The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,87

she probably drank too much or something, and debating whether or not I should get an administrator. I don't want her to get in trouble, but … it could be alcohol poisoning or something, right?

“Hey,” I whisper, shaking her slightly. She groans as I reach up to pull some of that electric blue hair from her face. This is one of the girls that was hanging out on the dock with us earlier. What was her name again? I can't even remember if she ever told me.

When I pull my fingers back, I feel something hot and sticky, and look down to see the bright red of blood.

“What the fuck?” I look up at the sound of a creaking door, and see a figure coming out of the boathouse. My eyes widen as I take in the man, cloaked in a black hoodie that, paired with the dark shadows of night, completely and utterly obscures his face. I don't want to leave the girl, but my first instinct is to run. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, rising to my feet and trying to be brave. My skin prickles with goose bumps as I stare the dickhead down and try to tell myself that I'm only a hundred feet at most from the back door of the dance hall.

It would only take me a second to get in there and escape to safety.

The sound of bushes rustling brings my attention around, and I see a second figure in a black hoodie approaching.

What … the …

The second figure takes off toward me, and my instincts just kick in. My feet are moving before I can even give them a conscious command. The damn heels I'm wearing sink into the moist earth, and I kick them off as I go, scrambling up the small hill toward the lights of the cabin.

One of my pursuers grabs me from behind, wrapping their arm around my waist and yanking me back as a hand clamps over my mouth. I'm kicking now, nailing the asshole in the shins as I dig my fingernails into the thick fabric sleeves of the hoodie looking for purchase.

I'm dragged away from the safety of the dance hall and toward the woods to the left of the back door, the other hoodie wearing asshole moving forward to help contain me.

My heart is racing, and I'm cold with fear, thinking suddenly of Jenica Woodruff and wondering if she was this scared, if she fought this hard … because if she did, then I guess it doesn’t matter because I'm still going to die here tonight.

We end up in the true darkness of the forest, the thick foliage keeping the moonlight from penetrating the earthy blackness.

I'm still struggling, but it's an effort. The two people holding me are strong, and I'm not exactly an experienced martial artist. They drag me forcibly through the undergrowth, until I see it there in a small sliver of silver moonlight.

A rope.

It's hanging from a thick branch above our heads, swaying slightly in the breeze.

No. No, no, no! The boys were right: Jenica didn't commit suicide. No, she was murdered.

My struggling amps up a notch, fueled by adrenaline, and I end up slamming the attacker behind me so hard in the ribs that they grunt and briefly loosen their grip. That grunt did not sound like a man, I think, but then I'm fighting for my life here, so I don't exactly have time to analyze that right now.

There's another rustling sound from the bushes, and my heart drops. I can't fend off a third freaking attacker! But then Ranger pushes out of the bushes, and hope flares bright inside me.

He doesn't even hesitate, just throws himself at the guy in the front of me, tackling the bastard to the ground. With my renewed burst of energy, I manage to get free of the person holding me, spinning around so I have an easier time defending myself.

We grapple and end up on the forest floor, rolling around in the leaves as I struggle to keep whoever this is from getting a strong hold on me again. Grunts and cursing echo from the opposite side of the clearing, the rope swaying menacingly in the center of it all.

Finally, I manage to get my foot in the stomach of the asshole on top of me, pushing as hard as I can and sending them flying backward. They hit the ground hard, their accomplice grabbing their arm as blood drips