Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 3

3

WELCOME TO HIGH SCHOOL

Ivory

August 2009

It’s the first day of freshman year. I’ve been on campus for five whole minutes and I already want to go home. I haven’t seen him yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time before we collide, and I have a feeling it’s going to be worse than ever thanks to our three-year intermission.

While I was still in middle school, he was here, learning every single one of these hallways, every entry and exit, every nook and cranny he can corner me in and render me a balking mess. Even with Santo teaching me how to throw a punch over the summer, I don’t feel entirely confident in my abilities to fend him off if he gets pushy. Forget the little stuff, like making me drop my books, tripping me, or embarrassing me in front of classmates…

That was child’s play .

We’re older now, and he’s bigger than me. A tall wall of muscles with soulless eyes and sinister intentions. I only know because I saw him at open house, and he definitely saw me, too.

Thankfully, my dad’s commanding presence acted as a buffer, an instant deterrent. But my dad isn’t here now, and Santo’s already met up with his friends, leaving me to my own devices as I wade through the first day madness en route to my locker.

“Ivory!”

My head whips toward that familiar squeak as the owner of said voice slides up beside me. I deflate like a balloon in relief, releasing the death grip on my backpack strap just slightly. “Hey, Shan.”

We’ve been best friends since she moved here from Florida in the fourth grade. Natural blonde, bright blue eyes, perfect upturned nose—she’s the Barbie to my Teresa.

And today, she’s rocking the preppy Barbie look with a white Polo, pink plaid skirt, and Keds. I, on the other hand, have learned better than to wear a skirt to school. Skinny jeans, a fitted long sleeve shirt, and high top Converse it is.

Shannel’s Colgate smile brightens impossibly, her long, pin straight hair flapping behind her. “We’re finally in frickin’ high school, dude!”

“We are.” I wish I could be as excited as her, but I’ve been dreading this day for months. “Do you know where your locker is?”

“Uhhh…” She retrieves a small folded paper from her Coach purse and quickly unfurls it. “West wing. You? ”

Another alleviating breath. “Same. Mine is 192.”

“I’m 194! That means we can walk to first period together!” Looping her arm through mine, she all but drags me through the sea of bodies, prattling on about all the things we’re going to do this year.

I hear only bits and pieces of her enthusiasm, too focused on every face we pass—none of which turn out to be his.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of syllabus overviews, class expectations, racing down hallways before the bell rings, and figuring out where the hell to sit for lunch since Shan has first, and I got stuck with third.

He’s nowhere to be found, though.

Part of me is eternally grateful to whatever guardian angel has kept me out of his path…and the other is just downright confused. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have run into him already. Three out of four of my classes are AP with more juniors and seniors than freshman.

“See? I told you everything would be fine,” Shannel exhorts as we head for the buses.

I would’ve ridden with Santo, but he leaves an hour before dismissal on work release.

“I don’t know; it just…” I shake my head, “seems too good to be true. How did I see him at open house but not the first day?”

“Who cares?” She laughs, hugging me to her side. “Enjoy it. Breathe in the fresh air. We’re not kids anymore, Ivy. He’s probably moved on from that shit.”

The look on his face when our eyes met said otherwise.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I leave it at that because I can’t elaborate, have never been able to go into detail about how deep this all goes, how it stems from a decades-old rivalry between our families and how he’ll stop at nothing to remind me how much he despises me. All because I’m a Belucci, and he’s a Guerra.

She’d never understand.

Shannel’s family doesn’t share the same roots as mine. The Ryans are your well off all-American family; corporate America working father, a beautiful trophy wife for a mom, an older brother who made a name for himself as quarterback when he was in high school. She’s often joked my dad gives her Tony Soprano vibes, and I’ve wished on more than one occasion I could tell her how right she is.

But I know better than that.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

I nod as we wrap our pinkies together and then we go our separate ways, her bus parked in the line just a few behind mine. Except when I get to my seat and fish through the front pocket of my backpack for my phone, there’s nothing in there.

“What the hell?” I check a second time and a third.

The result is the same.

Last time I remember seeing it was… “After lunch,” I whisper to myself.

