THE BOY I WAS SENT TO DESTROY

8.

Chapter 8: Hands

Zane POV

I walked into the library after last period and stopped two steps past the door. Marcus stood right next to Zara at our usual table. He had one hand on the back of her chair and the other resting on the table near her notebook. He leaned in close enough that his shoulder brushed hers while he pointed at something on the page. She looked up at him and said something short. He laughed like she had told the best joke he ever heard.

My stomach tightened hard. I had seen Marcus chase plenty of girls. He did it the same way he did everything else at Blackwell, smooth and calculated. But this was different. This was Zara. The girl I had spent weeks trying to break. The girl who sat across from me three times a week and refused to flinch. Seeing his hand anywhere near her made my blood run hot in a way I did not want to name.

I crossed the room and dropped my bag on the table louder than I needed to. Marcus straightened but kept that easy grin. “Hartwell. Right on time.”

Zara glanced at me. Her face stayed calm. “We were just finishing.”

Marcus gave her arm a quick squeeze before he stepped back. “Catch you later, Zara. My conclusion still sucks if you change your mind.” He winked at me and walked off toward the front doors.

I pulled out my chair and sat. The seat felt too hard. “He touches you like that a lot?”

She opened the textbook. “He asks for help with papers. Same as everyone else.”

“Not everyone else puts their hands on you.”

She did not answer. She just slid the first problem sheet across to me. I stared at the numbers but they blurred. All I could see was Marcus’s fingers on her sleeve. The way he smiled at her like he already had a plan. It should not have mattered. She was the enemy. The girl who embarrassed me on day one and kept pushing back every chance she got. Yet the thought of him getting close to her sat like a rock in my chest.

I picked up the pen and started working. My handwriting came out jagged. Zara watched without saying anything at first. After a minute she leaned over and tapped one of my steps. “You skipped the distribution here.”

Her arm brushed mine. Warm. Soft. I pulled back but the feeling stayed. She smelled like plain soap and the library air. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the girls who sprayed perfume in the halls to get noticed. I hated how much I noticed it.

I fixed the step and kept going. The session moved slow. Every time she explained something she leaned in a little. Her knee bumped mine under the table once and neither of us moved it right away. The contact sent heat up my leg. I told myself it was anger. It had to be anger.

“You seem distracted,” she said after I missed the same mistake twice.

I looked up. Her eyes met mine straight on. No games. No fake sweetness. Just her. “Marcus has been around a lot lately.”

“He is around everyone.”

“Not like this.” I set the pen down. “He is not helping you with papers because he cares about his grade. He is doing it to get under my skin.”

Zara closed her notebook halfway. “And it is working?”

I did not answer. The library had emptied out around us. The only sound was the heater kicking on low in the corner. She sat there in the same uniform as every other girl but it fit her different. The skirt rode up when she shifted and I caught myself looking at the curve of her thigh before I forced my eyes back to her face. Her cheeks had a faint flush like she knew exactly where my mind had gone.

I leaned forward. “You let him touch you and you act like it is nothing.”

“I act like a lot of things are nothing,” she said. “Including the crap you and Celeste pull every day.”

“That is different.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head. “You put yogurt on my chair last week. Marcus offers to walk me to class. One of those feels worse to you?”

I pushed my chair back and stood. The table felt too small suddenly. I walked around to her side and stopped beside her. She turned in her seat to face me. We were close enough that I could see the small rise and fall of her chest under the uniform shirt. Close enough that if I reached out I could trace the line of her jaw with my thumb.

“You know what I mean,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I planned.

She stood too. We were almost the same height with her in her shoes but I still had a couple inches on her. “Tell me then. What exactly bothers you about Marcus?”

I stepped in until only inches separated us. The air between us felt thick. Her breath brushed my collar. I could smell that plain soap again and something warmer underneath it. My hands flexed at my sides. I wanted to grab her arm the way Marcus had. I wanted to erase his touch and replace it with mine. The thought shocked me but it did not go away.

“You are not his,” I said low.

Her eyes widened a fraction. “I am not yours either.”

The words hit like a challenge. I moved before I thought it through. My hand came up and rested on the table beside her hip. Not trapping her. Just close. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to keep looking at me. Her lips parted slightly. Not fear. Not quite. Something else that made my pulse hammer harder.

I had spent weeks watching her take every hit I threw and stay standing. Weeks of her sharp tongue and her steady eyes and the way she refused to shrink. Now Marcus was sliding in like he had any right and the idea of his hands on her made me want to break something.

“Stay away from him,” I said.

She did not step back. “Make me.”

The challenge in her voice sent heat straight through me. I leaned in closer. Our foreheads almost touched. I could feel the warmth coming off her skin. My free hand twitched like it wanted to settle on her waist and pull her the last inch. I did not do it. Not yet. But the want was there and it scared the hell out of me.

Zara’s breath hitched once. She felt it too. I knew she did. The tutoring sessions had been shifting for days. The insults carried heat now. The stares lasted longer. Every accidental brush under the table felt like a spark.

I opened my mouth to say something else when her phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a text. I caught the name before she could flip it over. Marcus.

She reached for it but I was faster. I snatched the phone and read the message out loud. “Library steps in ten? I will walk you out.”

I set the phone down hard. My blood ran hotter than it had all day. Marcus had his hands on her earlier. He had texted her like it was normal. Like she was already his next move in whatever game he played with me.

I stepped in until her back pressed against the edge of the table. My voice dropped to a rough whisper.

“If you let Marcus put his hands on you again, I swear I’ll make both of you regret it.”