For a flicker of a moment, Victor contemplated what it would be like to live without the Academy. Most people did. He felt he could be satisfied with Sang and not have the Academy, but would the ghost of the Academy haunt him? When he knew the life he left behind? It was the other thing he loved, outside of his family. This family.
It was then he realized his heart was breaking on two fronts. His team members. He glanced at North again, and the fury he thought he saw in his intense gaze wasn’t there. It was sorrow. It was agony. North was as pained as he was. He loved her, and knowing that Victor loved her, too, and could possibly take her away, was killing him. Like it was killing Victor.
But what if they could share her? The theory seemed wrong, of course. It didn’t seem like it would be accepted.
But would he really be upset if North loved her? If North and Sang even went on a date or stayed with each other over night? Did it matter as long as she returned to Victor afterward? She did that now. She was home with Nathan or Kota or one of the others. He wanted to be with her, and trusted them to not steal her away right now.
Unless one of them discovered he loved her and...
“We have to get her,” Victor said, his voice stuttering an octave pitch higher. Desperate, he lunged at North, grabbing his arm. “If it’s true, the others ... we have to warn them. We’ve got to...”
North snagged Victor’s arm and held it. “We’re doing that now,” he said. “But we can’t scare her and we can’t tell them until they confess.”
“I think we’ll be okay,” Mr. Blackbourne said.
Victor pulled away from North. “They’ll tell her and they won’t know. She’ll run off with one of them. She won’t know.” He was in a panic now. Was he really already agreeing to this? Yes. He was. He’d do anything to make her happy. He wanted to make his family happy. All the pieces were together now. Like a computer code working in his brain, he was trying to figure out how to make it all operate the way he wanted. He’d share her. He just didn’t want to lose her. Ever.
Mr. Blackbourne put a cool hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Mr. Morgan. We only approached you tonight because I was pretty sure of your feelings. We can’t approach the others with this proposition until we’re sure they’re already in love.”
“But you said the others were.”
“I’m fairly sure they are, but they don’t realize it. We need to wait for that pivotal moment for each of them. Otherwise, I think they’ll back off.”
Victor shook his head, desperate now. “They can’t!”
“We know,” North said behind him. “We’re trying.”
“And the Academy,” Victor said. “They can’t know about this.”
“Not until it happens,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “Not until everyone has confessed and agrees. And no one must confess to her that he loves her. She’ll feel the need to commit to just you at that point, if she does.”
Victor’s jaw clenched and his fists balled up. “I ... we ...” He grunted. “What do I do?”
“We wait,” North said quietly. “We have to wait and watch the others.”
“I almost kissed her,” Victor said. “Several times. I almost...”
“She’s kissed Luke, too,” North said. “On the cheek, but it was close.”
Victor’s eyes widened. “Does he...?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “He hasn’t said so, but I think he does. He’s waiting for something. Perhaps waiting for her.”
Victor turned to Mr. Blackbourne. “How can we make sure they won’t ruin this chance?”
“We can’t,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “We just have to do our best.”
That seemed ludicrous. There had to be some other solution. It was like a blind gamble for her affection when he was so sure. Victor was desperate now. Like he had to figure it out tonight. He’d do anything to keep her nearby.
Victor retreated a few steps and sunk into the chair. He planted his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his palms. He sighed hard, and loud. “I can’t lose her,” he said. “I can’t...”
He felt a stiff and calloused hand on his shoulder. “I can’t either,” North said. “So you have to swear to me you’re not going to confess and then run off with her forever. Take her out. Take her home with you. But she comes back to me. She has to come back. If you can do that, I can live with it.”
North’s words seemed to calm the insanity that his head was trying to figure out. North believed it could work. North accepted this. If he believed this could happen, Victor had to believe in him. This was their chance. For the moment, he played with the idea of how it would work. He could live with North taking her out for the night, as long as she returned to him. Victor could imagine her smiling face like she’d missed him. He’d kiss her, whisper her name in her ear, and hum her favorite songs. When he was off on Academy assignments, he’d leave her safe with his team. The only people he’d ever trust with her.
“When can we tell her?” Victor asked.
“You have to wait until we all know,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “You have to wait until it’s all agreed with everyone. We’ll show her we all care, and then we’ll try to help her come to terms with it. I think she could. I think she’d welcome it. She does a lot with all of us now.”
Victor nodded. “So you’re in on this, too?” he asked.
Mr. Blackbourne opened his lips to answer but stiffened as his phone sounded an alarm. He reached around, finding it and checked the screen. He jumped up sharply, looking at North. “We have to go.”
“What now?” North asked.
“There’s another box at the school. Apparently there was a school dance tonight and it was left in the gym. It has my name on it.”
“Another empty box?”
Mr. Blackbourne shook his head. “No. This time, he left us some clues.”
Thank you for downloading this book. Keep in touch with the author to find out about special releases and upcoming events, including spoilers, author chats and swag.
Website: http://www.clstonebooks.com/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/CLStoneX
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/clstonex
Click here to sign up for the newsletter.
It’s the best way to stay up to date with the latest from C. L. Stone.
