The risk of me doing this is high, though, but like I said, Royce will be right there, and knowing that should keep my pulse in check, keep my blood flow stable, my sight strong.

It’ll be fine.

Yeah. It’ll be fine.

I repeat that line for the next several hours and then before I know it, I’m walking into Brayshaw High.

Deep freaking breath... and exhale.

I go to text Royce one more time, but before I can even get a single word typed out, one comes through from him.

Royce: I’m watching. Go.

I look up into the right-hand corner, where Mac told me the camera would be, and give a tight smile. My hands begin to sweat, so I slide my phone in my back pocket, and wipe my palms on my jean shorts as I step into the main hall.

The school bell rang fifteen minutes ago, and Mac said Coach Von is still inside his room. So, with my head held high and my backpack over my shoulder, I step up to his classroom door, knocking lightly with my knuckle.

His head pops up instantly, and he grins wide as he stands from his seat. “Brielle, hi. I missed you in class today.”

I grip the strap of my bag tight as he comes closer. “I have a note.”

He nods. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

Keep smiling.

“I have some free time today, if you could use any help.”

He eyes me a moment, and then a slow smile forms on his lips. He’s across from me quicker than expected, his answer a low, chilling murmur, “Always.”

Pressure falls on my chest, but I breathe through it.

Royce is right here. He’s watching.

He pulls the door free of its stop lock, and motions for me to enter. “Please, come in.”

His hand begins to lower on my shoulder, so I quickly slip by him and into the room.

No matter how hard I try and convince myself to calm, my brain doesn’t hear it.

I’ve just locked myself alone in a room with a man I don’t know.

Society tells me I should be safe in his presence, that he’s an educator, a superior, but the world around me warns there’s no room for blind trust.

The man before me is capable of more than anyone would have guessed, and I’m here to expose him of this.

I’m the bait.

I pull my phone from my back pocket, clutching it in my palm just in case, but it’s gently tugged from my hand in the same second. I whip around. “Mr.—”

“Sorry, no phones out during correcting. It could distract you,” he cuts me off, steps past me, and sets it on the far side of his desk.

I want to argue that it won’t, but I don’t want to mess this up. Everyone is depending on me, and Taylor deserves to understand what happened to her, Enoch too, for that matter.

“And please.” He turns to me. “Call me Coach.” He grins, his hand slipping inside the drawer of his desk. “All my favorite students do, and all my favorite students also... get one of these.” He holds out a perfectly wrapped square with a far too eager smile.

“What is it?”

“A treat.” He smiles. “All girls love chocolate, right?”

When I hesitate, he holds it out farther. “Come on, no one has ever passed on a treat.”

That’s it.

The treat.

If I don’t accept, he might grow suspicious. If I don’t take it, this entire thing is a waste.

I reach out, and he places it in my palm.

“Go ahead, try some. I’ll get those papers for you, okay?” He nods.

I smile, setting my bag down and trail him toward the back of the glass. He steps into a corner storage room and I quickly tear the plastic wrapping open and break off a small chunk. With nowhere else to put it, I shove it into my front pocket, and when he turns back, act as if I pull it from my lips.

As he comes back, he rolls his sleeves with a smirk, his hands completely empty. Whatever he did back there just now, it had nothing to do with grabbing papers.

“You should sit down, Brielle. Get comfortable.” Just like that, his smile is gone, his eyes sharp... and roaming over my body.

I cut a quick glance at the clock.

Royce said he’d bust in at the nine-minute mark.

It’s been eight.

My mind begins to race, several scenarios playing out in my mind of how this is about to go down, but just as my smile grows and I take that seat as he asked, the clock ticks past the twelve.

The door isn’t thrown open.

To make it worse, Coach Von drops into the seat beside me, urging me to bite from the brownie in my palm.

I swallow, curling my toes in my shoes to try and keep calm, but I know my body, and I know it’s no use.

I lift a tiny piece to my mouth to appease him, my heart rate kicks up instantly. I know what comes next, and damn it, I’m not so sure I can stop it.

Where the hell are you, Royce?

Chapter 31

Royce

“Two minutes, let’s go.” I stuff my phone in my pocket, and all at once, me, Mac, Micah, and Captain step from Micah’s car. We rush up the back steps of the school and go to push through the gate, our momentum driving us backward when we push against it and it doesn’t budge.

My stomach falls to my feet, alarm threatening to send vomit up my throat.

“What the fuck!” I yank on it.

They yank on it.

Nothing fucking happens.

I take a few steps back, run, and scale the fucking thing, the others right behind me.

My shirt gets caught on the sharp metal, tearing slightly when I drop down and run forward, but as we reach the double doors, those fucking things are locked too.

We chose the back for a reason—their students aren’t allowed to exit this way, we wouldn’t raise eyebrows, but nothing should ever be locked like this. Ever.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Captain shouts, already rushing around to the front, Micah and Mac on his tail, but Mac skids, losing his footing, and turns back to me when he notices I haven’t moved.

“Royce,” he snaps.

I shake my head and jerk right, opposite of them. “This ain’t right. Go with Cap.”

He doesn’t argue, and I’m gone, jumping the garden fence and running down the green strip.

The gate and door was locked, bet the fucking classroom is too, and I’m willing to bet the fucker wouldn’t dare open it on his own, which means they’ll have to bust through.

He’ll know he’s a fucking dead man, and dead men run. He’ll have one option at that point and one option only. I need to take that away, because I’ll be fucking damned if the son of a bitch gets away.

Not from me.

People see me run by, but nothing registers, all I hear is her soft voice calling me, wondering where I am and why I’m not there like I told her I would be.

I stood there, right in front of her, looked her in her eyes and she trusted my word.

I brought her into this shit, said she could handle it. That she was strong enough.

She’s got survival skills—she found something to protect herself when she thought she was being attacked that morning on the bridge.

She’s aware—didn’t blindly drink the beer she’d left unattended, unaware I slipped a pill inside it but cautious just in case,

She’s daring and quick—put a plan together on her own and took care of Enoch without help.