her. She felt the swing all the way up her arm, strength and power conspiring to put him down.

But arms wrapped around her from behind, a hand sliding over her mouth, beefy hands trapping her arms. Someone large, strong. Way bigger than she was.

“Hey, Becca.” Hot breath on her ear. She knew that voice.