Saint (Angelview Academy #1) - E.M. Snow Page 0,39

slow nod and stares at us like we’re idiots. “You’ll be writing a collaborative paper and presenting on the works of Charles Dickens. I suggest you quickly make arrangements to meet up after school and take your seats.”

This day just gets better and better.

We drag our feet to the back of the class, but before we part ways to find our seats, Liam pauses.

“You free tonight?” he grumbles, successfully avoiding direct eye contact, as if looking at me might infect him.

I nod but of course he doesn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Meet in the library at seven?”

“Yeah. All right.”

It’s clear those few words are more than he wanted to have to say to me. Without sparing me another glance, he gives me his back and goes to his seat. I watch him get settled for several seconds before releasing a sigh of frustration and disappointment, and then make my way to my desk as well.

I make it a point not to be late to our meetup. Thankfully, Laurel and her crew got into big trouble for trashing part of the dining hall this morning, so the mess I clean up after dinner is way more manageable. I’m able to get to my dorm, get changed, and head to the library with plenty of time to spare. It’s a relief, as I’m not sure Liam will take kindly to being left waiting.

When I arrive at the library, there aren’t many people around, which isn’t surprising for a Thursday night. A lot of Angelview’s students start their weekends a day early and show up to their Friday classes hung over, if they show up at all. It shouldn’t be hard to find him.

I wander around for a little while, but Mr. Tattooed, Dark, and Brooding is nowhere to be found.

“You better not stick me with all the work, dick,” I grumble under my breath. I come to the end of a row of bookshelves and turn around the end to head down the next aisle, but I freeze in my tracks at the scene I stumble upon.

Jon Eric and Finnegan, the two douchebags from the football team, are standing in the middle of the row, and they have another kid pinned by his throat against the shelves. The guy is smaller, likely a freshman, and his face is red and wet with tears.

“You’re a pretty little bitch, aren’t you?” Jon Eric sneers. It’s his hand around the kid’s throat, and I see his big fingers flex as he squeezes. “Too pretty to be a guy. If we checked, would we find a cock between your legs, or a pussy?”

“My bet’s on pussy,” Finnegan chuckles, his eyes flashing with a horrifying mix of excitement and cruelty. I watch as he cups the poor kid between his legs and jostles his hand, and my chest goes cold. The freshman whimpers and struggles to break free of them, but it’s no use. They’re bigger and stronger, and he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Our favorite game is fucking up little shits like you,” Jon Eric declares. “You don’t get to be on our team without paying the admission fee. Isn’t that right, Finnegan?”

“That’s right.” Finnegan reaches for his zipper and my stomach turns. They’re not just harassing this boy. They’re going to assault him.

A thought enters my head that feels like a revelation. I remember what Loni told me about Nick, and how in addition to being beaten, he was … violated. Everyone assumes it was Saint and his friends, but I can’t see them doing that to someone. They’re assholes, but I don’t think they’re monsters. Not like this, anyway.

It wasn’t them that hurt Nick.

It wasn’t Saint.

It was these sick fucks.

My feet begin moving before I fully comprehend what’s going on, and my mouth drops open to announce my presence.

“Hey!” I bark, charging down the aisle. “Leave him alone!”

I’ve startled them enough that Jon Eric releases the kid’s throat. He doesn’t waste any time as soon as he’s free. Turning, the freshman takes off down the aisle, disappearing from sight. I can’t blame him, even if he did just leave me alone with these animals.

It seems to be a common theme around here.

Jon Eric and Finnegan don’t seem to care about the Freshman now. They’re attention is focused solely on me. “Hey, bitch,” Jon Eric growls. “You just interrupted our good time.”

“Yeah, well, can’t say I’m fucking sorry,” I growl, coming to a stop. The kid is safe and away, and it’s my turn to do the same.