I’m humiliated. And in pain. And I’m terrified that Veronica really is livestreaming, that my naked image is out there on the internet and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I’m going to ask you this once,” Parrish says, his voice a quiet menace, a warning. “Delete the video.”
“It’s a livestream—” Veronica starts, and rage surges through me like fire. Before I can even question what I’m doing, I spin and throw the hardest punch that I’m able to, my right fist connecting with her pretty nose and sending her phone flying as she loses her grip on it. It slides across the ground near Parrish’s feet.
He grabs it right away, glancing down at the screen and then lifting his dark gaze back to Veronica’s bloody face. Red streams down from her nostrils in crimson rivulets as she slaps a hand over her mouth in shock.
My knuckles are aching, and I’m bleeding far worse than she is, but the satisfaction is there.
I got you, bitch.
Parrish throws her phone as hard as he can against the lockers, and it shatters, denting the metal in the process, before he turns and sweeps his gaze over the other girls.
“Delete your photos and your videos,” he commands, curling and uncurling his inked hands by his sides. “And I won’t completely kill each and every one of you: I’ll only make you hurt.”
“He’s just one person,” Veronica snaps, her hand still clamped over her nose. “You’re holding knives.”
“By all means, stab me,” Parrish says, his voice nonchalant, but his frown the most dark and twisted thing I’ve ever seen on his face. “Do it, and I will quite literally murder you.” He moves over to my torn blazer on the floor and extracts both of my phones before hefting my book bag up and tossing the strap over his shoulder; he slips the phones inside the front pocket.
“He’s one person!” Veronica shouts, but the other girls—even that horrible brunette—don’t seem to want to take initiative.
“He’s a Vanguard,” one of them whispers, shivering. “His grandmother could destroy my dad’s company. I’m sorry, Veronica, but I’m out.” The girl turns and takes off, and several others follow along behind her.
Soon enough, it’s just Veronica and her bestie.
Parrish ignores them both, moving over to me and scooping me into his arms. I’m a little surprised, but relieved, too. My legs are so shaky that I’m not sure I could’ve walked the few steps to the bathroom by myself.
“You’re both dead!” Veronica continues, screaming at us as Parrish blatantly ignores her, opening the door to the handicapped bathroom and stepping aside. “My father will make sure of it.”
That’s the last thing I hear before Parrish sets me down on the edge of the sink and flicks the dead bolt.
It’s like lightning strikes that boy. He shivers and closes his eyes, and then when he opens them, all of that hatred and rage is gone, replaced with concern and affection. Parrish moves over to me and takes my face between his hands; his are trembling.
“Fuck, Gamer Girl, are you okay?” he asks, and then he reaches down and grabs the blazer, giving it a tug. I resist him, curling my fingers into the edges of the jacket and refusing to let go. So many places on my body burn. But worse than that, I’m mortified. I feel assaulted, exposed, violated. “Dakota,” he whispers, covering my hands with his. “Look at me.”
I do, and even though tears burn the edges of my eyes, I fight them back.
“I’m okay,” I whisper back, voice shaky. “Was she … did she livestream that? Am I all over the internet?”
Parrish’s face tightens enough that I know it’s true.
No. Fuck. Please, no.
“We’ll get it taken down,” he promises, and even though I feel like a traitor for thinking this, my mind goes to Justin. To Milk Carton. He can search my image anywhere, right? He’s been scrubbed clean off the internet, so it’s possible. It’s truly possible.
But then, did he sic Veronica and her goons on me? Or are they truly after me because I’m Justin Prior’s daughter?
Parrish tosses my book bag to the floor, ignoring the heart pin cam. It doesn’t matter now. Who cares if Justin sees this?
“I don’t want my naked body online,” I repeat, and Parrish nods in understanding. This time, when he tries to take the blazer from me, I let him. He pulls it off and tosses it over the other sink, standing back so that he can assess my wounds.
“Shit.” His jaw tightens as he reaches out and brushes some of the blood on my inner thigh, smearing it and revealing the extent of one wound. Even though it hurts, it also feels good, having him touch me like that. I look away. “Let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”
