Malice: A Dark High School Romance (Angelview Academy Book 2) Read online

  “Ms. Ellis,” Headmaster Aldridge says in his customarily firm voice, his eyebrows shifting slightly as he takes in my appearance. “Thank you for coming in so willingly.”

  “Of course, sir,” I whisper. They’re not cops, so I might be all right. Maybe this isn’t about the fire after all. Maybe they want to talk about that disaster of an assembly, or even the mob that was just trying to stone me to death. I feel a tiny flutter of hope that maybe things won’t be as terrible as I assumed they’d be.

  “Ms. Ellis, before we get into the reason you’re here, I have to ask, how are you feeling?” Worry knits Mrs. Wilmer’s brow, and I blink at the willowy blonde. She wants to know about my feelings? Other than Loni and Henry, few people have actually bothered to ask about them since I started at Angelview.

  “I-I guess I’m okay.”

  Lie.

  “A lot has happened within the last few hours. Are you certain you wouldn’t like to talk about it?”

  “Are you referring to the mob of overprivileged trust fund babies that just tried to kill me or my emotions?” When she winces, likely because she doesn’t want to acknowledge Angelview is shaping the next generation of psychos, I hollow in my cheeks and shake my head. “My emotions are peachy. Thanks for asking.”

  Another lie.

  “Ms. Ellis, are you—”

  I dodge the question like an acrobat. “Is that why I’m here, Mrs. Wilmer? To talk about my feelings?” I’ve had plenty of practice avoiding personal questions, and even she won’t be able to get me to open up. She’s better off letting the subject go, but I don’t say that out loud.

  Doesn’t matter anyway since she isn’t the one to answer me.

  “You are here for several reasons, Ms. Ellis,” Headmaster Aldridge says, clipping each syllable. “The first of which, as Mrs. Wilmer has said, is to check on your current mental state. However, the more overarching reason is that campus police would like to have a word with you.”

  My hands are clammy and cold as I link my fingers to stop them from shaking. “Why would they want to speak with me, sir?”

  Dumbass, the voice in the back of my head laughs. You already fucking know.

  His expression is stern as he replies, “That isn’t for us to say. We merely wanted to prepare you before they came in. We don’t want you to feel taken by surprise.”

  Prepare me, sure. They want to lull me into a false sense of security before they release the hounds on my ass.

  I’m not about to be their fall guy.

  No matter what anyone says, or how they try to push me, I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll be damned if I let my life be demolished all over again.

  I’m innocent of everything this time except daring to feel for someone like Saint Angelle.

  2

  “Mallory. Mal, baby? Can you hear me?”

  My head throbs, and my eyelids weigh at least ten pounds each. I can’t respond right away—my throat is too dry, and my lips are sandpaper—so I let out a ragged moan instead.

  “Mallory. I need you to wake the fuck up. Wake up right now!”

  The urgency in the gravelly voice hissing in my ear has me forcing my eyes open. I’m surprised to find Jenn standing over me, her face inches from mine. Her blue eyes are wide, her gaunt face impossibly tighter looking than usual.

  “M-momma?” I groan. My head is fuzzy, and I feel so groggy. I can hardly string words together in my mind as I squint up at her. “Momma, what—”

  But she presses a finger to my lips, invading my nostrils with the stench of stale tobacco and sweat. “You listen to me close, baby girl, all right? The cops are on their way.”

  “Wh-what?” I’m trying to figure out where I am. There’s beeping machinery and soft white walls. Hospital. Why am I in the hospital? “Why are the police coming? What—”

  “Shh.” Jenn skims her hand over my hair. It’s a motherly gesture but I’m not used to experiencing things like this from her. It’s nearly as startling as the news that the police are on their way.

  No, that’s not true.

  It’s far more startling than that.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” I rasp.

  “Do you remember what happened yesterday? The fire?”

