Wicked Princess - Ashley Jade Page 0,22

how long?

How long before they end up dead too?

I don’t even bother wiping my tears away.

I just let them fall.

What’s the point of living when everyone I care about dies?

Jace looks at our dad. “On second thought, maybe a fresh start isn’t such a bad idea.”

Dad’s expression is solemn. “I’ll take care of it.”

Chapter 13

If I thought Jace was overprotective dropping me off at RHA for my first day, it’s nothing compared to the way he is when he drops me off at Royal Manor High.

Only this time, he’s not with Dylan.

He’s with Cole.

And the both of them are driving me nuts.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” Jace says. “I don’t care if they seem nice.”

I want to remind him that it will be hard for me to make new friends that way, but then Cole says, “If anyone offers you drugs, don’t take them.”

Good grief. They can’t be serious.

“Say no to drugs,” I mutter. “Got it.”

“If someone tries to get you someplace alone,” Jace grunts, his hand tightening around the steering wheel. “Run away because it’s a trap.”

“But not before kicking them in the balls.” Cole flicks his gaze to me. “Because you never know. They could be sex trafficking.”

My mouth drops open. “Are you two done yet?”

Jace pulls into an empty spot and cuts the engine. “No.” He turns around to face me. “I got you something.”

“What?”

He pulls a metal object out of his pocket. A second later a small blade pops up.

I glare at him in disbelief. “You got me a knife?”

“A pocket knife,” he corrects. “Keep it on you for protection.”

I look around. Aside from everyone being dressed in regular street clothes and the faint sound of rap music blaring in the distance, it looks exactly like the Royal Hearts Academy parking lot.

Ergo, I’m no less safe here than I was there.

I adjust my backpack and grab my crutches. “I’m not carrying a knife.”

Not taking no for an answer, Jace slips it into my purse. “Just in case.”

Because I know there’s no point arguing with him when he’s like this, I open the car door and step out.

“Want me to walk you—”

“No,” I snap, cutting him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Because no one knows the old Bianca here.

I slam the door with my crutch. “Thanks for the ride.”

Cole sticks his head out the passenger side window. “Remember, if anyone messes with you, punch them in the crotch and call us.”

“Got it.” I flutter my fingers. “Buh-bye.”

It’s not that I’m not appreciative, I just need a little breathing room.

They make no motion to leave, which no doubt means they’re going to watch me walk inside.

Sighing, I adjust my crutches and start hobbling across the parking lot.

I glance around. If I thought my closet was full of revealing clothing, it’s nothing compared to what some of these girls are wearing.

There’s so much bare skin, I feel out of place in my jeans and the t-shirt I borrowed from Dylan.

I’m so focused on everyone else instead of where I’m walking, I slam into someone as I enter the building.

“Watch it, slut,” some girl sneers.

I take in her thin frame, long curly brown hair, dramatic makeup, and pointy talons that seem to go on forever.

The girl looks like she can easily kick my ass from here all the way back to the other side of town if she wanted to.

“Sorry.”

She gets uncomfortably close to my face. “You should be.”

I want to scream because it seems like no matter what high school I attend, there’s always a Queen B.

I notice the small group of girls behind her. And her minions.

“Come on, Mercedes,” one of them urges. “Kick her ass already so we can go.”

The girl—who I assume must be Mercedes—smiles smugly as she appraises me from head to toe. “Looks like someone already did.”

Yup, and I’m not in the mood for a repeat performance.

“Look, I really don’t want any problems.” I gesture to the paper in my hand. “I just want to find my locker.”

Before I can stop her, she yanks the paper from my hand and scans it.

Her eyes darken before they narrow.

I’m about to ask what the problem is, but she rips the paper to shreds and shoves past me.

Awesome.

“If you have any questions or concerns, I want you to feel free to come straight to me,” Mrs. Rodriguez—the principal—tells me.

The second I walked into the office for a new schedule, she called me inside hers.

And she’s been talking non-stop ever since.

“Thanks.” I glance at the clock. Homeroom is going to end