Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Oh, you do, baby girl. But only because I fucking let you.”
“You let all your Barrington whores get away with so much, Bellamy?”
She had no idea what line she was toeing. On a smirk, I fisted the hair at the nape of her neck, then yanked her head down to my lap. “You wanna know what all my Barrington whores get away with, baby girl?”
She fought to break free of my hold, nails tearing into my jeans as I tugged harder.
“This is what all girls like Blondie get away with.”
Whispers bounced around the room. The students in front of us turned to watch.
“Is that supposed to make me feel special, Bellamy?” She relaxed in my hold, resting her cheek close to my dick.
“Whatever you wanna call it.”
Then her teeth sunk into my thigh. Hard.
I bit back a groan, then placed my other hand on the back of her head. “I swear to God, when I fuck you, I’m gonna do it with no mercy, baby girl.” Then I pushed her away. Her hair a tangled mess and her face red as shit. Any minute, I expected her to throw a punch.
“Mr. West!” Mrs. Smith whacked her pointer stick on the board. “I swear to the good Lord above.” She shook her head, grabbing her demerit slip pad and writing one out. “All ‘do it with no mercy, baby girl.’ Lord Jesus, take the wheel,” she said, placing the paper on the corner of my desk.
“That’s on you!” I pointed to the pink slip. “I swear, you are the one-night stand from hell.”
“No, that’s on you.” She shoved the detention slip across the desktop. “A one-night stand would have fucked you. I never will.”
“Bullshit.”
The bell sounded, and Mrs. Smith groaned, the hinges of her chair creaking when I assumed she’d stood up to go to the board. She started going over mitochondrial DNA.
Halfway through the lesson, I’d almost nodded off, until the PA system beeped: “An intruder has been spotted in the building. An intruder has been spotted in the building.”
Mrs. Smith tossed the marker down. “Under the desks.” She hurried to the door, locking it before she rushed to the windows to pull the shades. Students clamored underneath the tables and Drew pushed out of her chair, turning to me with a look of panic. “What’s happening?”
I snatched her wrist and yanked her down to the floor with me. “Just get down.”
“Keep y’alls mouths closed,” Mrs. Smith called from the back of the room.
My pulse ticked up, the thought that this could be real ran through my head, creating a whirlwind of anxiety with every hallway door that slammed shut.
“Why are we hiding?” Drew whispered as she settled against the leg of the desk.
“Active shooter drill.”
Mrs. Smith shushed us again. The girl on the other side of Drew started crying. These things were always shit because we never knew if they were real or not.
“Oh my God.” Drew pulled her knees to her chest, placing her forehead on them. She looked like she was about to completely lose it.
“It’s a drill, Drew. Stop panicking.” And that—that was the first time I had lied to her. I had no idea if it was a drill or not, but if it were real, it wasn’t like there was anything we could do.
“How do you know?” she whispered.
I shrugged a shoulder, and she tugged her legs closer to her chest. Seconds ticked by. The eerie silence in a room that was usually chaotic created a suffocating tension. Images of newsreels played through my head on a loop...the sound of gunshots, kids fleeing buildings with their hands behind their heads. That could be us.
Drew released an uneven breath, focusing on the tile in front of her. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
I was, too. I swallowed, then I laid my open palm on the floor between us, and she grabbed it, dropping her head to her knees again.
My stomach kinked and knotted, Drew’s hand sweated in mine. I watched the second hand on the clock tick by, waiting for shots to ring out or officers to knock on the door and give us the all-clear, while thoughts of what would happen to my mom and Arlo cycled through my head. By the time the officers finally came around and opened the door, letting us know the drill was over, the tension in the classroom was almost unbearable.
We quietly went back to our desks, pretending that drill couldn’t have been our shitty reality. Smith went back to the board, pressing her thermos to her lips with shaking hands. Then she picked up where she had left off, drawing another diagram.
Drew sat beside me, lip gripped between her teeth, tears threatening to spill over. She raised her hand and asked to be excused, already halfway to the door before Mrs. Smith acknowledged her.