READ AN EXCERPT FROM THE FIRST BOOK IN AN ALL NEW ACADEMY SERIES
The Academy
The Scarab Beetle Series
♠
Thief
♠
Book One
Coming February 2014
Written by C. L. Stone
Published by
Arcato Publishing
I AM A THIEF
Men are brilliantly stupid.
For one thing, guys carry the most cash with them anywhere. Didn’t anyone ever tell them cash was dead?
I nestled myself in one of the side branches of Citadel Mall. I picked my way through a Claire’s but the lights were too bright reflecting off the sparkling plastic and crystals of the teeny bopper jewelry and handbags. I ducked into a shoe store where the lighting was dimmer and the window wasn’t as obstructed. Waiting was the hardest part.
My favorite place to find dumb guys with lots of cash was the mall. Always fairly crowded on a weekend; I could count on at least a couple of twenties for every wallet I temporarily borrowed.
I never kept all of it. Forty to sixty dollars at the most. Not enough to bother reporting to the cops. I didn’t mess with credit cards, or bother with selling ID cards. That’s the kind of crazy stuff that gets you sent to prison. I always left the wallets and the rest of the leftovers tucked away in the food court and on benches where management would see it and find the owner. That way, the people wouldn’t have to get new ID, which is a huge hassle.
And they never suspected a thing. All they saw when I accidentally bumped into them was batting eyelashes and as much cleavage as I could muster the absurdity to expose without heaving.
It was even
better if one of them had a girlfriend on his arm, because the girl would smack the tar out of him, causing an even better distraction with his head turned the other way. Too bad the next place they walked into where she gave him the doe-eyes to buy her yet-another-pair-of-shoes, he’d be out of luck, and she’d be on to the next boy toy.
And if I could easily distract a guy when he had what was probably a decent girl hanging off his arm, he probably deserved to get his wallet picked and the girl was better off. Loyalty was a big deal to me.
This Saturday had, so far, been a bit of a letdown. Only two hits for me, and I only got forty from between them. I fingered the cash inside my pocket. The money felt like it was burning between my fingers, partially from the guilt. I wanted to release it, but I’d worked hard for it, and didn’t want to let it go.
Forty dollars wouldn’t be enough to cover the rent for next week, let alone food. I only had about an hour or two left before ...
A target came into view, walking around the corner. He was alone, and wore a dark red jacket. It was kind of early in the fall for it, but I wasn’t going to start complaining; no wallet bulge in his pants pockets and jacket picking was easy. Easier still when he shoved his hands in his jean pockets, making the jacket bulge out on the sides, making my job even easier.
I waited, watching from inside the shoe store, pretending to study pairs of spiky slut shoes. When he stopped and hovered in front of the cookie shop, I figured it was as good a time as any.
I left the shoe store, taking the long way around the corridor, keeping to the middle potted plants, benches and other mall shin-splitters between us. I looped around casually, moving toward the cookie stand.
My Doc Martin boots and jeans were casual enough to blend in and be forgettable later. I tugged the hem of my white tank top lower down my body, exposing just a slip of the gray material of the bra underneath; I’d give him a bonus for being an easy target.
I steadied my pace, trying to give him room and without staring; a skill I’d perfected. I aimed for the right pocket, which was hanging slightly lower than the other, hopefully the sign of a full wallet. If I was wrong, there wasn’t much chance I’d get the other one without attracting notice. Dipping into an empty pocket is a lost target.
I stalled as he bought his cookie, watching to make sure I’d been right about the pocket with the wallet. Sure enough, his hand reached in and pulled it out to pay the teenager behind the counter. I stopped and bent over to tie my boot, another stalling tactic, following him by watching out of the corner of my eye to where he stood off between two stores, digging the cookie out of the bag and stuffing it into his mouth. He was at least a couple of heads taller than I was. Not a problem, but I preferred people more my height, which made picking more natural. He had a wide jawbone and deep-set eyes. He was looking curiously around, as if trying to pick out which direction he wanted to go next.
He caught my eye briefly on his glance around and I froze. I’d learned early on if I looked at the face, it became harder to make the move.
This was a real person. I was a thief.
I usually picked a scruffier type that didn’t look like a nice person. With the jacket, however, he was too easy a target to miss, and I was out of time to pick another.
I spotted the closest trash bin and waited him out.
It didn’t take the guy long to finish his cookie. He aimed for the trash bin I’d picked out.
I started walking, pretending to decide not to buy a cookie. From my pocket, I dug out a crumpled piece of paper to throw away.
The next few moments slowed for me, as it did every time. My heart thundered. I questioned again for the millionth time why I did this.
I prayed I wouldn’t get caught and that if I did, this guy wasn’t the type who would beat me to a pulp.
With every step I took closer, I thought about changing my mind and running away. This was wrong. I was a criminal. Every wallet I took added up into some kind of unseen karma debt, and one day I’d strike out big time.
Except my brother and I wouldn’t have a roof over our heads if I gave up now.
One more. I promised myself this would be the last. I’d find a good job soon. We just needed to scrape by this week.