I still had fifteen minutes before my next class and was using it as a timer while I snuck in a few page reads of this vampire romance novel I picked up at Barnes & Noble over the weekend. I shouldn’t have brought it to school, but while having breakfast this morning, I stopped where the heroine figures out the hero is a vampire, and I couldn’t wait to find out what happens after she leads him out into the woods. I must’ve forgotten to put my phone back into my bag before running off to my last class of the day.

Shit.

Hopping out of my seat, I tell the bus driver I’ll be right back and race down the steps. I hear him calling after me as I book it toward the doors, but I don’t stop, hauling ass down the south hallway to the west wing. Several heads turn my way curiously, and I’m almost positive I shove my way past more than a handful of students, throwing a rushed “sorry” over my shoulder.

The rubber soles of my Converse skid against the blue and white checkered floors when I make it to my locker, the hallway now deserted.

“12. 10. 35.” I mutter the combination aloud, but I’m turning the dial so fast, I screw it up. “Damn it, c’mon, c’mon!”

On the second go around, the lock gives way and I yank open the gray door with a quickness. Sure enough, my phone’s lying there on top of my AP Chem textbook and the romance novel. I grab everything and shove it into my backpack, pulling the zipper?—

“Miss me, Belucci?”

A gasp shoots free from my throat at the now deeper than sin sound of his voice. The blood in my veins turns to shards of ice as my feet root to the floor beneath me. Seconds later, the locker slams shut, his hand splayed across it. Like his voice, it’s larger and more intimidating. Last thing I want to do is make eye contact, but my stare follows the length of his sinewy arm of its own volition, landing on those malevolent brown eyes.

Rio smirks with more malice than humor, and tilts his head aside. “Well?”

“What do you want?” I blurt, wishing that for once, just once, I sounded stronger than I felt in his presence.

It’s so much worse now. He really is so much bigger than me, a senior like Santo. The realization scrapes a nervous lump down my throat.

He doesn’t hesitate, not even a little bit, backing me into the lockers as if an administrator or a teacher couldn’t walk past us any second. His hands fall flat on either side of my head, face looming dangerously close. “To hear you scream.”

No. No, God, no. Not now.

We’re moving after that. Or rather, he’s tugging me down the hallway with a firm grasp around my arm. My heart’s in a similar position, trapped in the now too-tight confines of my throat yet jackhammering wildly.

Resist.

Fight back.

Scream.

Manic thoughts and intentions fly around in my head, but it’s pointless. I’m no match against his strength, and if I draw attention to us, it’ll only make things worse for me in the end.

“Where are we going?” I croak, barely following along as he cuts a sharp left up the north wing.

No response.

Not from him, anyway.

The empty locker room answers for him .

Before another word can so much as form, he rips my bag off my shoulder, tosses it on the floor, and wraps a hand around my throat. A blink and my back meets the cold metal of the full-size locker with a hard crash.

“What do you w-want from me?” I stammer.

My stomach flops like a fish out of water and I have no doubt he can feel my pulse rampaging beneath his palm.

“I told you,” he grinds out, his nose pressed up against my cheek. “I wanna hear you scream.”

“Why? Why me? Why are you still doing this?” Unbidden tears well at the surface, emotion thick in my words.

Stupid questions, all of them. I know the why. I just don’t understand why. I’m not even the heir. Not that I would wish any of this on Santo, but still.

Why me?

“Because tormenting you is my favorite fucking past time.” The door beside me flies open and the next thing I know, he’s shoving me inside. My eyes widen in realization, which only eggs him on. “Welcome to high school, Ivory. We’re going to have so much fun together this year.”

“Rio, no!” I screech, full blown panic crawling over every inch of my skin. “No!”

A harsh slam.

A turn of the lock dial.

And then his footsteps tapping further and further away until the locker room door creaks with his exit, leaving me in the cramped, darkened space with no way out. It’s so quiet in here, all I can hear is the erratic tempo of my breaths.

“Rio!” My fist bangs against the metal frantically, a sheen of sweat clinging to the back of my neck. “Rio, please!”

But he’s gone, and I’m trapped, barely able to move, on the verge of hyperventilating because I feel like I’m standing in a casket, seconds away from being buried six feet under where no one will hear my screams.