This Fearless Girl (St. Clary's University #2) - E. M. Moore Page 0,6

really do.

“Nice outfit. Black suits you.” His smug smirk is cold and filled with satisfaction.

Heat drains from my face. Is he laughing at the fact that one of my only friends in life is dead? And that he fucking killed him? “Fuck. You.”

His grin broadens. “Come here for a moment, Dakota.” He pats the spot next to him. The hand-me-down sofa doesn’t look as wrong on him as it did Wyatt, Lucas, and Stone, but a shiver runs down my spine anyway.

“Please?” he asks, voice dripping with a warmth that catches me off guard.

My throat tightens. I already know it’s futile to refuse him. Luckily, there’s no one here he can ask me to shoot. Unless it’s myself, of course. I’m sure we wouldn’t get lucky enough for Cole to ask me to take him out.

An angry shield drops down over his gaze while I stay next to the door, my back firmly against it. He taps his foot against his knee, searing me with a look. He doesn’t say anything, but I know I’ve pissed him off for waiting too long to decide.

I close my eyes and breathe out before taking the first step toward him. Immediately, his demeanor changes. He nods encouragingly until I’ve traversed the length of the living room, still half hoping Lucas will somehow make his way in here despite having told him less than fifteen minutes ago that I want him to leave me alone.

Stupid girl.

Ha. Didn’t Cole leave me that message before?

I stand by the coffee table, and Cole pats the seat once more. “Sit, Dakota, we need to talk.”

There’s more force to his words this time, so I follow his orders. That’s what got me out alive the last time I was in his presence, so I’m hoping it will help this time, too.

The old couch is stiff at my back, or it could be my tense muscles from sitting this close to a dangerous man. I stare straight ahead at the plain curtains that cover the only window in the room, my body scrunched up as if attempting to take up the least amount of space possible.

Cole sighs and grabs my knee, yanking it up on the couch cushion so I’m facing him. My arms stretch to the sides to steady myself. With one foot planted firmly on the ground and the other relaxing, I’m in a much more social position. As if Cole and I were good friends hanging out with each other.

He turns toward me fully, mimicking my pose. His fingers play over the jewelry in his ears before he says, “I’m not a bad guy, you know.”

I laugh—I can’t help myself—the sound dark and lacking any hint of humor. It’s cut off when Cole smiles at me with too much playfulness.

“So, you went to your friend’s funeral. How was it?”

I glare at him, anger overtaking the fear. When I wasn’t thinking about Lucas following me here, I was ruminating over the almost empty funeral. Dickie’s kids didn’t even bring the grandkids. No one from town came. It was just us, his two kids with their significant others, and the minister. My dad would’ve been there, of course, but even adding one person to the mix, it would still be a sad showing. “Lonely,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. It’s difficult to keep my mind from wandering to how many people would attend my own funeral. No one even really knows me. No one. Even—

“Your friends were there,” Cole offers.

“I wasn’t talking about me,” I assert, instead of worrying over the fact that he must have been watching me. Of course he was. When we were steps away from my family’s secrets, I practically goaded him into following me around in order to take back some of the control we were losing.

Cole cocks his head. His gaze traces my every movement, my every intake of breath as if I’m a display for him to analyze. “What did you mean then?”

“Dickie.” I push past the thickening emotion in my throat. “If you were there, you saw I was one of the only ones to go. The guys didn’t even know him, and—”

“And the other two couples? His kids?”

My stomach turns over. There’s no denying he was there now. “Yes, his kids.”

“They looked like they had gigantic metal rods shoved up their asses.”

“They hate Clary.”

Cole shrugs, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his thigh. “Can’t say that I blame them. The best thing about this town is