I focused on the jacket.
I aimed, and increased my pace to match his stride.
Bump.
My left hand brushed against his jacket at the heavy pocket.
My other hand released the trash by tossing it away. I caught the strap of my tank top that slid down my shoulder. Practiced moves I’d done dozens of times.
Big brown eyes flashed, focusing on my face. Instead of lowering to my breasts, they remained, studying.
That alone caught me off guard. Targets never did that. Not holding my gaze for so long, as if he was disinterested in the body and instead wanted to see the person. See me.
At least his eyes were up instead of down at waist level. It was enough. My hand was already in his pocket, curled around the leather wallet, lifting. All I had to do was blush and apologize, tuck the wallet under my arm and out of sight and turn ...
"Hey! You! Girl!"
The shout was so desperate, so commanding, my whole body started to quake and I stopped. My target and I broke our locked gazes and sought out the voice.
It came from across the corridor at the pretzel shop. A guy behind the counter wearing a folded paper hat and blue and white print apron stared us both down.
And pointed right at me.
"Come here," he shouted, in a tone that had my knees buckling into motion. The power was undeniable.
But I was clutching a wallet that didn't belong to me. Rattled now, I realized too late that I had hesitated. I returned my focus again on the target, meeting cool, brown eyes. Eyes that lowered down to my hand that was holding his wallet between us.
I popped my mouth into an innocent ‘o’ shape. "You dropped this,” I said in a quiet voice, holding up the wallet toward him.
My target frowned. He tugged the wallet from my hand and shoved it back into his pocket, zipping it up. I turned away quickly. My mind whirled, trying to figure out the closest exit. I needed to get out of there before he put two and two together and ...
"Girl!" The guy shouted again from behind the counter. He whistled in a sharp, high pitch, snapped his fingers and pointed again. "You. The pretty one with the brown hair."
I scoffed, turning around and spotting the guy focused on me again. He was drawing so much attention that I wouldn't be able to make another target here for hours, if not for days. I glared at him, and closed the distance to his pretzel stand. Maybe if I ate his stupid sample pretzels, he’d stop drawing attention to me.
"What?" I seethed.
When I finally met his gaze, my body froze.
Two different colored eyes blinked back at me. That made me think perhaps I was dreaming. One blue and one green. That didn’t seem possible.
His soft brown hair was a little longer on top, brushed to one side at the crown, and cut close around the nape of his neck. The style reminded me of a rock star I’d had a crush on a couple of years ago. He had broad shoulders under the blue t-shirt he wore under the apron, and a black cord around his neck with a silver-encased sand dollar. His left wrist was covered in tiny bracelets made out of braided thread and some were plastic like you’d get out of a quarter machine. He wasn’t as tall as my target, maybe just a head taller than I was. It was hard to tell, since he was behind the counter. It seemed as if the floor dipped a little on that side.
His lips curled up in a brash smile. "What's your name?" he asked. His voice, when he wasn't shouting, actually had an amused tone, like he was incredibly curious and needed to know.
My jaw’s hinge didn’t seem to want to work to close the gap of my mouth hanging open. Was he serious? "Pardon?"
He planted his palms on the counter, leaning over it. "I was asking your name. You know, the thing on your driver’s license."
"I know what you mean," I said
quickly. "Why do you care?"
"Do you want a job?"
I huffed indignantly. He called out to me from across the mall to ask if I wanted to work for him at a food stand? He appeared to be my age, about eighteen at least. Maybe a little older. It was hard to imagine him as a manager. "No thank you," I said. Not that I didn't need one, but the way he was asking me was too odd to comprehend. Plus, I didn't like the way he was looking at me. I simply didn’t believe he was being genuine. He’d call some random girl over to his food stand and hire her? And, he’d called me pretty...
I started to walk off but he called out, "Wait!" It was that commanding tone again and I found myself pausing to obey. "Just tell me your name."
I grunted and turned to meet his mismatched eyes. "Bambi."
He cocked his head at me. "That's not your real name."
My lips parted, my heart pounding. "How would you know?"
"You're not a very good liar."
It was usually one of my better talents. The only other person who could tell was my brother. I turned away from him, too rattled to talk any more.
"Wait," he said.
I ignored it this time, my ears filled with the sound of my pounding heart and masking his tone. I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more: the fact that he knew I lied so quickly or that I was impressed he could.
Before I could get past the window of the next store over, I tilted my head casually to check behind me. I caught him jumping the pretzel stand’s counter. He tore away the hat and the apron, dropping them to the ground and started after me.
I leapt into a half jog so as to not look like I was running away, but trying to get somewhere. I started to turn back to see if pretzel boy was still chasing me when I crashed into what felt like a brick wall and started to stumble. I caught myself on the wall to stop from falling.
I met with a pair of deep-set eyes. My target with the red jacket. His serious face focused on mine, recognition setting in.
I pushed myself off of him. In full panic mode, I dashed down a corridor to the left. This time when I looked back, I had two pursuers. They jogged together after me. Their feet moved in unison, something I’d only seen in movies about the army. They knew each other? It was too much for it to be a coincidence.