Enforce

CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bite me, no really. Please?

  Chase

  "Ah… lunch!" I announced, barging into the small room that only we guys and Mo were actually allowed to eat in. It had become custom after our second year at Elite to start separating ourselves from the student body. It gave them the view that we were untouchable, special, above them, which we were. Nixon had quickly ordered a new lunchroom built — for the specials. Sometimes we'd throw other students a bone and let them eat with us, but it was only to gain information. Most of them were so psyched they'd been invited we didn't even have to threaten them to keep their mouths shut about what happened.

  "Stop yelling." Tex scowled from his regular seat. "Some of us didn't get much sleep last night."

  I smirked. "You complaining about your nighttime activities, Tex?"

  Nixon groaned from the head of the table. "Chase, we're about to eat. If you could just… not, that would be great."

  I grinned as Tex chuckled and licked his lips in Nixon's direction, taunting him.

  "Hey, Nixon," Tex piped up. "So last night I—"

  "Phoenix…" Nixon interrupted what I was sure was going to be another barb about his twin sister. "…any word from your dad on the information he promised to grab us?"

  Phoenix's hands froze on his water glass. His eyebrows pinched together in thought. "Uh, not yet. I'll ask again though. He's been busy with orientation."

  "Well." Nixon leaned back in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. "If the old man's feeling a bit overwhelmed, we could always push him into an early retirement. Wouldn't want him getting burnt-out or anything."

  Shit just got real.

  Phoenix bit down on his lower lip, turning it completely white from the pressure of his teeth. "I said I'll talk to him. He likes his job, Nixon. Don't be a bastard."

  Nixon shrugged. "Maybe I should check into how well he's doing his job… all things considered."

  "Damn it," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head at Nixon. "Just leave it for once, man."

  Nixon said nothing, his icy eyes piercing right through me, like always, while Phoenix brooded silently.

  Phoenix hadn't been the same since the night of the dance. When I'd asked him what was going on, he'd simply shrugged and said it wasn't a big deal.

  But it seemed like a big deal because suddenly Phoenix was… just off. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but something had shifted between him and Nixon, something epic, and maybe if I wasn't so obsessed with the new girl, I'd have time to figure out what the hell was going on, but I was a selfish bastard; therefore, I left it alone.

  "So." Tex nodded encouragingly. "Good start to lunch. Good start. Hey, bright spot in our day — no gunfire!"

  "Tex," I warned.

  For one reason or another, Nixon was in one of his moods.

  The door to the room clicked open. Mo strode in and took her usual seat just as the door opened again, revealing Trace.

  I glanced at Nixon. His entire body went rigid.

  Ah, the reason for said chipper mood.

  Well, if he was going to be an ass… I managed to kick him under the table then held up my hand and waved Trace over.

  Mo was busy elbowing Nixon. He was getting beat on all ends, but still no eye contact.

  "Holy shit!" Phoenix slapped his hand on the table, scaring me to death. "Don't tell me those are from the new collection! What the hell, man! You been holding out on us?" He threw his fork at me and let out a bark of laughter. I'd just been telling him how hard it was to get the new collection of shoes, on account that they kept selling out after Kim Kardashian had worn them at an outing in LA.

  I ignored Phoenix, like I always did, and stood to face Trace. It wasn't until I was standing and holding my arms out that I paused and had a "What the hell am I doing moment?" But my arms, they were out there flapping, damn-near making me look like a chicken. If she didn't return my hug, I was pretty sure Tex would piss his pants from laughter, and Nixon would think he'd won. Not that it was a competition.

  At least not yet.

  Trace bit her lip, causing lust to surge through my body, then stepped into my arms and pressed her head against my chest.

  Heaven. I was in absolute heaven.

  Meaning, Nixon was probably in hell. Take that, bastard. Maybe next time he'd be more welcoming — or maybe next time I'd still try to be first and beat him to the punch.

  Trace pulled back, her deep brown eyes searching mine.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but words died in my throat when her warm lips pressed against my cheek. Holy. Mother.

  "Thanks for the boots."

  "Sweet. Imagine what she'd do if you bought her a car." This from Phoenix. The sound of silverware getting thrown was the soundtrack to our epic moment. Awesome.

