Fierce(42)

“Got the stuff?”

“Yeah.” Hunter fishes in his pockets and takes out a tiny plastic bag filled with some white powder.

Images of Brody organizing those exact same plastic bags flash through my mind.

“How much?” the guy says.

“How can you do this?” I scream.

The guys turn around, all looking like they’ve seen the chief of police. When Hunter notices it’s me, his eyes fire up with anger.

“What are you doing here?” he yells.

I storm over to them, and the guy who they were talking to runs past me, scared he’ll get in trouble, probably.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I frown and stare at Hunter towering above me. I’m no longer afraid of him. He can do with me whatever he wants, I don’t care. He needs to hear this.

“I told you it was none of your business. Why can’t you just leave it alone?” he growls.

“Of course I won’t leave this alone! You’re selling drugs! How can you do this? ” I say. “And you, you got him into this!” I point my finger at Jaret, who starts shaking his head.

“No, I’m in this as deep as he is. I’ve got no part in him getting into this,” Jaret says.

“I can’t believe this! Goddammit, all this time you’ve been doing this, haven’t you? What would Jessie say?”

Hunter steps forward, pushing me against the wall. “Leave my brother out of this. I will do whatever the hell I need to do to survive.”

“It’s wrong, and you know it.”

“I don’t care,” Hunter says.

I purse my lips together and frown, pushing back the tears. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Fuming, I storm off, leaving the guys there dumbfounded.







Back in my room, I’ve been reading the same page for minutes. I can’t seem to even finish one chapter today. The only reason is Hunter and what I caught him doing.

I still can’t believe he’s selling drugs.

Brody must be involved.

He was making the bags, and now Hunter’s selling them. They’re all part of the same group. Is it a gang? I have no goddamn idea, but it freaks me out knowing this is all happening at my college, and nobody else seems to know about it.

Opening my drawer to take out a different book, I notice something lying on the bottom. A note with handwriting on it.

I take it out and feel something attached to the bottom. Fiddling with it, I rip it off. It’s a tiny bag filled with only one white pill.



Hey Autumn,



I’m sorry for being such a dickhead the last couple of weeks. We’re both working hard, but I know that’s not an excuse. You’ve been studying so hard, and I think you could use a little boost.



I hope I can trust you with this.



Cheers, Brody.



With trembling fingers I rip open the packet and inspect the pill. Shit. Is this really what I think it is? How can he give this to me and treat it like some kind of peace offering?

The nerve …

And to think he’s even asking me if he can trust me. Him, of all people. The irony.

With furrowed brows I throw the tiny bag back inside my drawer and slam it shut.

Someone knocks on my door, and from the heavy thumping sound of it I can clearly hear it’s Hunter. He doesn’t even wait before inviting himself in.

I don’t want to look at him right now.

He stomps forward with his heavy feet, coming closer to me. I’m shivering behind my desk, but I don’t want him to see my nervousness.

With a thwack he throws a book in front of me, and I jolt up from my chair.

“You left this on my bed,” he says, leaning sideways as much as he can so he can look at me.

He puts his hand on the table, waiting for me to answer.

“Thanks,” I say, after his fingers scrunch up my papers.

And then I notice his knuckles. They’re all bloodied up, scratch marks all over them.

My eyes widen, and I look up at him. A black eye marks his face.

“You’re hurt!” I say, and I grab his hand and check his wounds.

He only growls and just stands there, saying nothing. His rough fingers lie limp in my hands, as if he’s giving me complete access to fix him up.

Frowning, I throw one angry look at him, but he just looks back at me with those piercing gray eyes like there’s nothing wrong.

“You got in a fight again,” I say as I grab some tissues.

Wiping his wounds clean, I glance at him, but he refuses to answer. I’m so mad at him for selling drugs, but at the same time I can’t let him stay all bloody like this. I have to help him out, even if my first instinct is to tell him to leave my room.

I don’t want to see him hurt.

“Was this the other thing they asked you to do?” I say, looking him straight in the eye. He just stares back.