The cigarette in my mouth can’t burn enough to light a spark inside me. I feel cold. Hard like the stone fence I’m sitting on, gazing at the students passing by as they enter the school.
Until finally, a car parks in front of the gates. And not just any car. The armored black limo with darkened windows is over the top, just like the family who owns it.
I snort and shake my head, stubbing out the bud of my cigarette on the fence. But when I look up again, the sight of the girl stepping out of the car, clutching her bag while brushing aside a few strands of her long luscious locks in the wind, warms that dead heart inside my body.
It’s amazing how she stands tall and proud, facing the crowd in front of her despite knowing exactly how they feel about people like us, people involved in the criminal world.
I knew the second I stepped onto the grounds of this expensive school, people would hate my guts. I didn’t make any apologies and didn’t care in the slightest how they would react. I’m used to it. I know where I belong in society, and it’s at the bottom. I’m one of those rich assholes whose parents control an empire with vast influence across the country. It isn’t ruled by the political parties … it’s ruled by us.
And that creates envy.
Hatred.
The kind that makes you want to lash out. But I’ve turned it into a badge I wear with pride.
If only she’d see it that way.
That girl with the pretty blond hair, wearing those high heels and red lips like she doesn’t care or fear anything.
That girl with her fake innocence and fake confidence … That girl is a fucking liar.
I try to look away, but every single time I look at other girls, she still captures my attention, like a moth finding the flame, and it makes me sick to my stomach.
She’s everything I shouldn’t ever want, everything I couldn’t ever have.
She’s … everything.
Everything bad.
Wrong.
Dirty.
Enticing.
Like a piece of candy waiting to be unwrapped.
And I fucking hate that part about myself.
That part that wants.
Needs.
Craves.
That girl isn’t and won’t ever be mine.
Jill.
Jill
When the armored limo finally arrives at school, I clutch my bag close to my chest and say a little prayer. I’m not normally this anxious, but the fact Jasmine and I are arriving in a limo will surely turn some heads. I didn’t want to do it, but our parents gave us no choice.
I look up at the giant gates and the building behind it. Kaspar Gymnasium. English High School in the Netherlands for the rich and famous. This school houses all the elite students from abroad. The ones who don’t speak Dutch but whose parents still work here. All rich kids who don’t want to be here, just like us.
Lucky for me, I only have to be here one more year until I graduate.
I don’t understand why we had to switch schools this late, though.
But I can make a guess.
We quickly jump out and say goodbye to the driver, who will pick us up again once school is over. Walking off the premises isn’t allowed for the time being, according to my father. A peril of doing the business he’s in.
Jasmine and I try to blend in with the crowd, but it’s hard when everybody’s looking at us like we’re trying to make ourselves look more important than we are. Some throw us smiles like they’re trying to impress us, but others only sneer at us, and it makes me want to snarl at them.
Someone laughs at me.
I know it’s not just because of who I am or the family I belong to, but also because of how I dress. Sometimes, I make my own clothes, and today, I decided to wear one such outfit to my first day at school.
“Ridiculous,” someone mutters as they walk past me.
Maybe it was a bad idea.
Jasmine throws the person an evil glare.
“Just ignore them,” she tells me. “They don’t have style anyway,” she adds, sliding on her sunglasses.
My hand firmly clutches her arm. I’m so glad she always has my back.
I don’t like it when people laugh at me for my creations. It’s just something I like to do in my spare time. A little rebellion against my parents’ brutal reign.
“What’s your first class again?” Jasmine asks while on the way inside.
“Oh … lemme check.” I completely forgot after getting out of the car and being stared down by other kids. I fetch my schedule from my bag. “Economy.”
“Mine’s Dutch, so I guess we’ll see each other at break time,” Jasmine responds.
We give each other a short hug before she walks in the opposite direction, and I’m left clutching my bag, feeling lost in the masses. Everyone stares me up and down like I’ve got shit stuck to my face, but I know that’s not the case. I simply can’t rinse away the stench of criminals—aka my family.
I close my eyes for a second and take a breath.
Just get through the day, no matter how badly you want to run.
This is your life. This is your future.
The future your parents gave you.
Plenty of people would kill to have this life.
Opening my eyes, I plaster on a smile, then look at the time on my phone.
Suddenly, someone bumps into me, knocking my schedule and phone from my hand.
People scurry past me, but I have no clue what’s going on. I pick up my phone and schedule, but I notice a fight up ahead when I look up.
Fuck, I really shouldn’t be interested. Class could start at any moment now … but I can’t help myself and still walk toward it. I tuck my phone in my pocket and my schedule in my bag, but the second I realize who’s fighting, I drop my bag.
“Jasmine!” I scream, pushing through the crowd to get to her.
A boy pulls at her hair while another tries to steal her bag away from her.
“That’s what you get for shoving me!” one of them shouts.
“Fuck you for calling my sister a clown!” she yells back.
A clown?
Me?
My eyes flash down to my outfit for just a second. All I see is the yellow plaid skirt I sewed and the red top I’m wearing, wondering what part of this makes me look like a clown.
A sudden punch being thrown pulls me out of my thoughts.
Jasmine doesn’t back down and defends herself with everything she’s got, despite being bullied by three boys from all sides. But one of them tackles her from behind, and she lands on the floor with an oompf.
I jump into the fray, not giving a shit about the repercussions as I smack one of the boys right on the head.
