Page 80 of Wicked Vile King
"Yes," I say on a swallow.
"Do you know what would make me very happy?"
"What?"
"To know why someone so beautiful, so smart, soloved, would cut down the road like they fucking meant it?"
I swallow hard.
"I can't," I manage.
"You can," he says. "And you will."
I cough on the words as a pair of guards bursts through the exit from the main building.
"Male and female located," one of them radios in. "Northeast corner at the courtyard. Send backup asap."
"Saint?" I ask him, looking at the guards bolting for us.
"Yes, pet?" he replies, unconcerned.
"Why are they running at us?"
He shrugs. "Probably to take us back to the dorms."
"Why were the alarms blaring earlier?"
"Either someone killed themselves or they tried to kill someone else." He reels me in close and kisses me tightly, crushing his lips to mine. "See you in seventy-two hours, pretty girl. I expect an answer to my question then."
The guards arrive a moment later.
"Down!" one of them shouts, his baton raised. "Down on the ground now!"
The second one parrots the first.
Saint pushes me down to my knees at his side before interlacing his fingers together behind his head. I follow his lead as a female guard arrives and restrains my hands behind my back in wrist cuffs. Then she jerks me upright to stand and pushes me to start walking.
I turn and spare a glance behind me. Saint's being restrained too, but when he sees me looking, he winks at me before the guard escorting me shoves my shoulder hard.
"Eyes forward!" she barks before she leads me into the building and back to my room.
22
SAINT
Kill looks up from the book he's reading on his bed as my restraints are removed and I am tossed unceremoniously into our room, cursing the fucking guards who do it. I land hard on my hands and knees as the door shuts behind me, certain to lock us in like animals for the next seventy-two hours, maybe more.
"Aw," Gabe says, walking out of the bathroom with a lit lighter in one hand and a smoking cigarette in his other, "did the big bad Saint get caught being naughty?"
Kill laughs as I throw Gabe a look that spells exactly how many fingers of his I'm about to cut off. Not that he remotely cares. We all know if any one of us fought each other, it would be until isolation or death. Ain't none of us about to go down without one hell of a fight, dismemberment threatened or not.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" I ask Gabe, climbing up from my hands and knees to stand. For the record, he doesn't need to reply because I already know the answer. Little shit usesmywindow to sneak inside when he's feeling bored . . . or manic . . . or unhappy . . . or any emotion whatsoever.
"Kill said it was cool," Gabe remarks like that answers my question.
It doesn't.
"Did not," Kill quips, calling the time of death on the book he's trying to read and closing it as he sits up straighter in bed.