  I forced a smile even though it was apparent I was going to most likely get forked in the ass if I kept it up. "I'm sorry about—"

  She lifted her hand in a noncommittal wave. "I've got boots. We're even."

  Hardly. But I wasn't going to argue with her in front of everyone — in front of Nixon. Instead, I inclined my head and escorted her to her seat, like I was starring in some freaking Pride and Prejudice movie. I suppressed a groan when her fingertips brushed against my leg, and nearly collided with my own chair in an effort to keep myself from getting too overly excited.

  "So, a restaurant? At a school? Really?" Trace directed her question to Mo, her eyes barely flickering to Nixon and back. It wouldn't have been noticeable, but apparently I was a stalker now, because I noticed. I noticed every damn movement of those long eyelashes.

  "Nobody really knows about it," Mo said carefully. Her answer strategic, just like she'd been taught.

  "We like our privacy," Nixon interrupted and snapped his fingers.

  Our waiter appeared and leaned down, iPad in hand.

  Nixon fired off his order in French.

  Had I been free to groan out loud and gag, I would have. We only did that to impress the new students who we wanted to control and intimidate: order in different languages, confuse them, make them feel weak, vulnerable, stupid.

  The rule of thumb was whatever Nixon, the boss, did, we had to follow. His plan was to go with the whole foreign thing? We obeyed. So the rest of us naturally ordered in French, leaving poor Trace staring gape-mouthed at everyone, as well as at the menu.

  Way to go, Nixon. You've succeeded in shocking the hell out of her and making her feel about as dumb as a bag of rocks. Why was it necessary?

  Trace whimpered a bit, her eyebrows furrowing.

  Enough. I whispered to Mo in French, this time purposefully so Trace couldn't understand. Roughly translated, I also added, "Your jackass of a brother is trying to intimidate your new friend. Order her something that tastes good, and be sure to make it hot so that every time she blows across her food, it makes Nixon so painfully aroused he has to excuse himself. Homeboy's pissing me off."

  Mo smiled warmly back at me, laughing, then ordered for Trace.

  "French?" Trace's voice came out as a squeak. "How many languages do you guys speak?"

  "Three." Tex held his water in salute. I about burst out laughing. Tex spoke way more than three, but that was his game, not to act too smart or people would ask questions.

  "Two." Phoenix shrugged. Another lie. He spoke five. But whatever.

  "Five." I sighed, jumping on the lie train, balls to the wall. I spoke six, so it really wasn't that much of a difference, and counting the language of love seemed cocky, albeit true.

  Nixon cleared his throat.

  "Tell her, man." I nudged him, curious to see if he would actually fess up or say something lame like, "'One, English, and as you can see, I suck at that too, but I can count to ten. So yeah, there's that."'

  Nixon cursed me in two different languages before mumbling the number "Ten" under his breath. I damn-near clapped. Look who wasn't a liar pants. The most dishonest out of all of us. Well done. Well bloody done. See, apparently
I spoke British slang too — I'm freaking amazing.

  "Ten?" Trace exclaimed, clearly impressed. "I can barely speak English."

  "We know." Phoenix laughed.

  Trace shot him a glare and threw her fork in his direction.

  He ducked, causing it to hit Nixon's hand. Hmm… things just got way more interesting. She'd just inflicted pain on the boss.

  "I like her." Phoenix nodded his approval.

  "Yeah, well, I like kids. Doesn't mean I run around screwing everything I see in order to have one," Nixon spat.

  And he'd been doing so well…

  I managed to clear my throat and elbow Mo. She quickly started firing questions to Trace about class. How did she like Elite? Did it meet her expectations? And professors? Were they nice? Any favorites? Pick a major yet?

  Our food was brought out a few minutes later, saving Trace from the dreaded "What do you want to do with your life when you graduate?" question.

  She poked her meal with her fork. "I'm afraid to ask what this is."

  "Heaven. It's heaven. It melts in your mouth and makes you scream with ecstasy. Girl, if you don't have an orgasm after experiencing that particular meal, then you're a hopeless case." Phoenix bit hungrily into his food and winked. Good to know someone had gotten laid and awoken on the happy side of the bed.

