Glass Heart Savage - Lindsey Iler Page 0,41

tiled floor as he jogs towards me. “Here’s a note for your next teacher. You’re going to be late.”

“Excuse me?” I snap the letter from his hand. Sure enough, it’s a tardy slip.

“You’re going to want to head to your dorm and get dressed.” He smirks, proving his arrogance with the lift of a brow. “Quite the view from the whiteboard, Palmer.” His eyes skim to the front of my plaid skirt. “Not as if it’s something I haven’t already seen, but still a nice treat for my morning.”

“You put such a sour taste in my mouth sometimes, Byron.” I twist on my heels, attempting to escape.

“And you taste like candy on my tongue.” At the want dripping from his disgusting compliment, I check over my shoulder to catch him shrug. Subconsciously, I cover the front of my skirt, knowing damn well he’s been between my legs.

I groan heavily, not trying to hide the disdain and displeasure this man brings out of me. All he can do is smirk.

Heavy steps carry me away from him in a fit of anger. I slam through the door, needing to put space between us. Every time he looks at me, I’m disgusted with myself for ever falling for his charm.

Out in the fresh air, I’m able to take the full breath I’ve been needing.

I spot Dixon leaning against a brick half-wall, his eyes dead set on me. His lips don’t pull up in the corners. Looking every bit of a threat I’m afraid he is, he may as well be made of the stone his foot is propped on.

I twist my neck from side to side, expecting to see Marek and Breaker close by, and I’m confused by the rush of irritation when I don’t.

For whatever reason, these four boys have become far too concerned with my whereabouts. With slow steps, I continue down the path that leads to the dorms. I check my surroundings twice to find the gap between Dixon and me hasn’t changed. He follows me at a safe distance until I click my pin number and slam the door behind me.

With my back against the metal, I release the breath I’m holding.

I’m certain of a few things.

Dixon is a puzzle I’m not sure I want to solve.

Byron is an ice-cold son of a bitch, unable to melt a fraction.

Breaker is becoming someone I trust.

Marek is thawing me out, and my intentions for being near him are blurring faster than I’ve ever expected.

The one thing I’m not certain of is what I mean to them.

Chapter Eight

Marek

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Delaney says under her breath as if we can’t hear her. I’ve heard quieter gun shots.

Didn’t these girls’ parents ever teach them a damn thing about self-preservation and safety? They shouldn’t be following us into the woods, and yet, I hear their footsteps close behind.

“You don’t think they’d kill us, do you?” Palmer asks. She doesn’t try to mask her question. Her boldness makes me snicker. This girl is something else.

“What do you think’s in the backpack?” Delaney whispers, a hint of worry in her tone I’m sure is making Breaker hard as cement.

“You ever hear of the myth of these woods?” Breaker’s eyes cut to me as I stop walking. He hands over his bag.

I bend down and unzip the large compartment, feeling the cool glass bottles.

“Yes.” Delaney walks towards Breaker, leaving Palmer alone.

“I’ve never . . .” Palmer whispers, watching me as I remove the liquor. From where she’s standing, she strains to see them.

“The myth is that, back in the eighties, four teenagers came out here, got raging drunk, and only one of them came out alive.” I stand with a fifth in my hand. “How about we see which one of us makes it out tonight?”

“My money’s on me.” Delaney jerks the bottle from my hands, twists the top off, and takes a long swig.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you.” Breaker stoops down and throws her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She squeals, beating on his back with her free hand while she takes another sip.

Palmer watches her best friend with a disapproving frown for entertaining Breaker. If you ask me, it’s sort of the pot calling the kettle black.

Once they’re out of sight, Palmer’s face softens, and she turns her gaze, searching every inch of me for something.

“What, Palmer?” The leaves and sticks snap under my feet as I take a step towards her.

“You aren’t good for

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