Chloe (Made Men 3)

When Mr. Evans decided to give parting words, Elle stopped to look at him.

“Elle, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. Try and be more careful in Art. Next time, it might not be paint that spills.”

A chill touched Chloe’s skin at his warning.

“Have a good night, Mr. Evans,” Elle told him as they left the classroom for good this time.

She waited until they’d reached the outside to talk. “So, who spilled the paint? And dang, all over your outfit. That one was my favorite on you.” It really was. The big white sweater and her light jeans really brought out her tan skin and big blue eyes.

Elle’s closet was not only limited in quantity, but also quality. She got the majority of her clothes at the local Goodwill, but you wouldn’t ever know. Only the students here did because the only thing that mattered to them was how expensive the clothes they wore were.

“One of Cassandra’s sidekicks.”

Immediately, she knew it was one of her carbon copies: Stephanie or Stacy. They had definitely replaced her as Cassandra’s BFF. She noticed Stephanie cozied up to no one other than Nero of course.

“Which one? Her?”

They could hear Stephanie and Nero speaking as they reached the school parking lot.

“Nero, would you mind giving me a ride home? I rode with Cassandra this morning,” Stephanie said overly sweetly as she leaned against his Cadillac.

Nero quickly looked her up and down, revealing what they expected to do. “No problem, babe. Leo, let’s go!”

A cute dark blond boy ran over to his car. He was clearly a freshman and obviously Nero’s little brother.

“Backseat, Leo,” Nero told him before they all got in.

Finally, Elle answered her, seeming distracted by what was going on between the two. “No, the other one.”

Stacy.

Unlocking the doors on the BMW her father had given her the moment she could drive, they started climbing in. The car was definitely more of a gift for her parents than her. They hated driving her anywhere and thought of her as a nuisance. The only reason it was a BMW was because her father was still mayor of the city, and he cared about his “image.” Her parents weren’t about to let their daughter drive around in a shitty car, despite the fact that they hated the sight of her.

“Elle, is something wrong? You’re acting weird today.” She was beginning to become concerned. They needed to keep their heads down, and Elle was doing the opposite.

“I’m fine, Chloe. I guess I’m just getting tired of this same shit every day.” She seemed to have gotten more of an attitude, as well.

“Listen, Elle, you don’t have to stay. You’re free to go. If your parents found out how you’re treated here, they wouldn’t let you come ba—”

“I am not leaving you, Chloe. I’ve told you this a thousand times.” She stared at Chloe dead in the eyes, letting her know she still wasn’t changing her mind.

Averting her gaze, she looked at the steering wheel. “Well, we have survived this long by not getting into it with them. I am not like you, Elle.”

“All right, Chloe. I won’t fight back. I promise.”

For some reason, even though Elle was a great liar, Chloe didn’t fully believe her words, so she tried to get her to understand.

“Fighting back doesn’t solve anything, Elle. You know that.” Turning on the car, she began pulling out. It only makes Cassandra kill you faster.

There was going to be hell to pay tomorrow, and she and Elle were on the ticket.

Twenty-Three

I’ll Make You Regret That, Darlin’

In one quick motion, he jammed the tip of the shovel into the freshly dug dirt hard enough so it stood straight up. Wiping the sweat off his brow with his bloodstained shirt, he was able to take a moment’s break before he climbed out, using the pile of dirt he had expertly removed and placed to get out of the eight-by-nine-foot hole. After he got out and looked down at his masterpiece, he thought it definitely looked much different up here than it did down there.

Going over to the form wrapped in a dark sheet, he kicked it until it rolled over, falling into what seemed like an abyss. You could always hear when it hit the bottom from the loud thud, and it never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Pulling out his cigarettes and lighter from his dirt-covered jeans, he took a seat on the ledge before he put a cigarette between his teeth. The zippo came to life with a flick of his wrist, and he lit the end, taking a long, deep drag.

He knew he shouldn’t take the time for a smoke break, but it was a graveyard, after all.

Halfway through his cigarette, his phone began vibrating, and even though he didn’t recognize the number, he had a pretty good guess of who it was.