Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Yes, he’s attractive in a sort of dark and mysterious way, but my main objective isn’t attraction. I’d just like to know where my enemy is at all times.
I drag my attention away from Quinton and to the stage where a man in a dark suit is speaking. His jacket is off, and his hair is an unruly mess on top of his head. Even from a distance, I can see the tattoos on his hands.
At first glance, I don’t recognize him, but then the dots connect in my mind.
Lucas Diavolo.
It makes sense. The Rossi family and Diavolos have been known to have ties. It’s no surprise that Lucas is here, most likely doing all the spying he can for Xander. It’s just another reminder that no one here will help me. That I’m not as safe as my mother told me I would be.
“The rules here are really simple. Don’t kill each other and don’t get yourself sent to my office. Do the work and learn all you can. You have an opportunity that some could only dream of having.” I almost scoff at the words that roll off Lucas’s tongue.
Like the opportunity to kill is something special. Ha. I’m sure most of the people in this room have already done that five times over by now.
Lucas continues to talk, and my eyes gravitate back toward Quinton. I’m thankful he can’t see me even though I’m sure he can feel my eyes on him.
I recognize the guy sitting next to him as his best friend, Ren. The two I need to watch out for most because where one is, the other isn’t very far behind.
My stomach rumbles loudly, the sound interrupting my thoughts and gathering the attention of the person beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl whispering something into the ear of the person beside her.
I’m not going to wait for this to implode in my face. Gritting my teeth, I push off the wall and start toward the exit. This time, I don’t drop my eyes to my feet, which is a mistake I regret to have made when someone puts their foot out in front of me, and I trip over it.
“Fucking rat.” The person who tripped me snickers. “Nobody wants you here.”
It’s a miracle I keep myself from face planting on the floor, but somehow, I do. Stopping in my tracks, I turn and sneer at the asshole, who, thankfully, is no one that I recognize. His arrogant smirk makes me want to punch him in the face, but I wouldn’t even consider it.
Turning back around, I continue my walk to the exit and breathe a silent sigh of relief once I step through the double doors and back out into the corridor.
Ahead is the cafeteria, just on the other side of a pair of double doors. I can hear the clanking of silverware and the buzzing of conversation from where I stand. A group of girls stands outside the doors. I can feel their eyes on me and practically hear their whispers.
Again, I find my heart galloping in my chest.
Do I really want to go in there? The way I see it, I don’t have a lot of options; it’s either this or I starve. Briefly, I wonder how long I could go without food. The answer isn’t something I believe, especially not with the hunger I’m feeling at this moment. A second passes, and I don’t even want to admit the amount of mental fortitude it takes for me to cross the space and enter the cafeteria. My stomach churns, and my hands become clammy. I really hate it here. I hate it so much.
I catch the door as two guys stroll out. I don’t bother looking up and trudge forward like I’m heading into battle instead of getting breakfast. I look up once I’m inside, the bright lights making me squint, and I’m a little amazed at the size of the space. There are lots of tables with bench seating. To think a year ago, I would’ve been thinking about where I was going to sit in this room. Now the only thing I want to do is eat my food and escape to my bedroom.
Following the line of other students, I walk up to the food bar and grab a tray. All of the food is served buffet-style, but the cook puts the food on your tray. There’s an array of items from biscuits and gravy to avocado toast and eggs.
The smell of bacon wafts into my nose, and my mouth waters at the scent. I scoot down the line and look up at the person on the other side, serving the bacon.
I know something is up as soon as our eyes meet. The man’s face is stone cold, carrying no expression whatsoever.