The other two start to circle around us while I stand over Jasmine to protect her.
“C’mon then!” I yell at them, holding my fists up.
When one of them approaches me, I swiftly throw a punch, knocking out a tooth.
Another guy grabs me from behind and puts me in an elbow lock. I gasp, but the air gets trapped in my throat.
“Get off her!” Jasmine yells from beneath me as she tries to get up, but another one of the boys keeps her on the floor with his boot pressed firmly on her chest.
“You two don’t even fucking belong here,” the one boy I hit says.
I spit in his face. His face turns red with rage.
He slaps me in the face so hard my head turns.
And my eyes connect with the only boy I hoped wouldn’t see me in this position.
Luca De Vos.
But his eyes don’t show that familiar spark or that devilish smirk on his upturned lips.
Instead, all they show is the craving for violence.
Luca
The second my eyes find hers as she stands in the middle of a crowd, throwing fisticuffs with a bunch of guys, I stop and drop everything I was holding. I rush to the scene, ignoring people around me shouting at me, pushing past them to land straight into the fight.
And before the guy can punch her again for daring to spit on him, I throw him an uppercut to the chest. He heaves and bends over from the pain, saliva dribbling onto the floor.
“What the fuck, man!?” the guy splutters.
He quickly rises and throws me a punch. I can’t dodge in time, taking it to the face, but I don’t flinch.
Suddenly, some arms fling around my neck and pull me into a headlock. The other guy takes the opportunity to give me back the same uppercut, and I groan with pain.
“Luca!” Jill screams, and she tries to punch the guy’s back.
He merely swipes at her with one hand, throwing her to the hard stone floor.
Rage bursts through my veins, and I roar as I tear away from the arms behind me. I swiftly kick the guy in front of me and punch him in the face. I spin on my heels to jam my knee into the other guy’s balls.
He yowls in pain and falls down, clutching his junk. “Why the fuck are you butting in?”
The second I pull out my knife, all of them back away.
“Don’t you dare fucking lay another hand on her,” I say through gritted teeth, and I throw a snarl at the one guy left standing, but he quickly backs away with his hands raised like a dog with his tail between his legs.
“What? Scared of a little knife?” I say, flicking it around to make their eyes follow the blade.
Jill is beside her sister, helping her get up, while I stare at the crowd surrounding us to make sure none of them gets any ideas.
“What is going on here?”
Everyone suddenly starts to scramble as Dean Hans barges into the hallway. I quickly tuck my knife back into my pocket and pretend nothing happened.
Hans stops in his tracks the second he spots us, his eyes taking in the bruises on Jill’s face, the mess of Jasmine’s backpack scattered all over the floor, and my thick lip and bloody gashes. Dean Hans’s face darkens as he marches toward us and grabs me by the collar.
“De Vos, alweer?!” Again. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop fighting with other students?”
“He wasn’t.” Jill suddenly speaks up, taking a step forward. Her hand briefly touches my arm, and a jolt of lightning shoots up my veins I can only describe as powerful. Addictive.
“He was protecting us.”
The dean looks at both of us to try to discern the truth from our eyes, but I don’t have any lies to give him. Not today.
He sucks in a breath and barks, “Into my office. All of you.” When he marches away, he throws us all a glance over his shoulder. “Now.”
When the dean’s done berating us, I head straight back through that same hallway and keep my head low. I’m already glad I wasn’t expelled for fighting. At least those assholes will get punished too, but Dad will be pissed if I keep drawing attention to myself like that.
Suddenly, someone tugs at my arm, so I turn. It’s none other than Jill, staring at me with this sickly sweet smile on her face, which makes me want to scream.
“Hey,” she says as Jasmine walks past us and waves. “I just wanted to thank you.” Jill’s cheeks turn faintly red, almost the same color as that red top of hers, and for some reason, my eyes are immediately drawn down toward those tits hiding underneath and—
Fuck, don’t go there.
So I look back up at her face, but I don’t know whether to walk away or to stay and stare at her and those pink cheeks, those blue eyes, those luscious red lips that make me want to—
This isn’t any better. At all.
Fuck.
She brings a tissue up to my face, gently blotting at my busted lip. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
She … didn’t want me to get hurt?
Without thinking, I grab her wrist. “Don’t.”
“What? I’m just trying to help,” she replies.
I drag her closer by her wrist. “I didn’t ask for your help.” I shove her hand away. “And I don’t need your thanks either.”
“Well, I’m sorry for appreciating your help,” she scoffs, her face turning sour. “So much for saving us.”
When no one is watching, I push her up against the wall, planting a hand beside her face. “I don’t save people. I hurt people.” I fish the knife from my pocket and show it to her. “You think I took that beating to save you? Wrong.”
“Then why? Why go through the effort.”
I lean in, smelling the scent of fear on her breath as I go in closer and closer and closer until I’m right beside her ear, and I whisper, “Because I crave violence.”
It’s in my blood. My very essence.
Pain. Blood. Murder.
It’s what we’ve been taught by my parents early on in life.
What we’ve been told is the only means to get what you want.
Power.
And with power … you control the world.
I lean away again, tucking the knife back into my pocket. “Don’t say thank you to a monster. You’ll regret it one day.”
And I take my hand off the wall and walk off, determined not to look back for fear of what I might do.
What I might want, more than power, more than anything else in this entire fucking world.
What I might take if she starts being nice to me.
Her.