  At that word—fire—it all comes flooding back to me. Jenn’s call to destroy her evidence. The kerosene and vodka bottle. Setting our tiny house ablaze. The explosion that knocked me out. The ambulance ride to the hospital.

  James.

  Dylan’s baby.

  James is dead.

  The baby is gone, miscarried.

  And I killed them. I killed them both.

  Oh, no. No. No.

  Not James. Not sweet, loyal, stubborn James. He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

  But then I remember Dylan, his eyes stark as he yelled at me. I remember him telling me that James was in that house. That James had gone in looking for me. That James had never come out.

  The room begins to spin, and I think I’m going to throw up.

  It shouldn’t have been James. It should’ve been me.

  Jenn snatches my head between her hands and pokes her face close to mine, as though she can sense I’m falling apart at the seams. “I need you to listen to me very, very carefully, you hear me? I need you to keep your shit together right now while I tell you what’s about to happen.”

  I want to cry, and my mind is so foggy, I’m struggling to compartmentalize my panic so I can listen to her. “I don’t want to go to prison, Momma,” I whimper, practically reverting back to a child in my fear.

  I almost expect her to tell me to shut the hell up, to suck it the hell up, but then she coos, “You’re not going to, baby girl.”

  This is the most surreal moment of my life. I’m actually turning to Jenn for comfort, and she’s not telling me to fuck off or go to my room.

  “When the cops show up, you are not going to tell them you set that fire, you understand? You’re going to tell them I did it.”

  “What?” I gasp, noticing for the first time that my words are slurring. I sound drunk. “A-are you serious?”

  She peers down at me for a long time, then nods and rakes her fingers through her lanky hair. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the new color. At some point between the last time I saw her yesterday afternoon and today, she had bleached her long brown hair to a frizzy, brassy disaster.

  Stepping back, she tugs at the waist of her baggy jeans. “Place all the blame on me and the shit in the basement, you got me?” she finally says.

  “But … but why are you … what about the …?” I’m struggling to put questions together, but Jenn is in my face again, slapping her hand over my mouth to silence me, the silver bangles on her wrist digging into my chin.

  “No questions. Just do exactly what I say. Carley’s on her way up from Atlanta to take you home with her.”

  Carley. Carley hasn’t talked to Jenn in a month, not since she discovered that Momma went full-on stupid and used her social security number to rack up thousands of dollars in credit cards.

  When Jenn drops her hand from my mouth, I manage to ask, “Where are you going?”

  She smiles but it’s lifeless. “It’s better you don’t know all that.”

  A minute later, Jenn is gone, and I’m left confused and half-conscious as the drugs they’ve got pumping into me drag me back down into a blissful abyss.

  The next time I wake up, I’m surrounded by police officers and social workers.

  “Mallory Ellis? We have some questions for you regarding the fire that destroyed your home…”

  I don’t know how I make it through the whole ordeal, but I do. Just as Jenn instructed, I place all the blame on her, and the cops believe me without too much push back. Jenn’s had enough run-ins with the law that not one of the officers looks surprised when I tell them she’s responsible. They drill me for a while, putting on a little pressure but probably not as much as they really should.

  It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever snitched to the cops, and I’m only doing it because Jenn ordered me to.

  After they take my statement and finally leave, I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, tears scalding the sides of my face as I wonder what the hell just happened. Why did Jenn take the fall for me? Why did she insist on it? I would’ve expected her to kick me under the bus as she fled town as fast as her skinny legs and busted old Explorer could carry her.

  Instead, she sacrificed her freedom for mine. She’ll be on the run now. Never able to settle in one place for long as the police search for her. And me?

  I’m supposed to go to Atlanta and start a new life, far away from the mistakes that my mom just buried for me.

  I shake my head sharply to banish the memories away, but it doesn’t stop the chills from creeping down my spine.

  Despite how drugged up I was the day after the accident, I still remember everything that Jenn said to me with startling clarity. I try not to think about it as much as I can, but every now and then, the memory comes roaring to the forefront of my mind, triggered by things I don’t always expect.