  Trace's face went all red. Adorable. I could kiss her. Innocence looked good on her. I was fixated on the choice of ruining that innocence or just keeping it for myself. Decisions, decisions.

  Mo nudged her. "Don't worry, Trace. Phoenix always talks like that. I think it's because he's never really had—"

  Phoenix pointed his fork at Mo and glared. "Don't even finish that sentence."

  Tex and I burst out laughing.

  Nixon, Mr. I have a baseball bat stuck up my ass, refused to laugh. Damn, someone get me a feather or something. It was like the minute she walked in the room he was doing everything in his power to appear pissed off.

  We finished eating in a tense silence. One where I watched Trace inhale her food and sneak looks at Nixon, while Nixon gave longing glares in Trace's direction… like he was pondering screw or shoot?

  "So." Trace glanced at her cell and glanced around the table. "Who eats here next lunch hour?"

  We all turned to Nixon. Yeah, that was his territory, his lie to tell, always was, always would be. He sucked in his lip ring and put his hands behind his head, leaning back on the legs of his chair.

  Trace's eyes widened as she stared at his chest. Nixon was doing it on purpose, of course, kind of like the huge distraction before the kill. Where the male presents himself in such a fashion that the victim can only stare at the perfection and then — snap. Neck broken. Dead.

  "Nobody…" he said slowly, pointedly.

  "Huh?" Trace blinked. Get there faster, girl, before he pounces.

  "Eats here," Nixon said, his tone clipped. "It's just us. Just this lunch hour."

  "But…" Trace's eyebrows pinched together. "…then why am I here?"

  "We like to slum it sometimes." Nixon grinned smugly. "Now run off before you're late."

  Oh shit. Could he at least try not to be an ass?

  Trace didn't move.

  Thinking I needed to cut that tension with a giant-ass knife, I put my head in my hands and groaned. "I hate it when Mom and Dad fight."

  Phoenix burst out laughing.

  Nixon continued to stare at her like he was killing her with his mind.

  With a curse, he pushed his chair back and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

  Trace jumped in her seat at the loud sound of the door closing and asked, "Is he always like that?"

  "Actually…" Tex leaned forward. "…no. I think you bring out the worst in him."

  "Yay me," she said in a sarcastic tone.

  "You're the first outsider who has ever eaten in here," Mo said. "He hands out keycards to control the cliques. To make sure fights don't break out between the kids from different countries at war and stuff. I just assumed he put you in one of the normal lunches."

  "What do you mean?"

  I offered my two cents in a way she'd understand. "He's not just in charge of the keycards. He's student body president. He makes sure that access is limited for each student. Take, for example, a kid from North Korea going to school here. You think they're going to get along with a South Korean? Or better yet, some ritzy American kid?"

  "Um… no?" Her brown eyes were wide, questioning, as if she was afraid her answer wasn't correct.

  Everyone laughed.

  Phoenix shook his head. "That's a hell no, New Girl."

  I uncrossed my arms and leaned forward, close enough to be able to smell her perfume or shampoo, whatever it was. I wanted more. "What if some sheik's kid goes to school here but he's from a different sect than some other kid? What if those same kids eat in the same lunchroom that serves pork?"

  "Oh." She exhaled. "I guess that makes sense, but then doesn't that segregate everyone?"

  Mo laughed. "Boots, it's college. We're segregated regardless, whether it be by major or class. This is just the way things are here. It keeps everyone safe. Keeps the fights down."

  The table fell silent again.

  Trace's eyes met mine. Oh damn, it was like telling Bambi that the father didn't die, just freaking ran off and abandoned his sorry ass.

  "But if he hates me so much, why would he want me here?"

  A clock chimed in the restaurant, causing everyone to push away from the table and stand. Thank God.

  Trace's question remained unanswered. I hoped I could get away with it, but the look in her eyes was so wounded, so confused, that I felt another weak moment of pity.

  She slowly walked out the door.

  With a groan I chased after her and whispered in her ear, my lips brushing her skin. "Protection." And that was the truth. I just wished it wasn't such a horrible one.

  "What?" She stopped walking and reached her hand up to her ear, touching where my lips had just been.

  More where that came from. Much more.

  "See ya!" I waved and walked down the hall. Needing to flee the situation before I ruined everything. Not just for her, but for the Elect.