Mr. Heartbreaker: Black Mountain Academy

He called me Violet.

Shit.13MikeIt’s cute how she thinks she can avoid me. Avoid us. It’s not going to work, but it is damn cute.

“Are you stalking me?” Violet huffs as she walks to her locker.

“That’s funny, Angel,” I drawl, watching her face color with embarrassment as I use the nickname. “I was just about to ask if you were avoiding me.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Were you trying to hide from me, Vi?”

“You’re not that important, Mikey. Why would I bother hiding from you?” she huffs, opening her locker.

“Are you really going to play that game with me?”

“I’m not playing games. From what I hear that’s more your area of expertise,” she mutters, sifting through her locker and refusing to look at me.

“I do want to play games with you, Violet. I think you’ll like it, too.”

“You’d be wrong,” she says, pulling out an English book and a folder. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be late for my next class.” She slams the locker door closed, as if that’s the end of any discussion we’re going to have. What will it feel like to experience her fire in my bed?

“But I do mind, Angel. You and I have unfinished business.”

“Our business finished last night when you decided to go full-on freak mode. And just so you know, Mikey, if I get an infection from that bite, I’ll be suing your ass.”

“If only I had time to spank your ass like you’re begging me to do,” I sigh, pushing away from the lockers as the bell rings. “I can’t though, I have practice.”

“You try to touch me and you’ll be missing a limb.”

“That wouldn’t do; you’re going to like the way I touch you. Very soon, Violet.”

“I wasn’t talking about your hand. I was thinking more about the other appendage you’re so proud of. Neither of which, by the way, will ever touch me again.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. But you’re cute. You and I have a date tonight. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up around six.”

“Uh…a date? Are you delusional?”

“You’re going out with me, Violet.”

“No, I’m not. Besides, I have a meeting with the newspaper staff here at the school.”

“Fine, then I’ll pick you up after your meeting. We’re all going out to Spark’s Diner after practice. I want you with me.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Violet, it is.”

“Mikey, it’s not,” she responds stubbornly.

I study her for a couple of minutes, and I can see her mind is made up. I release a breath, kind of regretting my next steps, but not enough to keep from following through.

“I truly was hoping that we could have handled our relationship the easy way, Violet.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” she replies, and I smile at her, because she truly has no idea of the plans I have for her.

She will soon, however.

“I wonder how the admissions committee would view the fact that one of the students here works as a stripper.” I see the shock on her face and for half of a second, I feel like an asshole. I push that away, however, because in the end, I want Violet and I’ll do whatever I need to do to make that happen. “Most of the students here would probably enjoy that juicy bit of gossip, too,” I add for good measure.

“You wouldn’t,” she snarls under her breath.

“Try me. Now, I’ll be here to pick you up after practice. If you’re finished first, you wait for me. Got it?”

“I hate you,” she replies, and I can hear the sentiment echoing in her words.

“I can live with that,” I tell her, and I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her body is completely stiff and full of anger, but I ignore that and walk off. After about five steps, I duck down when in my peripheral vision, I see a book come hurtling past my head. I watch Violet’s textbook crash onto the floor and then turn my gaze back toward her.

“You need to have better aim than that, baby. Don’t worry. I can teach you. Soon, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Fuck off,” she huffs, and even through her anger, I can see just a tiny dose of fear shining in her eyes. That’s good. I want her to be afraid of me. I can use that fear to my advantage. Violet is too headstrong. I’m going to need all the help I can get.14Violet“Here ya go, Rooster,” I murmur softly, bending down to give the old man a sandwich. He’s older than Methuselah, smells horrible, and has a ratty, long winter coat and scarf on that he wears all the time with a beaten-up top hat. The kind like Fred Astaire wore in his movies. His skin is a faded, almost dull black and his dark eyes are gloomy; they hold secrets I’m not sure I’ll ever understand, but kind of wish I knew.