  I’m not surprised it’s been triggered now. The situations are far too similar, and the memories are increasingly demanding my attention.

  Headmaster Aldridge and Mrs. Wilmer left the room several minutes ago, and I’ve been alone, with nothing to distract me from my disturbed thoughts but dead memories and a note and a photo of a girl that looks suspiciously like me—like Jenn.

  Or at least, what she must’ve looked like before she started claiming that crack tasted yummy and pills were her favorite flavor of Skittles.

  My panic has doubled, and my knee is jogging up and down so hard, it’s vibrating the table. I don’t think I can take the waiting any longer. Hell, it’s driving me crazy.
I can feel myself inching closer and closer to a complete and total meltdown, and I’m hanging onto my sanity by the tips of my fingers, but it’s slipping with each moment that passes.

  I can’t stop thinking of my mom, and of James. Of Dylan and what could’ve been if everything hadn’t gotten so fucked up. I worry about Saint and Liam, and my past and present mix and churn together until I’m not sure what memories belong where.

  Is this what it feels like to go insane? Like legitimately, clinically insane?

  It feels like my brain is melting.

  At last, the door to the conference room swings opens and two campus police officers walk in. Neither are the guy that brought me here, and that only makes me go a little crazier.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I blurt, just like a fucking guilty person would. “Please, I need to call my guardian.”

  One of the officers, an older man with a graying beard and mustache, raises his hand as if he’s trying to calm a skittish animal.

  “Take it easy, Ms. Ellis. No one is accusing you of anything. We’re just trying to piece together what happened tonight. My name is Officer Fallon, and this is Officer Meyers.” He nods to his grim-faced partner with the strawberry blond hair. “We just have a few questions we want to ask you.”

  Bullshit. I’m not an idiot. You don’t isolate someone like they’ve done with me and let them stew in their own anxiety if you aren’t getting ready to drill them until they break. They want me weak and crazy so I’m easier to manipulate.

  I can’t give them that satisfaction.

  I won’t.

  “Ms. Ellis, can you tell us where you were this evening?” Officer Meyers, who appears much younger than Fallon, asks with a furrowed brow.

  That question all but confirms my suspicions, and I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue before asking, “Why do you need to know my whereabouts if I’m not being accused of anything?”

  Meyers’s brows shoot toward his receding hairline, and Officer Fallon appears slightly taken aback by my response.

  “Please, Mallory. We’re just trying to get a full picture of the night, as I’ve said,” Officer Fallon says in a tone that I know is meant to be soothing, but it only manages to piss me off.

  Some of my fear melts away as my fury boils hotter.

  “I was at the pool,” I grit out, folding my arms over my chest and leveling them both with glares.

  “The pool? It’s not open for student use at night,” Office Meyers points out as he takes one of the empty seats across from me. He looks smug and cocky.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, then release it. “I snuck in.”

  I’ll pick trespassing any day, every day over arson.

  “You snuck in?” It’s Fallon again, and this time his tone is not so calming. He’s still standing, leaned against the wall behind his partner with his arms folded over his chest, and I get the sense that he’ll be a tougher one to dodge than his partner. “Were you alone?”

  My nostrils flare as I smell the trap that they’re trying to lay for me.

  “I was,” I say reluctantly, knowing I have no reliable alibi. Without someone to back me up, they’ve got no reason to believe me. I was by myself, in a part of the campus that’s supposed to be locked up and off limits after hours. In their eyes, I’ve basically got the word GUILTY painted in big red letters across my forehead.

  “That is … less than ideal, Ms. Ellis.” I swivel my attention back to Officer Meyers, who looks to be on the verge of laughing at me. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the lack of cameras in the athletic facility.”

  I am. Which is why it’s been my safe haven all year.

  “Why does it matter if I’m not being accused of anything?” I shoot back. This is tougher than talking to the cops back home. At least they had pity for me because of my druggy mom.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.” Officer Fallon is still trying to play the peacekeeper, which means Officer Meyers is going to attempt to go in for the kill.

