Page 35 of From Hell

He sighs, placing his drink on the bar. “I’ll handle it. I know where his room is. Stay here.”

He’s gone before I have time to react, the sound of the door being locked from the outside. I stand there like an idiot before I force myself to move again, trying the door in case I imagined him locking me in.

Nope. He did it. He locked me in.

14

LAINE

Nine Years Ago.

Victoria Royal School of Medicine, Turret Library

One of my favorite things is to steal into the library and hide. They call the main library on campus Turret Library instead of its given name, Thamebridge, because the turret at one end houses a spiral staircase hidden in the stacks of books that goes to an old bell tower. Victoria Royal was a monastery in the 1600s, so there are many places to get lost in, but the old choir tower is one of my favorites.

It’s not my favorite today, however. Jaxon Clémont is lying on the semi-circular padded window seat, his jacket folded and tucked under his head. One leg is bent, and his forearm is flung over his eyes to shield his face from the light. He’s so big he takes up the whole thing. All I can see are his sculpted lips, jet-black eyebrows, and a spill of tousled hair. His broad chest moves up and down steadily, so I know he’s not dead.

“You sound like a herd of elephants climbing those stairs,” he murmurs.

Hovering at the threshold, I weigh up my options. I hoped to find this place empty to read and eat lunch in peace and quiet, but now I’ll have to go elsewhere.

I haven’t seen Jaxon around campus since he broke Addison’s hands, screwing his rugby scholarship and ruining his medical career in one fell swoop. Jaxon wasn’t even hauled into the principal’s office, let alone suspended. That shows how much money his family contributes to the university research fund. And just how much guys like Jaxon can get away with.

Why did he do it? It couldn’t have been because of me, could it? A dangerous question to ask him outright, given how much he scares me. Best to stay as far away from Jaxon as I can.

I turn to go, and his smooth-as-silk voice adds, “Plenty of space if you want to stay, Lainey.”

Hearing my nickname on his lips makes me falter to a stop. I glance over my shoulder as he sits up, making room, running a hand through his mussed-up hair. His shirt sleeves are pushed up, revealing a tattoo on one arm: two snakes curved around a sword with wings. He pulls his sleeves down when he sees me looking.

‘It’s Laine.”To you.

“Laine, right, are you staying or going?” His icy silver depths pull me in as he looks into my eyes.

Heat prickles along my collar, making me hot all of a sudden. Sitting with Jaxon while I eat my lunch is harmless, right? It’s not like he owns the turret.

“Staying.” I slink into the room and sit on the other half of the window seat, as far away from Jaxon as possible, dropping my bag on the floor to rummage inside it.

Jaxon is watching me, buttoning the cuffs, his Patek Philippe watch on full display. I only know that’s what it is because I heard some students discussing how rare and expensive it was. That watch alone could pay off my parents’ debts and my education, even buy me an apartment after graduation.

Oh, how the other half live. I can’t even afford new clothes. Not that I would buy new. Secondhand is just as good.

I look up and catch his eye as I take out my books and lunchbox. He’s still staring. “Nice watch.”

He glances at it, a tightness to his jaw that wasn’t there before. “It’s an Aquanaut,” he says dismissively and indicates to my book. “What are you reading?”

“It’s a…er murder mystery.” Mild embarrassment snakes through my veins.

“Can you elaborate? I can’t see the title.”

The title is obscured by a homemade cover that seems even more embarrassing now it’s the topic of conversation.

“Sure, it’s a classic, Murder on the Orient Express, by Agatha Christie,” I say, expecting a snide comment back. But when he says nothing, I sit back against the cushions and open my book to the page I was reading. But I can’t concentrate. I’m aware of Jaxon, the feel of his eyes on me sending a zap of electricity down my spine.

Uncomfortable with the situation, I peer over the top of my novel. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and my own hands itch to do the same. It looks so soft. “Your blouse is buttoned up wrong.” I blink at him and then look down. Shit, he’s right. The alignment is off.

I give him an annoyed look as I put down my book and stand to fix my shirt. All the while, Jaxon watches like I’m the best form of entertainment he’s had all day. I don’t understand why he’s still here. Hasn’t he got anything better to do?