Page 21 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

KINSLEY

It’s pouring when my uncle drops me off at school with my canvas, otherwise known as my soon-to-be nonmasterpiece.

The music grows louder the closer I get to the open door of the art room.

At first, I can’t determine what type of music it is.

As I enter the class, Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” becomes clearer.

I assume it’s Chelsea until I see those unruly locks of mussed hair peak out from between the empty easels. I prop my canvas on the easel.

“I didn’t take you for an early-to-class kind of guy,” I say to Gunner.

He turns down the music. “Yeah, well, I guess I know you as well as you know me, which, unlike my brother, is not at all. So, let's get to know each other.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I can’t help but smile. “You’re such a joke.”

His face is stone-serious. “I wasn’t joking.” He shakes his head. “Still not kidding. We should start by just fucking. Right here, right now. Get it out of our systems.”

I slide my backpack off my shoulders. “That would be a mistake for so many reasons.”

He sets down his paintbrush and then crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah? Name one,” he challenges.

I prop my hands on my stool and look directly at him. “Because after having me once, I can assure you, it wouldn’t be enough.”

His leg jerks and bumps his table. He fumbles and catches his paintbrush before it rolls onto the floor. “Girl, you’re evil.”

I laugh. “Yeah, maybe a little.” His artwork has piqued my interest, especially since it motivates him to arrive at class extra early. I point to his canvas. “May I?”

He holds out his hands as an offering.

Moving to stand behind him, I look over his shoulder.

His canvas depicts a man standing on the beach, gazing out at the incoming waves with a surfboard under one arm.

The colors are incredible. It’s only half done and already well on its way to becoming a piece of art that someone would have hanging in their home. “Holy shit! You’re amazingly good.”

“I know. But you think this is awesome, you should see me?—”

“And cocky?” I say, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence.

“Yep, that, too,” he agrees with a lazy smile.

Just then, Brielle comes in with her usual attitude that her day isn’t going her way or someone pissed her off for something minuscule. “What are you looking at, trash?”

The number of insults gathering on my tongue, ready to spit back at her, almost chokes me. But deciding she’s not worth it, I glance away, not giving her the satisfaction with even one word. Luca would be so proud.

On the way to get her project from the closet, she trips over my backpack. “Pick up your shit! I almost fell.”

Pursing my lips, I hold in my laughter. “Maybe if you didn’t wear six-inch fuck-me pumps— Oh wait. You need those to get over five feet. Never mind.”

“Fuck you, trash!”

“Brielle, pipe down back there,” Chelsea says as she enters the classroom. “I won’t tolerate a dirty mouth. If I hear it again, you might as well not even take out your canvas.”

“It’s not my fault, Chelsea. She?—”

“It’s never your fault, Brielle. Now get to work. I do believe, from the looks of your project at the beginning of the week, you’re behind.”

I don’t try to hide the smile on my face. I do love watching that bitch get put in her place.

Knowing that art is far from one of my strengths, I spend the rest of class attempting to draw some semblance of my face. Fail. By the end of another grueling hour, my hope of art class being an easy A has been crushed to merely a long-lost dream.

By the luck of the gods, I managed to find my way to biology without any missteps or unwanted visuals. Eden’s not unfriendly when she asks me how I am, but her tone is still stiff.

At the end of class, she slides her notebook toward me. “These are my notes from the beginning of the year. You can use them to copy, then give them back to me tomorrow. I always print them, I find it easier to study.”

“Thanks.” After only knowing her for a few days, it’s obvious she’s got something on her mind. “Hey, is everything okay?”

She plays with the hem of her jacket. “Yeah, just got a lot going on.”

I nod. “Okay.” I thumb through the pages of the notebook. Like everything else about Eden, her handwriting is neat and precise. I slide it into my backpack. “I’ll see you later.” She’s most definitely not okay.

“Yeah, see you.”

I head to the library to study. I’ve pretty much gotten the hang of knowing where everything is, thank freaking God, which means no more walking in on unauthorized sex-ed classes.

Josh catches up to me just as I reach the entrance to the library. “Hey, Kinsley,” he says, slightly out of breath.

“Hi, what’s up?”

