DREARY UNDERTONE

Chapter 15

Which is scarier? Harry? Oliver? Jeremy?

Mr. De la Croix.

I grab my satchel and hightail it toward the hall.

The muggy air clings to my skin as I make the ten-minute walk from Le Montaigne to the 91 line. Oh man, it feels good to get a breather from that classroom. I don’t know if it’s Mr. De la Croix or the frightening sensations he inflames in me, but I couldn’t run from there fast enough.

He’s aggressive and powerfully built like other men. More so. But he had numerous opportunities to take and didn’t.

Because he’s a teacher? Or because he’s not like other men?

I’m not ready to trust those thoughts or the way they make me feel.

The crescent moon hangs high in the sky, painting a dim glow over the antebellum mansions that fringe Coliseum Street. The brick sidewalk is paved in a herringbone pattern and bordered on one side by wrought iron fences, gas lamps, and blooming vegetation that infuses the air with the fragrance of summer.

The foundations of the towering homes butt right up against those fences, and illuminated windows give me a peek of interiors twinkling with chandeliers, grand staircases, and rich woodwork. Luxury cars line the narrow street and pristine gardens adorn the side-yards. Everywhere I look boasts generational wealth, the kind that came from sugar, cotton, and shipping.

Does Mr. De la Croix live in one of these mansions? Maybe his family is old money? Le Montaigne attracts a lot of residents in the Garden District, including Patricia Laurent.

I don’t know which house is Harry Laurent’s, but he knows which paths I take home. There are only so many options between school and the bus routes. My legs itch to walk faster, to put him off for another day. But the longer I delay touching base with him, the harder it will be to cover this month’s bills.

Halfway to the bus stop, the familiar rumble of a motorcycle interrupts the quiet street. It approaches from behind, growing louder, faster.

The tiny hairs on my nape stand on end. I peer over my shoulder and glimpse a black helmet, black jacket, and obnoxious orange fairings. My heartbeat slams into overdrive, and I pick up my pace. If the rider lifted his chin, I would see Destroy inked across his throat.

Every step hammers vibrations through my thin soles. I should’ve known Oliver would come looking for me. He often does when he grows tired of waiting. It’s been two weeks since the last time he took from me, and I bled from my butt for hours after.

My stomach cramps as my mind spins through my options. The next cross-street is a thirty-second sprint down the road. Maybe I can lose him.

I quicken my gait, scanning for a cut-through between the mansions. I won’t find one. Fences encircle the generous plots, equipped with security cameras and alarms. Wrought iron and brick brackets the street on both sides. I have nowhere to go as he motors up beside me.

“Get on the bike.” Even muffled by the helmet, his shout is hard and unkind.

“I’m taking the bus.” I walk faster, hunching my shoulders with my satchel banging against my leg.

He revs the engine, rolling the bike alongside me. My legs shake, and the toe of my shoe catches on a chipped brick. Momentum whirls me forward. I maintain my balance but…goddammit, I lose the shoe.

I spin back, my pulse thrashing in my throat, and shove my foot inside the cracked vinyl.

A pair of headlights emerge on the road behind Oliver’s crotch rocket. I stare blindly into the beams of light, waiting, hoping. For what?

Black hair, blue eyes, commanding presence…

As if.

Oliver stops beside me, just out of arm’s reach, his helmet tipping in my direction. “Not gonna tell you again. Get your ass on the bike.”

The approaching car slows, veering around Oliver. Wide front grill, metallic silver paint, fat tires, the Cadillac CTS Sedan makes the perfect toy for rich juvenile idiots to cruise around in.

Idiots like Harry.

He pulls to a stop in front of Oliver, bends across the front seat, and swings open the passenger door.

Oliver’s helmet swivels toward the car. “Who the f**k is that?”

That is a diversion. Thank God. I won’t be able to evade Oliver forever, and I certainly don’t relish climbing into Harry’s car. But right now, I’ll take Harry over Oliver. Harry never forces himself from behind and in my ass.

I lurch forward, running a wide circuit around the bike, and slide into the front seat of the Cadillac. “Go.”

The motorcycle’s engine sputters as it jerks forward. I slam the door shut on the noise.

Harry leans over the console, twisting his neck to glare at Oliver. “Who is that guy?”

“Just some creep. Let’s go.”

