Blue lights illuminated his cut cheekbones, his jawline sharper than usual from the dancing shadows, and then he flicked an eyebrow up, questioning me.
It was almost as if he knew I was considering his deal.
I gulped back the unyielding amount of anxiety and fear trying to claw its way up my throat at the thought of Richard sniffing out what I was up to. But if I wanted to avoid my future and disappear into thin air so he could never ever have me, I needed a plan.
I ran from him once out of fear, and it was a stupid, hasty decision on my part.
I wouldn’t be that stupid again. I needed a plan, and Isaiah was going to help me with it. He just wouldn’t technically know it.
Chapter Eighteen
Isaiah
What’ll it be, Good Girl?
The party was in full swing tonight, everyone already buzzing on the hard liquor we’d snagged from some of the girls—not a hard task when you fucked their brains out for a few hours, making them come more times than they even thought possible—at least according to Shiner. And knowing him, he likely wasn’t bluffing on that front.
Cade, Brantley, Shiner, and I were late, but that was only because I had to devise a plan with them regarding Bain. I knew he and his fuck boys, who were nowhere near as trustworthy as the Rebels, would be here, and I had a feeling he’d be a pain in my ass tonight. He was a sneaky shit. He often liked to slip out during these parties, and I usually had to tail him so I could keep an eye on his movements for Dear ol’ Daddy and stupid fucking vengeance, but I knew I needed extra eyes tonight. I had a pretty big feeling someone would steal my attention, and I was right. I’d been here for three seconds, and I’d already found her.
“You comin’?” Brantley shouted over to me as the door clamored shut behind us. My heavy boots were stuck as if they were cemented into the floor as I kept a hold of Gemma’s watchful expression. She was all the way across the party, a lengthy amount of distance between us, but still, every nerve ending in my body was aware of her being. We’d locked eyes almost the second I stepped foot into the room.
She looked different tonight, wearing clothes that weren’t hers and makeup that didn’t quite belong on her soft face. She looked hot, don’t get me wrong, but she didn’t look as angelic as she did in her schoolgirl uniform. More like an angel that was scorched by a sinner’s touch.
A little sexy, a little dirty, but still shining as bright as the goddamn stars.
“Yeah,” I muttered, my eyes still fastened tightly to hers. There was a definite unspoken conversation happening between Gemma and me at the moment, even with pounding music and moving bodies in between us. The only problem was that I couldn’t read her like I could most people.
With that frustrating thought, I moved my attention away, feeling the dip deep in my core as I followed the rest of the Rebels toward the makeshift bar. I snagged one of the neon-colored plastic shot glasses and tipped it back, letting the burn of Fireball coat my throat. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I quickly searched the room, waiting to find Bain. After all, he was the main reason I’d come tonight.
No.
That wasn’t true.
I came to see Gemma. I was prepared to corner her and break down that very shaky wall she’d hastily thrown up earlier when I’d brought up my little plan. She’d hesitated when I offered her money. She’d glanced over her shoulder, just briefly, seconds before opening the art room door and running away, but I could see the minor crack in her strong-girl facade. Gemma needed something, and I hoped I could be the one to give it to her, at least for Jack’s sake.
The Covens. My chest grew tight at the mere thought of my father sending him there.
Part of me wanted to call up Jacobi and flip my shit on him—again—for leaving us in the dust, but I refused to grace him with a phone call. He didn’t deserve to hear my voice or know how Jack was doing. Because fuck him.
The sound of my knuckles cracking caused Cade to grimace. “What’s eating at you, bro?” His lips flattened as he leaned in. “You’re usually much more chipper on Saturday evenings.”
Shiner elbowed me and waggled his brows. “Yeah, I mean…it’s Claiming Night, bro. What the fuck is the sour mood for?”
Claiming Night was a century-old tradition founded by the original Rebels themselves—at least according to the history Shiner had found. It’d evolved over the years with each group of Rebels, but the same rules applied. If you wanted to get fucked, prepare to get claimed, and the girls at St. Mary’s? They loved the idea of being claimed, especially by one of us. They all had daddy issues—no judgment here, I get it—and they craved
the thrill that came with these parties. They desperately wanted our hands gripping their willing bodies tucked away in a dark corner.
“It’s the new girl, yeah?” Brantley sighed from behind me, tipping another shot back and gasping at the end. “Fuck, that burns.” He chuckled, running his hand over his short hair as he threw the hot-pink cup behind him. “But it burns so damn good.”
“The new girl doesn’t want our boy,” Shiner sang loudly over the music. “That’s what’s wrong with him.”
I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched Sloane and Mercedes drag Gemma in her fuck-me leather boots across the floor. The lights of the party played peekaboo over her slight curves, and the bare skin on her upper thigh made blood rush right to my dick. “That’s not what’s wrong with me,” I snapped, suddenly irritated as fuck that every other guy was watching her cross the party with her two new friends.
Being jealous wasn’t my usual M.O., and I wasn’t even sure why I was jealous. Was it because I needed something from her and she wasn’t willing to give it to me? Maybe. Or maybe not.
I didn’t really have time to decipher it all.
What I needed was for Gemma to let me claim her for the night so I could get her alone long enough to rehash my earlier advance. Fuck, that sounded dirty. I cracked my neck, evening my breath. I just needed to get her alone so I could work out some type of deal with her. There was something she needed, and I’d give it to her in exchange for what I needed. All she and I had to do was convince the SMC that my grades were improving due to her excellent tutoring skills, and she had to tell a tiny lie for me on occasion. It wasn’t that hard. I just needed the SMC off my back and to take me off probation so I didn’t have to worry about being expelled.