He hands me a small piece of paper. “I didn’t have your number, so here’s the party's address. I put my number at the bottom so we can hook up. I don’t mean hook up like— I mean?—”

“Josh, chill, I know what you mean.”

His shoulders relax, and he smiles. He has a nice smile. It’s a little crooked. The higher side gives way to a dimple. “Yeah. Okay.”

We say our goodbyes, and then I go inside. The enormous chandeliers light the windowless building. Plopping down at my usual table near the back, I toss my bag onto the table, pull out the chair, and silently pray Edge has better things to do than harass me today. Lucky me, he never shows up.

As I review Eden’s notes, making copies of most of them, I wonder where Edge goes if he doesn’t come here. Then I immediately want to kick myself in the ass for even letting that thought through.

Tossing all thoughts of Edge into the imaginary fire in my head, I focus back on Eden’s notes. Despite the growling in my stomach, I stay to finish copying the biology notes. An hour later, I’m not nearly done when I pack up. The skies decide to open up as soon as I step into the courtyard.

Running for cover, I take refuge from the downpour in the cafeteria. I have no idea what to expect, but what’s in front of me is very familiar. It’s set up like my last school, with a fresh salad bar, a grill for burgers and grilled cheese, and a hot buffet line with already prepared food.

Having no idea who sits where or what groups have already staked their claim on the still-empty tables, I head for the salad bar. I figure it’s a safe bet, giving me time to get my food while everyone files in and settles into their usual seats.

“Hey, girl.” Bryce gives me a toothy grin. It falls as soon as he eyes my salad. “You’re one of those, huh?”

“One of what?” I ask.

“One of those healthy bitches who watches her weight, only eating salads and apples. Blah, blah, and boring. Don’t lie, I’ve paid attention.”

I laugh. “Actually, no. You have me all wrong. I love cheeseburgers, a loaded deep-dish pizza, and ice cream on all the days of the week.”

He props his hands on his popped-out hip. “Okay, spill?”

“Spill what?”

“How do you do it? How the hell do you look as hot as you do and eat all that crap?”

I don’t give details but answer, “Exercise. And lots of it.”

He glances at the salad and the bottle of water. “So what’s up with that?”

I lean into him. “I had no idea where to sit, so I thought I’d keep myself busy until you arrived.”

“Girl, I got you.” He points to a table in the far corner on the opposite side of the room. “We can sit there. It’s by the kitchen, so most everyone stays as far from that one as possible.”

“I’ll meet you there.” I finish putting the dressing on my salad when I hear a commotion. Heads turn in the direction of the noise. Curious like the rest of the gawkers, I make my way over to see what’s going on.

“You should know better than to hang out with trash like her. Don’t think you’re immune just because you’re the chancellor’s daughter. Even your daddy knows he can’t protect you from…”

I don’t hear the rest of what Brielle says as my blood begins to boil. I can handle the bullying. Maybe Eden can, too, but I’m not waiting to find out. I head in the direction of the crowd to find Brielle and her bitches.

“And trust me when I say, being bald would be better than this blue shit you got going on.” Brielle flips the ends of Eden’s hair.

I put my tray on the closest table. The guys sitting there scoff as if I threw a plate of vomit on it. “Get over it,” I snap.

Four of them have Eden backed into a corner.

Brielle has scissors in one hand and a handful of Eden’s blue, cropped hair in the other.

Is she fucking kidding me? Who the hell does shit like this?

Unable to watch another second, I burst through the slew of ball-less onlookers and grab Brielle’s wrist.

“What the—” she barks.

I apply pressure in the precise spot, causing her to drop the scissors. Gasps go viral around me. The entire scene is royally fucked-up. How can these imbeciles do nothing as they watch this abuse like zombies?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, still holding her wrist. She lets go of Eden’s hair.

“I mean, seriously, are you that insecure you need to cut off another girl’s hair, or does it give you a major girly hard-on to be a super-bitch?

” Still holding her wrist, I drag her closer to me. “So, which is it?”

Her overly made-up face contorts into a mask of rage. “You fucking whore!”

“Hardly. I think all of us here know who the real whore is. And you love playing that part, don’t you, Brielle? You love being his little?—”

“Let her go.” The deep, penetrating voice behind me ruins my playtime. Edge comes up to stand directly behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know how close he is. The heat of his body radiates through my shirt.