Lethal Queen Bee (Embassy Academy #2) - Emily Kazmierski Page 0,50

in the meantime… Pulling on my nubby robe and securing it at my waist with its scraggly tie, I peek out into the hallway. The coast is clear.

Silently, I inch up the hall toward the stairs, stepping carefully in and out of the low light cast by the wall sconces. The dormitory building is a hundred years old, and the floors squeak. I debate my destination as I advance. The vending machine near the administration office has the best snacks, but it’s much farther away than the one upstairs in the student lounge.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I head downstairs. It’ll be worth the extra walking if I can sink my teeth into an imported chocolate bar.

The foyer is quiet as I pass through, only now noticing that the security guard is nowhere to be seen. He must be making his rounds elsewhere on campus.

A dreaded sense of being watched tingles along my spine, making me spin to look behind me. There’s no one in sight. Chiding myself, I continue. Thinking about the threat Gul received is making me paranoid. I feel like I’m constantly being followed. It’s ridiculous.

No one has any reason to be following me. I don’t have any enemies. I think.

A few weeks ago, I would have counted Ricardo and Gul as my top antagonists, but that has changed. Gul and I aren’t exactly friends, but she’s not as catty as she used to be before. And Ricardo... I don’t even want to think about him right now.

I don’t bother to walk quietly as I go down the hall. I’m far enough away from the dorms that no one will hear me. An abrupt sound up ahead makes me pause in the corridor. Light and laughter spill out of the cracked kitchen door as I approach.

Hushing my steps, I edge closer and peek inside.

Adrienne and Mikhail are standing side by side at the counter, kneading dough of some kind. Cal is sitting cross-legged on the counter, drawing on his tablet, and even Ricardo is there, eating nachos on a plate. They look delicious as he lifts one up toward his mouth, the strings of yellow cheese hanging off the tortilla chip.

My stomach grumbles as jealousy stings me. They’re all hanging out down here, having a big time, and they didn’t even think to invite me. Once again I’m left on the outside.

I expect Daddy to make me feel this way, but never my siblings. Or my bodyguard. Or my fake boyfriend, for that matter.

My lip curls upward in resignation. If they don’t want me around, I won’t linger. I don’t need their pity friendship. Besides, I’d die if they saw me in my old bathrobe. Obviously it was a bad call to wear it outside the confines of my room. A mistake I won’t repeat.

Squaring my shoulders, I slink down the hallway and around the corner toward the vending machine. Hopefully Adrienne and the others won’t hear the machine spitting out my late night sustenance.

I’m standing in front of the vending machine tapping my credit card with my long fingernails when a zing slides up the back of my neck. I pivot on the balls of my feet and scan the hall. There’s no one here.

Get it together, Charlotte. No one is following you. Gul has made you a paranoid freak. Just get your chocolate bar and go back upstairs.

A door creaks, making me go still.

Utterly ridiculous.

This is an old building. It makes noise. That doesn’t mean there’s someone lurking in the shadows, waiting to eviscerate me.

Making my choice, I put my card into the vending machine and reach for the screen to tap in my selection.

A low rustle behind me makes my eyes go wide. Before I can react, someone drags a black cloth down over my face. A solid, heavy body brushes against my back. Hands pull the fabric tight over my nose and mouth. Smothering me.

Reaching up, I claw and scratch at their arms, trying to loosen their hold on the cloth. It’s no use. Panic unspools in my belly, threatening to rip out every stitch of my self-defense training. Fear is laying siege to my body.

Opening my mouth, I try to call for help, but my throat is dry and sticky. Mikhail and Ricardo are so close by, if they could only hear me. I’m thwarted by rough fingers jamming the cloth down my throat. Choking me.

I can’t scream. Can’t speak. Hot, humid air presses around my head, making it harder to

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