Page 15 of Wicked Titan

Pulling the Audi’s door open, the smell of leather invites me in. Sliding into the bucket seat, I look over to something shimmery that catches my eye. Grabbing the charm, I rub my fingers over the gold wings of the glittery pink pig hanging from the rearview mirror by a gold chain.

Nathan leans down, peeking into the car. “Just a reminder that anything is possible.” He reaches into the car, pressing a button above the mirror, and the garage door in front of me opens.

The charm sways as I release it. Rubbing my hands over the smooth, leather-covered steering wheel, I don’t know how to feel about any of it. My brain has been on overload and so far, it’s just getting worse. I shift the car into drive before pulling out of the garage. This has got to be the peak of my day, surely it’ll all be a downhill slide through pig shit after this—but here goes.

11

Parking in the furthest spot I can find from the school, I figure the longer the walk, the more time before I must deal with the day. Taking one last glance at the winged pig swaying from the rearview mirror, I tell myself I can get through this. I have to.

Walking around to the front of the school with the trail of students, I enter the foyer where nearly everyone takes a turn rubbing the statue’s rear end again, so I guess it’s not just a first day of school thing.

“It’s for good luck.” Grant takes a turn to rub the stone statue. “Legend has it that the founder of the school, Theodore Thomas, loved his prized English bulldog more than anyone or anything else. People claim to hear whistling all around campus, like someone is calling for their dog. Some even claim to see his ghost around, so everyone gives his loyal companion a pat to keep him happy.”

“Patting the statue on the butt is supposed to make the ghost of Theodore Thomas happy?”

“If the dog was happy, he was happy.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you give it a shot? Give ole Zeus a good pat and see if your second day is better than your first.”

Why am I actually considering this?

“Come on. What could it hurt?”

Good point. Absolutely nothing. There’s no way today could be worse than yesterday.

“Fine.” I quickly rub the cold stone with a smirk. “Happy now?”

“I was happy as soon as I saw you,” he flashes a charming smile and drapes his arm over my shoulder, “but I’m sure Theo approves too.”

Walking into the hallway, we are surrounded by a swarm of maroon. The only thing good about wearing the uniform is it’s easy to blend in. Keep my head down. Avoid thinking, speaking, or interacting with Asher. Make it through the day. Get the hell out of here. That’s the plan.

“Hey, Quinnster!”

With Grant’s arm still draped over my shoulder, I look up to see an upbeat Elliot headed my way with Asher by his side. There goes the plan.

Elliot’s cheerful demeanor swiftly changes once he approaches, looking directly at Grant. “Quinnster, you really need to be more selective when making friends. Vile people are lurking all around.”

I’m slightly aware of Grant’s arm tensing. What I am fully aware of is Asher standing before me like he owns the damn space and everyone in it, myself included.

“You might want to take your own advice,” I say back to Elliot. Look who’s picked the vilest of them all to call a friend.

Removing his arm from my shoulder, Grant lightly grasps my hand. “Let’s get to class, Quinn.”

Elliot counters Grant’s move, blocking our way. What is going on with these two? I expected this from Asher, but Elliot has been the nice one, even if his judgment is usually off.

“Get out of the way, Bass. I don’t want any trouble.”

“You invited trouble long ago. This is the moment you can wise up and move along because next time you won’t walk away alive.”

Oh, damn. Whatever this is goes deeper than some trivial high school disagreement.

Grant stiffens before his shoulders square, and with an air of arrogance, he says, “You can’t really invite trouble when it’s freely thrown at you, right?”

In a flash, Elliot rams Grant back, slamming him into the locker as his fist connects with Grant’s face. I’m hauled sideways as they tumble to the ground at my feet. Students begin to surround the two idiots rolling around on the floor. No one is attempting to break them up, but each of them has their phone out, recording the show.

I move to step forward, hoping to make some attempt to break them up since no one else cares to, but Asher moves in front of me, his arms on each side of my head. Pushing at his chest, he remains in front of me, fixed in place like a brick wall. Obstinate. Unyielding. Immovable. And utterly intoxicating if not for the fact that he’s unhinged, which is reiterated as he bends down to whisper, “Just enjoy the show.”