Page 68 of Dirty Hot Valentine
“Thank you.”
“No need to escalate things, though. These assholes will find something else to keep their knuckleheads busy soon. All this will fade with time. But if you make a big deal out of it, you might get burned for something you didn’t even do.”
“Maybe. But I refuse to spend the next few months in this shit. I must do something or I’ll wind up in another fist fight like—”
“Cameron!” A male voice shouted behind me, interrupting me. My head whipped toward it, and I saw it was one of my classmates. “It’s your bike,” he continued. “They’re trashing it.”
“Son of a…” I ran off to the parking lot, but by the time I arrived, whoever vandalized my bike was gone.
My hands clasped behind the back of my head as I stared at the damage, panting. The bike was covered with trash and spit. Drops of yellow liquid trickled from the seat on the ground. I couldn’t tell if it was soda or piss.
And the words ‘gangster bitch’ were sprayed along the side in red paint.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.
To destroy.
“Oh my God. What the fuck?” Ash exclaimed.
Rage thundered inside me, pounding my head. “Still think I should just stand by and let it fade with time?”
15. Cameron
The Dean’s words echoed in my ears as I stampeded out of his office.
We understand your frustration, and we can assure you we’ll investigate the matter thoroughly, Miss Delaney. However, without enough witnesses, there’s so much we can do. If you prefer to get the police involved for better results, we’d be happy to assist you further.
The police? The ones who set the murderer of my sister free on the same day he was arrested? Or the ones who protected the business of gangs like The Night Skulls for their benefit?
Even if the police could bring me justice this time, the Dean was saying it as a threat not as a viable option to consider. As if he was saying Samuel didn’t press for charges, and I’d better do the same.
What had I expected anyway? I was so stupid to think for a second he would behave differently. On days like these, it seemed that Dusty’s logic was the only kind that made sense.
I left school on foot, still figuring out what to do about the bike. Wandering outside the gates, I found a Harley by the curb, a man with a gray beard on top of it, the patch on the back of his cut unmistakable.
The Night Fucking Skulls.
He got off his bike when he saw me, and I got a closer look at him. Big, tattooed and familiar. The helmet and sunglasses hid most of his face, but I recognized him.
Rush, Dusty’s VP.
I strode over to him. “What’s happening? Is Dusty all right?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the flexing muscles making him look even bigger, and leaned his back on the bike. “He’s fine, Miss.”
“Then what are you doing here?” I studied his face suspiciously. His tone, despite being calm and nonchalant, triggered an invisible alarm in me. “Are you following me?”
“Only following orders. He sent me here to keep an eye on you.”
“Well, tell him I’m fine. I don’t need a bodyguard. As you can see I’m capable of staying in one piece on my own.”
His head lowered, and I assumed he was looking at my hand. “What happened here?”
“Nothing serious.”
He grunted. “And where’s your ride?”
I groped for a palpable lie. If I told him the truth, he would tell Dusty. This time, he would kill somebody for real. “Didn’t feel like riding today.”