  Sure enough, the next words to come out of his mouth are, “Several students came forward claiming to have witnessed you threatening Saint Angelle tonight.”

  There it is. The blow I was expecting, but I didn’t anticipate that it would hit me quite so hard.

  If they’re asking about what I said to Saint, that can really only mean one thing.

  He was in the building when it went up in flames.

  He’s dead.

  Saint’s dead.

  My shoulders curl forward, and a raw noise escapes me as my heart shatters. That’s the only way to describe the horrible pain I feel in my chest as the realization that Saint’s gone sinks in. Shattering. Fuck, why does it hurt so bad? The bastard made me miserable for the majority of our relationship. He nearly destroyed what was left of my life with his stunt at the assembly.

  But he also made me feel amazing. Desired and cherished, when we were in bed, talking until morning. Revealing our secrets and dreams. He made me feel protected when he so publicly claimed me at the masked ball. Made me feel like he gave a damn when he intervened during tryouts. He made me feel things I’ve never felt with anyone else in my entire life, not even Dylan.

  I can’t say that I loved him. There was too much hate, I think, for us to ever really love each other, but I cared for him. I can admit that to myself now, and God how I wish I could tell him that face-to-face.

  How I wish I could also tell him to go to hell.

  The room is spinning around me again, and I can’t focus on anything but the agony vibrating through me. I fight to hold it together because I can’t break down now. Not in front of these assholes. This is what they want, after all. Me, broken and weak, so I’m more pliable to their probing questions and demands.

  Saint would be furious with me if I let them bully me into submission. He would tell me that only he could break me apart and bend me to his will. Anyone else who tried to do the same would be playing with his toy, and he wasn’t one who liked to share. No matter how many times I told him I wasn’t an object he could own, he would just give me that smirk of his and claim me anyway.

  Holding onto that thought, I take a deep breath and focus on the table until the room stands still once more. Raising my chin, I meet both officers’ gazes and hold them for several moments before I gather the last of my wits and manage to speak at last.

  “Despite what you may believe, I didn’t start that fire. Nothing you say or do will make me confess to a crime I didn’t commit. Now, I want to call my guardian, or a lawyer. I’m not answering any more questions without one of them with me.”

  “Ms. Ellis, I promise you, you are not in trouble,” Officer Fallon tries to assure me, but I can hear the resolve weakening in his tone. He’s as ready to give up this charade as I am.

  “It sure fucking feels like I am,” I hiss, not giving a shit when their gazes narrow.

  Good. They’re pissing me off. It’s only right that I get to piss them off as well.

  “Ms. Ellis, please. There’s no need to turn volatile.” Officer Meyers looks particularly peeved that I’ve spoken so disrespectfully to them.

  I lean back in my chair and arch my eyebrow, mirroring his cockiness from a few minutes ago. “I’m not being volatile; I’m just trying to cut through the bull. And there’s no need to ask me these questions if I’m not being accused of anything,” I say, enunciating each syllable and squaring my shoulders. “I’d like a phone now, please.”

  “You are not doing yourself any favors, little girl,” Meyers growls, dropping all pretenses of civility. Not that he was trying awfully hard to show any to begin with.

  I’m fine with it, though. I work better with raw and angry anyway. That’s the world I grew up in. The world that shaped me into the person I am today. The world that I was unwittingly dropped into when I received my letter to Angelview last summer.

  “If you’re accusing me of something, just get it over with.” I lift my chin and give them a hard, unblinking stare while I clench my hands so that they don’t see the tremors. “But I’m not answering you until I speak to my guardian.”

  “We’re not accusing you—” Officer Fallon begins.

  “Then why the interrogation?” I cut him off sharply.

  I can see frustration playing across both their faces, but Officer Fallon is way better at keeping himself in control. Officer Meyers? Not so much.