Lunar Crest University (Forbidden Fruit)

Chapter Eight

LUCA

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 8TH, 2023

T he torrential downpour permeates my clothes, drenching them as I stand in the alleyway, staring down at Finley. The fabric clings to my skin in an irritable fashion, my hair mirroring my clothes as it sticks to my forehead. The water trickles down my face, dripping from my nose, chin, and eyelashes. It’s a heavy reminder of why I miss my home in Mexico City—where it may rain a lot, but at least it’s warm and rainy. It’s almost always warm until the sun sets during the autumn and winter time.

Lunar Crest is cold all the time. It constantly resembles autumn, with multicolored leaves coating the ground and raining most days. It’s as if the town is trapped in fall; the sun shines on its prettiest days, but the temperatures never rise above sixty-five degrees.

I shiver, silently cursing the weather as I frown down at her curled-up figure. She hasn’t lifted her head to look at me. Instead, she keeps her face buried in her knees, her arms wrapped around them. Her knuckles are white from squeezing so hard.

She’s probably scared of me.

I threatened to kill someone right in front of her.

“Finley,” I repeat once more.

Still nothing—no movement aside from the trembling of her body under the cold rain that batters her, soaking her hair that clings to her rain jacket. She’s either ignoring me purposely or didn’t hear me because she’s in shock. Knowing my luck, probably both. I would be surprised if she wasn’t panicked or on the verge—the fucking weirdo had his hands down her pants when I walked up. The image flickers in my mind, pissing me off again as my nostrils flare. Jaw clenching, grinding my molars to keep myself from running down the alleyway after the son of a bitch, I crouch down in front of her.

I’ll find him later.

Shoving the thoughts of emptying my magazine into that fucker’s head deep down in the back of my mind, I clear my throat as I hesitantly reach out to place my hand on her kneecap.

I don’t have long before someone comes to investigate the sound of the gunshot.

With a quiet groan, I slide my arm underneath her legs and use the other one to hoist her body from the ground. She feebly protests as I carry her down the alley before she gives up altogether, pressing her cheek to my chest. She’s shaking uncontrollably, probably freezing, and I can hear the faint sound of her jaw clattering amidst the rain that falls on the pavement beneath my feet.

A chill spreads down my spine as we finally enter her warm apartment, the heat wrapping around us as I steadily carry her toward the couch.

“My brownies.”

I hum in confusion as I sit her down on the beige-colored cushion, my eyebrows furrowing as she crawls from the sofa to stand in front of me. Our expressions mirror each other, a grimace etched into our features as we stare at one another. I can see her chest heaving as her thoughts stir loudly around in her head and the way her fists clench as she swallows. Her hair clings to her skin, absolutely drenched, as a few drops trickle down her nose and cheeks.

“He made me drop my brownies,” she rasps. She blinks slowly, and I realize she’s having a hard time grasping what just happened.

My mouth pops open to speak, but nothing comes out. I’m not sure what I can say that will make her feel better, because I can see her quickly beginning to spiral as she starts to pace back and forth in front of me. It’s going to sink in that I had a gun pointed at Rosco’s face—that I’m dangerous. I can already see the realization washing over her in real time.

“That was the same guy…” Finley trails off, breathless. “He said he’d been looking for me? He was looking for me .”

The trails of water aren’t coming from her soaked hair now—they’re pouring from her green eyes.

“Because of what I saw that night.” She grits her teeth. “He’s not going to stop, is he?”

Her hands smacking against my chest and shoving me feebly break me from mentally cursing at myself as I stare down at her in bewilderment. Her bottom lip trembles as she glares up at me—the sight of her crumbling makes my stomach churn. My knee-jerk reaction to pull her to me only irritates me.

I need to leave.

“ Say something.”

I’ve come into her life and only made everything worse, but that’s what I always tend to do. I said she was the curse, but I actually think it’s me.

“He’ll just be waiting somewhere else for me, won’t he? So he can shove his hands down my pants again?” Her voice cracks, and I think my chest does too.

Another shove.

“ Murder me?”

Shove .

“Goddammit. Answer me!”

I can’t look at her. My eyes dart toward the ground as she peers solemnly up at me. It only feels like daggers into my chest as she cries. A million thoughts circle my mind—I shouldn’t be here, I should’ve shot that fucker, I should’ve never been in that alley that night. A lot of should and shouldn’t haves. That’s all my life seems to be anymore.

“His hands were dirty,” she rasps, meekly rubbing at her chin as if she can still feel him there. “And he smelled like cigarettes. H-he was disgusting, and he was touching me?—”

My hands are reaching out before I can stop them, cradling her drenched head as I pull her flush against my chest, and my arms envelop her shoulders as I hold her there. I know I shouldn’t touch her, but she’s panicking. She needs pressure. She fights against me weakly, struggling in my hold, but I tighten my hug around her. A whimper leaves her as she finally gives up, melting into me. Her hands clench my wet shirt as sobs ripple through her body, reverberating into me as she cries.

All I seem to do is make her cry.

I should’ve switched her from my class the moment I saw her sitting there staring at me that first day.

The decision to kill Rosco is simple now. I felt guilty about doing this again, but now —I never liked the son of a bitch to begin with. He’s Javier’s errand boy, does everything the big boss doesn’t feel like doing himself. As much as I should leave the entire situation alone, considering I’m on Javier’s shit list for owing him money, as I stood there—holding Finley as she shook with sobs—I couldn’t let this go. I’m on their radar anyway. What would a little dabbling in my old hobbies do to really change that?

Aside from the fact that I’d be killing the only person who never complained about doing Javier’s dirty work for him.

They should’ve known better, especially knowing how capable I am at making people disappear.

It was all I did for fourteen years. Javier gave me a name, and I would take care of them. The job paid good money, and I needed money. My family needed money. After the first few times, the blood on my hands felt less and less terrible. It was manageable. I learned how to shut off my emotions when it came to ending a life.

I’m not proud of that part of my life—hence the reason I’m trying so hard to move on, pay Javier off and leave all those ghosts in the past. I’m tired of feeling haunted.

“I’m going to take care of it.”

Kill the only person who knows about her.

Problem solved.

Finley pulls away as she peers up at me with red, swollen eyes. The red is a stark contrast to the emerald green, making my heart thrash against my chest violently as I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s too beautiful for her own good, and I’m too fucking irrational.

“How?” She hiccups. “Are you going to…k-kill him?”

I remain stoic as I look down at her.

Her pupils dilate as she pulls away more. “How did you know we were in the alley?”

I swallow. “Finley?—”

“ How did you know?”

“I was keeping tabs…on him.”

“Are you…” She pauses, stepping backward. “Bad? Like him?”

I had all the answers to her questions, but none of them would make her feel better. As soon as she finds out just how bad I am, she’ll probably run for the hills. And the tiny, selfish part of me doesn’t want her to run away at all. I want to keep her close, at arm’s length, hovering just in my reach.

Fucking irrational.

“I’m not a saint, Finley.”

Her arms drop to her sides as a weak sigh leaves her mouth. Rubbing her forehead, she shakes her head before twirling on her heel to hurry to her bedroom. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder as she slams the door behind her.

I deserve that.