Elite (Eagle Elite) - By Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,29

“Because it’s part of the rules.”

“Of the school?” I asked, incredulous.

“No.” He smiled sadly. “My family. Now, let’s go.”

I guessed this part of the conversation was over.

Begrudgingly, I got out of the car and stomped into the grocery store. Grabbing the first cart I saw, I began mindlessly wandering the aisles. At least I tried to mindlessly wander. It was hard when every time I picked up a can of something or a package, one of the creepy Men in Black suits was staring at me as if there was a bomb hidden in the tomato soup.

Weird.

All I knew was that the Elect were way more important than I could possibly imagine or even believe.

I finished in the dry goods section and made my way over to the candy aisle. I needed a little boost after all the crap that went down today. I settled on Twizzlers and sighed.

“Almost done?” Nixon asked out of nowhere.

I screamed.

And immediately ten men in suits were in my aisle, guns wielded.

Awesome.

Nixon laughed. “I scared her. Nothing’s wrong.”

The guys nodded and disbursed.

“Who are you?” I swallowed as Nixon’s breath fanned my face. Oh gosh, I was going to faint if he kept getting this close to me.

“I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes narrowed as he cupped my face and examined my eyes. “Brown. Interesting.”

“Brown?”

“Your eyes.”

“They’re plain.” I tried to pull my head free from his grip, but he tightened it.

“They are beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, Bella.”

His eyes searched mine and then he leaned in more. Our lips were inches away. My heart was going crazy. I leaned in.

“Hey, Nixon, the guys are getting antsy,” came Monroe’s voice. I wanted to tell her to leave.

Nixon jerked back immediately and shook his head as if he had been the one under the spell, when he very well knew he was the bastard who cast it.

“You done?” He pointed to the cart.

“Um, yeah, I’ll just go checkout.” I pushed my car to the checkout stand. Nixon walked behind me, patiently waiting.

“Glad to see you’re buying enough food so you don’t starve in between classes.” He smirked.

“It’s your fault I have to buy food,” I snapped, a bit irritated and still obsessing over the almost-kiss.

“What do you mean?”

“My key card, you asshole!”

He rolled his eyes. “Stop being difficult. You have two key cards.”

“Huh? Are you high?” I threw a bag of potato chips at his head. “Phoenix stole my card the night you made him set me up! That same night you were off-campus doing who knows what! I only have the red card that you gave me the other day!”

The color drained from Nixon’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Okay, he was high. I mean, he was there! “In the hall when you said that was the best you could do, and you handed me the card to the Red Cafeteria!”

“Because Phoenix said you were uncomfortable eating with us. The Red Cafeteria is better than the commons—”

He gripped the shopping cart, and I could tell a battle was waging in his mind. Finally, he shook his head. “Bastard. I’ll deal with it. Do you still need this food then? If you’re going to be eating with us now?”

“Yes.” I swallowed, because who knew when I was going to make him or one of the other guys angry and lose my rights to eat meat?

“That will be one hundred dollars and seventy-two cents.” The checker announced, sounding bored out of his mind.

I pulled the roll of bills out of my hand and tugged off the rubber band. The wad of hundreds fell to the ground. This is what Nixon’s stupid presence did to me. It made me nervous and a bit crazy.

I swiped the bills off the floor and froze.

Impossible.

“Something wrong?” Nixon asked in an irritated tone.

“Uh, no, yeah, umm…” I didn’t really know what else to do, so I handed him the stack of bills. The same stack that was wrapped in a one hundred dollar bill, in order to cover the ten one-thousand dollar bills.

“Shit,” he muttered, then pulled out his own wallet. He swiped his card in the ATM and punched in his code, then placed the card on the little table while he pulled out his cell. “No, you ass. I didn’t have cash on me. Yes, I know I can be traced. Who pays you, dipshit? Who? That’s what I thought. Now deal with it.”

“Abandonato,” I whispered under my breath reading the card while simultaneously