He hits the gas, and the burst of propulsion presses my body into the leather seat. My anxiety and fear tumbles behind us in a fume of exhaust. I relax, a small degree anyway. Now I’m stuck with Harry.

His long body sprawls in the leather seat, his finger punching through various glowing gadgets in the dashboard. I can’t begin to guess how much this car costs. His parents certainly have to make bank for them to be able to buy it for him. Is it a badass car? Absolutely. Am I jealous he has it?

I prefer not to be jealous of anyone, especially Harry. I peek over at him, taking in the sharp angle of his jaw, the tuck of blond hair behind his ear, and the long, straight profile of his nose. He’s skinnier than Mr. De la Croix. Less developed muscle. Smaller hands. Smaller d**k. Not that I’ve seen De la Croix’s d**k, but I bet it’s bigger.

That’s not a good thing.

My heart skips. Why the hell am I thinking about that? Why am I even comparing them?

Harry shifts gears then reaches over to hook a finger beneath the hem of my skirt. “I’m going to make you come tonight.”

I smack his hand away. Jesus, I never should’ve baited him with that comment about piercings. Stupid, stupid, stupid! “Where’s your homework?”

He downshifts around a curve and thrusts a thumb over his shoulder. The seat belt indicator screams as I kneel backward through the gap in the front seats.

I gather his binders from the floorboard, and a single headlight fills my view through the back window. “He’s following us.”

Harry throws the car into high speed. Mansions blur by. Stop signs and intersections come and go. Guess he’s not worried about breaking the law. Thankfully, Oliver doesn’t share his recklessness. The motorcycle maintains the speed limit and stops at every stop sign. Maybe Oliver has drugs on him or outstanding warrants. Whatever the reason, he falls behind and eventually out of sight.

Releasing a heavy breath, I collect the rest of Harry’s folders. “You lost him.”

Harry yanks my skirt up to my hip and pinches my p***y through the crotch of my panties. “Baby, I’m gonna f**k you so hard tonight.”

I spin back toward the front, falling into the seat, and try to control my breathing.

My hand shakes as I buckle the seat belt. “No, you’re not.”

There’s a heavy dose of conviction in my response. And maybe a tiny smidgen of doubt. I’ve escaped Harry’s advances before, but I can count those times on one hand.

He laughs. “We’ll see.”

When he turns onto Jackson Avenue and heads away from the river, I don’t have to ask where he’s going. During the six-minute drive to our usual spot, I use one of the overhead lights to skim through his assignments and notes. He’s pretty organized for a guy who’s not interested in homework, his tasks outlined in neat penmanship and notated with due dates. Everything he’s detailed is doable, easy enough to work in with my own assignments.

He pulls into an empty lot, hemmed in by a jungle of weeds and boarded-up homes that didn’t survive the last hurricane.

Shutting off the engine, he turns to me. “I have a proposition.”

A tremor shivers through my insides. Anything he has to offer comes with a painful price.

He bends toward me, his face inches away and cast in darkness. “I know you’re doing homework for a lot of my friends and who knows how many others.”

I haven’t had a chance to talk to the other guys about schedules and assignments. Another dreaded task on my to-do list.

His hand snakes over my thigh, making its way to the gap between my knees. I jerk away, and my legs collide with the door.

With a grunt, he faces forward, posture stiff, his fingers curled around the steering wheel. Fingers I don’t want anywhere near me.

He tips his head against the headrest. “I don’t want to share you.”

“Too bad.”

“f**k, Noemi! You’re so—” He rubs his hairless cheek and softens his tone. “I got an increase in my allowance. I’ll pay you more, enough to cover what you’re making from everyone else, if you stop seeing them. Give me a price.”

He can’t afford it. I mentally sum up the monthly utilities, mortgage, groceries, and tack on a little extra for school supplies. s**t, that’s a lot of money. Pulling in a deep breath, I give him the number.

“Done.”

What? His f*****g allowance covers the sum of all my bills?

I wrap my arms around my midsection. “All I have to do is stop helping other people?”

“That. And stop fighting me on this.” His fingers wrap around my knee, pulling my leg toward him.

“I—I…” My breathing quickens as I try to pry his grip away. “I can’t.” My chest heaves, my fight against his hand useless. “Let go.”

“I’m going to get this anyway. Stop making it so damn difficult.” He releases me and holds his hands up. “What’s it gonna be?”

I sway against the door and cover my face with my hand. f**k, what choice do I have?