Page 13 of Broken Skulls (Rebel Skull MC #7)

Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth

E lizabeth. He called me by my birth name. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before. I’ve always been Lizzie. Wild and crazy Lizzie. Well, I wasn’t always wild and crazy Lizzie. I once was shy and quiet Lizzie.

My fingers dance over the bandages on my arms.

Elizabeth.

My parents don’t even call me by my birthname. But maybe this is part of that new start he’s always talking about.

I’m so confused. He’s confusing me.

Pick up the bat, Elizabeth.

Why did I listen to him?

“Because you really needed to beat the shit out of something, and he gave you the opportunity to do it.”

“But now he knows about Mr. Baxter.”

“So what?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s going to go find him. And besides, JD doesn’t know about her.”

“She’s safe.”

“I don’t want to think about him. Let’s think about something else.”

At least I can agree with myself on that.

But no matter how hard I try, there’s nothing here in the dark to distract me. Pick up the bat Elizabeth.

“Pick up the pencil, Lizzie.”

I’m not sure why Mr. Baxter asked me to stay after school. Does he think I cheated on my test today? I would never. I nervously run my hands down my jeans before following his request.

He walks past me to the door. I hear him pull the shade closed and then the lock as it clicks into place. Then, he sits down at the desk behind me. I glance at him over my shoulder before quickly turning forward.

Mr. Baxter intimidates me. Not because he’s menacing or overbearing. It’s because he’s hot as fuck. He chuckles quietly behind me.

“Do you know why I asked you to stay?” he asks.

I shake my head, unable to speak.

“Danielle’s father came to see me yesterday. He seems to think that you and his daughter have an unhealthy fixation on me.”

My pencil taps nervously over the desk.

“Is he correct in his assumption?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

I sit perfectly still, not sure what else to say. Danielle’s stepdad must have found the dirty story we wrote about Mr. Baxter. Fuck. We were just being silly. Isn’t that what teenagers are supposed to do? I would never …

“Drop the pencil on the floor.”

My hand instantly stills. “What?”

“Drop it.”

Slowly, I lower my hand beside me, letting it fall to the floor.

“Stand up.”

When I’m standing, facing him, he pulls his pencil from behind his ear and drops it beside mine.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

I watch as he leans forward, lining up the pencils horizontally, in front of me. When he straightens, his usually warm, kind eyes are dark … vacant.

“Kneel.”

My heart begins to race, and I look at the door, knowing I should leave.

“Now, Lizzie.”

Slowly, I drop to my knees at the harshness of his voice.

“Knees on the pencils,” he orders.

I grimace as I lower myself onto them.

His gaze roams over me as the minutes tick painfully by. It doesn’t take long before an ache begins to burn in my knees as the pencils deliver a torture I didn’t know existed.

After thirty minutes, tears begin to pool in my eyes. I can’t take it. The pain. The way he’s staring at me, void of any emotion.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I don’t believe you,” he says coldly.

Another thirty minutes pass.

Tears are streaming down my face now, and I’m finding it nearly impossible to keep my composure. “I’m sorry,” I sob.

“That story you wrote was highly inappropriate.”

My head falls in shame. I’m so embarrassed.

“Do I need to call your parents?”

I shake my head no.

“Hold out your hand.”

When I do, he picks up a piece of paper and runs the edge of it across my palm.

Tiny beads of blood begin to emerge from the paper cut. It stings when he runs his finger across it, momentarily distracting me from the pain in my legs.

He smears the blood over my cheek, his dark eyes fixated on my skin. Slowly, he meets my gaze. “You’re dismissed.”

My legs scream as I try to stand. Quickly, I grab my bag and toss it over my shoulder. As I’m just about to unlock the door, he stops me.

“You forgot something.”

He’s standing now.

Internally I groan, but I rush over, bending to retrieve my pencil from the floor. His big hand lands on the back of my head, holding me down.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

I stare at his shiny black dress shoes. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

His fingers thread through my hair, making me cry out as he grips it tightly with his fist. He pulls me upright.

“You forgot to thank me.”

My gaze bounces over his face as anger begins to bubble on the backburner of my mind. Danielle and I were wrong. Mr. Baxter isn’t attractive … in fact, he’s the ugliest person I’ve ever seen.

As much as it kills me to say it, I hear the words leave my mouth. “Thank you.”

His grip tightens, making me cry out and rise to my toes. “Try again.”

I don’t know what he wants from me!

He leans forward, lowering himself so that we are eye to eye. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” he mocks, telling me exactly what he wants to hear.

“Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” I whisper.

His grip loosens in my hair, and he cups the side of my face. “That’s a good girl. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to my bloody cheek, holding himself there so long that my mind begins to scream at him to stop.

I gasp, flying out of bed just as JD opens my door.

The light illuminates the room, and I rush past him to the bathroom. I scrub and scrub and scrub at my face until JD stops me.

“Hey. Elizabeth, stop.”

I have to get the feeling of his lips and the blood off me.

“Elizabeth, stop,” he orders, pulling me away from the sink.

Water drips from my lashes as I blink at him.

JD’s blue eyes roam over me with concern before he roughly pulls me against his chest. “Goddammit, woman, just talk to me.”

When I don’t, he ushers me to sit on the floor beside the little door in the wall, and then he leaves.

I hear him slide his side open. “You can tell me anything. I’ll keep your secrets, Elizabeth. Consider this your confessional.”

“Why are you calling me that?” I ask, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Everyone calls me Lizzie.”

“I’m not everyone. Lizzie is who you were throwing off the cliff. I don’t want her. I want Elizabeth.”

I don’t say anything.

“I know I’m right, because I do the same damn thing. Everyone calls me JD, but deep down that’s not who I am.”

My fingers brush over the door, and I open it slowly. He smiles when our eyes meet.

“I thought it would be easier for you to talk if you didn’t have to look at my ugly mug,” he jokes.

“You’re not ugly. Not even close,” I laugh lightly.

He holds his hand out to me through the little box. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. My name is Jacob.”

Jacob.

I like that.

Hesitantly, I place my hand in his. His fingers wrap around mine firmly as he shakes my hand.

We continue to hold hands, staring at each other. A sob escapes me as the loneliness that has consumed me for so long surrenders to the darkness. And I find that’s where I want to leave it. I want to be with him on the other side.

It’s the first time I’ve wanted something other than death.

“I had a baby,” I admit quietly.

He doesn’t flinch. “Is that who painted the dragonfly I found in your car?”

I nod, my heart beating out of my chest. I’ve never told anyone about her. The only people who knew I was pregnant were my parents and Dr. Williams.

And now Jacob.

“Tell me about it.”

So I do. I tell him that I was just a teenager and how upset my parents were when they found out. “They were wealthy and highly respected in our community. They didn’t want anyone to know.”

I pull my hand out of his slowly and turn away from him to slouch against the wall, resting my cheek against it.

“They turned to Dr. Williams for advice. He recommended they send me to this maternity home for teen moms in California. They told everyone I was going to study abroad for a year in Italy.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Honestly, that’s what I wanted too, but not for the same reason. I didn’t give a shit what people thought about me.”

Jacob remains quiet. “The baby was a girl, wasn’t it?”

“How did you guess?”

“Just a feeling.”

“She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“It was never about protecting Dr. Williams … you were protecting your daughter.”

I cover my mouth, trying my best to keep quiet.

“You can cry.”

Something taps me on the head, and I look up to see his hand. A loud sob escapes me. I let him pet my hair as I cry. “I’ve never told anyone about her.”

The tips of his fingers massage my scalp, easing the tightness in my chest.

“You were only protecting what was yours.”