Enforce(35)
I slid the card into Mo’s hand and shrugged.
“Thanks for… this,” Monroe said.
“I’m doing it for you. Not for her,” I lied. “Wouldn’t want anyone uncomfortable.”
Trace flinched as if I’d just hit her. I almost lifted my hand to caress that cheek, almost pulled her in for a hug and confessed my idiocy. Instead, I slowly backed away and left it.
Why was it that every time I walked away from that girl, I knew in my gut it was the wrong choice?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Red Cafeteria? May as well put her in hell.
Chase
CLASSES SUCKED. MY DAY sucked. Tex was sucking face with Mo — oh, and Phoenix was nowhere to be seen.
Suck. Suck. Suck.
I could really use alcohol or something to take my mind off all the drama swirling around me. The girl I’d made out with last night even cornered me in the hallway. When I tried to sidestep her, she freaking launched herself at me, face first. Thankfully, I’d seen the attack before it happened, moved aside the crazy, and allowed her to face-plant into the wall. She cursed at me, but I was untouchable, so I merely tilted my head to the side and said, “Do I know you?”
“We kissed!”
“Must not have been that memorable then,” I said smoothly. “Shouldn’t you get to class?”
Seething, she gave me the finger and marched down the hall. So what if I watched her ass sway and then finally yelled after her¸ “Ah, Bianca! I remember.”
“Go to hell, Chase!” she yelled back amidst the laughter from other students.
Laughing, I walked off and nearly collided with the girl I’d been trying to avoid all day. Trace was staring at the door to the cafeteria like it was entry into a foreign country.
I cleared my throat and said, “Need help?”
With a sigh, she took her lower lip between her teeth and muttered, “You could say that.”
“Here.” I held out my hand. She slapped the card into my palm. I pocketed it and directed her toward the correct hallway.
The Red Room. May as well be hell to a girl like her. We called it that because it just dripped with pyschos and hatred. It wasn’t the normal cafeteria, which was good, but to me it was just as bad. It was filled with kids that were lower on the totem pole than the Elect but not normal like the other kids.
“Is this hell?” she asked in a small voice.
“Not exactly.” I offered a sad smile. “But it’s best to be seen and not heard in here. You get it?”
I slid the card across the pad and waited for the red light, thus The Red Room title, to flash. “Good luck, Trace. And, for the record, it will get better.”
“Right.” Her chin trembled as she grabbed the card from my fingers and slowly walked into the dimly lit restaurant.
I had to force myself not to follow her. So many questions ran through my head, like why the hell she would be eating there when she could eat with us.
I couldn’t help but think it was my fault. I’d helped do Nixon’s bidding, and part of his punishment was probably making her eat with people I knew frowned upon killing any sort of animal for food.
The door closed, and I managed to force myself to walk toward my usual lunchroom and take a seat next to Nixon.
Trace’s seat remained empty. Mo said nothing, but she did check her cell every few seconds. What? Did she think they were going to kill Trace in there? She’d be fine.
Phoenix’s seat was empty too, which wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d been acting sketchy and was probably still pissed Nixon was somewhat cutting him out.
“So…” Nixon spread his hands across the table. “…security’s gonna get tighter these next few days.”
Mo’s head snapped up. “Tighter than it already is?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “No going outside the gates of Elite. That’s an order.”
“The hell it is!” Mo yelled., “Screw you, Nixon! Who died and made you God?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say “Your dad,” but I refrained. Tex and I shared a look while Nixon gave his twin a cold stare. “I’m keeping you safe. It’s not because I want to control you, Mo. It’s because I don’t want to plan your funeral. Get it?”
“Funeral?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why the hell would things be that bad? When have they ever been that bad?”
The answer was never. We all knew it. Something was shifting. Nixon was boss, and it wasn’t going to go over well when Alfero, the second most powerful family in the US came knocking on our door. Not with the death of Nixon’s father so fresh, not with the men itching for answers as to who had really killed Alfero’s daughter all those years ago.