CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sisters should be outlawed.
Nixon
Mo: WTF
The text came in at seven a.m., flashing across my screen. I was at our office on campus, though to the naked eye, it looked more like a bachelor pad with a full kitchen, bedroom, fresh clothes, and a crazy big-screen TV. Really it just looked like something a rich kid would have at a school he owned.
But it was a necessity for me. Because for the most part, I wasn't at home running things; I was at Eagle Elite, which meant I needed a place to sleep. Besides, it was so much easier accessing the system from campus than going home and hacking into it. De Lange didn't know about it — then again he wanted to stay in our good graces, so even if he did, I doubted he'd say a word.
I stared at my phone for a good five minutes then texted back Mo.
Me: By WTF I can only assume you can't find your shoes?
Mo: Screw off. She's eating with us.
Me: Girls gotta eat.
Mo: Are you going soft, brother?
Me: Keep an eye on her — if she does anything suspicious, you know what to do.
Mo: I'm not killing her for being curious.
Me: I'm not asking you to. If she's curious in the wrong spot, I'll finish her off. Now go to class and try not to hike up your skirt. Tex is having a hard time concentrating.
I got nothing in return but a smiley face. Between babysitting Trace and the rest of the gang, I felt like I hadn't slept in days. I was being pulled into the business more and more. Not only was I facing nothing but dead ends when it came to the murder all those years ago — the one that had destroyed the alliance between my family and the Alferos, but my main suspect, De Lange, hadn't made a false move in months.
They had no money, so maybe that was the problem. I made a note to do a deal with them, throw a bone, see if it tempted anyone enough to talk. I'd tried it before, but now that some of the associates were desperate, it couldn't hurt, right?
I quickly threw on my Elite uniform and walked out of the room. The door slid shut behind me.
The hallways were semi-empty; a few girls waved in my direction, but I ignored them like I always did. They weren't worth my time, unless they were on their backs, and even then I'd grown bored of it — of all of it.
"You look like hell." Tex caught up with me and slapped me on the back just as Chase intercepted us in the hall. His face said it all — guilt.
"How'd last night go?" I asked smoothly.
"A few scratches here and there." He tossed me his cell phone.
I scrolled through the pictures and nodded encouragingly. The face was recognizable but barely. Missing fingers, even a few missing toes.
"You let him keep his teeth."
Chase shrugged. "I was feeling generous."
"Funny, me too." Tex nodded. "Last night I was so generous I—"
"If this is about Mo, please refrain." I held up my hand.
Tex grinned, but his eyes flashed. Damn, I needed to watch my back with that guy. He was too smart by half, and it pissed me off that he let people believe otherwise. It even made me drop my guard around him, and, because of his past, I knew that was the last thing I should do, especially since I was boss now.
"Call your dad." I threw the phone back to Chase. "Tell him to throw De Lange a bone. I want to make a deal with them, a small deal. Give them some money and see if they use it for something."
"Got it." Chase sent off a quick text then groaned. "I freaking hate school."
Rolling my eyes, I slapped him on the back. "And you think I like it?"
"Class losers." Phoenix nodded to us from down the hall, "Let's not be tardy…"
"Right.' I snorted. "Because they could kick us out?"
"If only," Tex agreed. "If only."
My text alert went off on my cell phone. I was going to be late for class, and I'd very cheerfully told Professor Sanders that I'd take over his freshman poly-sci class.
It had been an asshole move. His mom had died, and I'd smiled — yup, freaking smiled — as I looked at the class list and saw Trace's name. What better way to spy on the girl who didn't belong than being her teacher? Damn, just thinking about bending her over a desk and — I shook my head. Not gonna happen. She was just another face, another girl.
Nothing special.
I stormed into the room and slammed the door. Most of the students were busy texting, flirting, going on with their lives like there wasn't a Mafia war taking place in that very school — like their lives weren't being protected every damn day because I made it so.
Irritated, I rolled my eyes and searched for Trace. The minute our gazes met, she averted hers and looked down at her desk. Red stained her cheeks. I grinned. Hell was coming for me, but wouldn't it be so nice to take a ride with her on the way there?
"You all know me, and if you don't, well then, ask someone next to you because I'm not repeating my name. Professor Sanders had a death in the family, and because I'm doing a business internship for him, he asked me to fill in. Many of you are seniors who have put off this class until the last year here. Welcome to Freshman Politics 101. This class is going to suck, it's hard as hell, and if you don't get a B, you basically flunk. But…"
I stepped around the desk and leaned against it, letting my words hang in the air as the class zeroed in. I had their focus, but not Trace's. She seemed hell-bent on not making any sort of contact with my face. My shoes, she was staring at my shoes.
"If you listen, do your homework, and keep your head out of your ass long enough to pay attention, you may just learn something."
Trace's eyes met mine — finally. And she smiled.
That was all it took for my hands to grip the desk so hard I was afraid I'd made permanent marks. Her damn smile.
"Trace," I barked out her name, a predatory smile forming across my lips at the way she straightened her skirt and stood next to her desk as was custom. At least Mo had told her to do that much."
"Yes?"
"Name all the presidents of the United States. You have three minutes."
The little girl smirked at me and started firing them off in rapid succession while the rest of the bright minds in the room gawked like she'd just solved world hunger wearing nothing but her underwear.
Wow! Bad, horrible thing to think about while trying to look authoritative. Trace's voice echoed around the class, until finally she finished.
She sat down as I purposefully made my way toward her desk, impressed she'd done it, but even more impressed that she'd done it so fast. The sound of my boots hitting the floor was the only echo in the room.
Trace's lips trembled as she lifted her eyes to meet mine.
I smiled.
I hadn't planned on smiling, or even walking by her desk. I'd planned on making fun of her, but I couldn't do it. I, Nixon Abandonato, chickened out, and instead said something so horribly stupid that I wanted to ram my face into the nearest wall. "Nice boots."
The class started whispering among themselves as I made my way back to the front of the class and crossed my arms over my chest. "First person who does exactly what New Girl just did earns an A for the day."
Hands shot up around the room. I called on several students over the course of the next hour — each of them tried and failed. Most of them messed up once they got past Hoover.
I dismissed class after giving them the homework that Professor Sanders had assigned and watched as students shuffled by. Trace tried to duck behind another student when I said loudly, "Are those Win's?"
She paused in the doorway then turned, her face grim. "Yes."
"Are they from my sister?" I knew they weren't, but I was hopeful, maybe too hopeful they were.
"No." Her nostrils flared, I bit back a grin.
"Did you buy them?"
"No." Cat and mouse was so fun when the mouse had an attitude. Damn, I wanted to trap her and never let her go.
"Who are they from?" I whispered.
She shrugged, looking hot as hell as she
put her hands on her hips, driving me insane with the way her posture basically said, 'Look here.'
"Mature." I snorted and looked away, pissed that my reaction was so violent, pissed that I wanted nothing more than to kiss that tempting mouth. "Can't we have a simple conversation? Who bought you the boots, Trace?"
"The boot fairy," she said through clenched teeth before stomping out of the classroom, nearly colliding with the door, but stomping nonetheless.
It was the first time a girl had turned her back on me.
On purpose.
I liked it.
Too much.
I stared at the door for a few minutes then let out a low chuckle. She wanted to play games? Fine, I'd bite… and I'd enjoy it.