A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

God, I wish I could hide myself somewhere. I wish I could stop this shame from spreading out over my body. I wish I could stop these tears.

But more than that, I wish I could hug him.

I wish I was back home with him so I could tell him how sorry I am for everything that I put him through.

My brother who brought me up. Who’s more like a father figure to me — to all of us — than my brother.

As it is, all I can do is whisper, “I’m not going to waste my life over him, Con. I’ve learned my lesson.”

But maybe that’s not enough to convince him because he speaks in a rough, heartfelt whisper. “Do you remember what I told you, Callie? Two years ago, I told you that Reed Jackson is an asshole. I told you that he isn’t the guy for you and I still mean that. I don’t know why he had those charges reduced. I don’t know if it was his conscience or if he was playing a game and I don’t care. I don’t fucking care, you hear me? Because if he ever so much as looks at you again, ever, I’m going to take him apart. I’m going to break every single bone in his body and I’m going to take my time with it. Do you understand that, Callie? Stay away from him.”

***

It’s Thursday and I sneak out a little earlier than I usually do.

It could be slightly riskier, since Wyn hasn’t really gone to sleep yet. But it’s not, because she knows everything now. About the Blue Madonna, my ballet dreams.

Him.

I told her.

After last Saturday at Buttery Blossoms where Reed showed up, I had to. And now I’m wondering why I didn’t talk to her sooner. Because she totally believes in me, in my ballet dream, in Juilliard.

She also thinks that there’s more to him than I think. Because I also told her what Con revealed on the phone call.

How the guy who I thought had me arrested was actually the one who got me off on a reduced charge.

He saved me.

Isn’t that surreal? Isn’t that… what I always thought of him?

Back at Bardstown High, I always thought that he had more to him than what he showed the world.

But I was wrong.

I was so wrong that when I learned the truth, look what I did.

Look what I became.

My brother is right. He might have saved me — for whatever reason — but I know better now. I’m smarter and I’m not listening to Wyn.

I’m staying away from him.

That’s why I left earlier than usual and got on a different bus. It was just as empty but whatever.

That isn’t the point.

The point is that I need to stay away from him. And he has no business telling me what to do.

Hopefully my whole violent display at Buttery Blossoms managed to make it clear that I don’t want anything to do with him.

But apparently not.

Apparently it’s too much to ask, because he’s here.

At my silent, empty ballet studio, Blue Madonna.

I see him in the mirror.

All the way across the room, he is standing behind me, propped up against the white wall. He has his arms folded across his chest and from the looks of it, he’s been here a long time and he’ll be here even longer than that.

Because he appears so… engrossed, so absorbed in the moment.

In me.

In my bowed body.

I’m on my knees, see.

With my fake, feather-light wings slung across my back, I’m on the floor and my body is bent in an arc, and he’s watching that arc, tracking it with his wolf eyes.

My shoulder blades, the slope of my spine, the line of my neck, all the way up to my tight, blonde bun.

And he’s so enamored that he doesn’t even know that I’ve spotted him.

Not until I unfold myself and stand up.

Only then do his eyes snap up and clash with mine. And what a clash it is.

I feel the impact of it right in my chest, right where my wounded heart lives, and I spin around to face him.

“You’re here.” I state the obvious. “Again.”

I knew he’d come.

Even though I was hoping that what happened at the cupcake shop might give him the message, I knew he’d follow me like he used to two years ago.

He’s a predator, isn’t he? A villain, and I’m the lost girl at midnight.

That is exactly why I chose to make my point that he can’t control me like he did before by getting here the way I wanted.

Reed doesn’t answer right away.

He’s watching a drop of sweat sliding down my throat, and when it disappears under the neck of my leotard, only then does he lift his eyes and say, “Because you ran from me the other day. Again.”