Monster in His Eyes
Page 3

"Reed."
At first I think Santino is commanding us to read something when I glance up and meet his beady brown eyes, peering at me through a pair of thick glasses. Despite me sitting in the back row of a class with nearly a hundred students, I realize he's talking directly to me—Karissa Reed.
Oh shit. "Sir?"
"Put it away now," he warns, "before I take it."
He doesn't have to tell me twice. I instantly let go, the phone slipping from my hands and dropping toward my backpack without me breaking eye contact. He nods stiffly, satisfied with my compliance, and looks away to call an end to the exam.
As soon as the papers are collected I jump up, grabbing my bag and jetting for the closest exit.
Melody's waiting by the hall, her expression vacant, like there's nothing left inside of her to offer. It amazes me, how the pursuit of wisdom tends to turn people into shells of their former selves.
"How'd you do?" I ask.
"I made out about as well as Dante did with Bernadette."
"Beatrice."
She waves my way. "Well, there's your answer."
We shuffle out of the building and into the bright Manhattan afternoon. Melody's expression shifts once we're outside, the shell-shocked look fading as she puts it behind her.
I admire her ability to brush everything off.
Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes and smiles, bathing in the warm sunlight. "I need a drink. We going to Timbers tonight?"
I scrunch up my nose. Melody reopens her eyes, catching my expression.
"Oh, come on!" she says. "It's gonna be bitchin'."
"Like, totally," I mock. "Gag me with a spoon."
Melody laughs, elbowing me. "I'm serious, we have to go."
"Why?"
"Because it's eighties night!"
"So? You weren't even born then."
"All the more reason to go."
Ignoring her, I pull my bag off my back. I look through it, shifting books out of the way as I seek out my cell phone to give my mother a call to check on her. She wanted me to visit this weekend, but I'm in no mood to take the long trip… not to mention the lack of money for bus fare. I unzip the little pockets, searching, my stomach sinking when I don't find my phone anywhere. "Shit… shit… shit…"
"What's wrong?" Melody asks, pausing when I stop, dropping the backpack to the sidewalk to root around for it. "Lose something?"
"My phone." I groan. "Santino yelled at me for using it so I dropped it in my bag, but it's not here."
"It didn't fall out, did it?" Melody asks, looking behind us, down the block toward the building. "Maybe you left it in the classroom."
"Maybe," I say, zipping my bag back up and slinging it over my shoulder. "I'm going to go look for it. I'll meet you back at the room."
I'm off before she can even respond, taking the same path we took. I keep my eyes peeled to the ground in case it fell out during the walk. I slip back into the building, navigating the hallways on my way to the classroom. I approach, about to walk right into the room, when Santino's voice rings out inside. "I know what you're here for."
Brow furrowing, I step into the doorway, words on the tip of my tongue. He has my phone? He's sitting at his desk, the stack of midterms piled up around him, pen in his hand as he stares down at some unlucky bastard's paper, assaulting it with red ink. Please don't be my test.
I start to speak, the words 'my phone' slipping from my lips when another voice cuts through the classroom. "Good, because I'm in no mood to have my time wasted."
The voice is all male, deep and raspy, the kind that commands attention, each and every syllable oozing coolness. I immediately silence, my gaze sweeping through the classroom, seeking out the source. A man lurks near the corner at the back, not far from the only other entrance. Everything about him matches the huskiness of his voice—tall, broad shoulders, not bulky but undoubtedly solid, like the thick, sturdy trunk of a gorgeous redwood tree, a black suit perfectly hugging his frame. Although formidable, there's a sort of ease to his stance. He doesn't just sound confident.
He knows he's in control.
I take a step away, slinking back into the hallway when the man's calculated footsteps start through the classroom, toward where Santino sits. I consider leaving, maybe coming back later, not wanting to interrupt whatever this is, but man… I really need my phone.
And damn if curiosity doesn't have the best of me. What does this man want?
"I don't have it," Santino says, his voice casual, like the intimidating man doesn't at all affect him. "I haven't gotten my hands on it yet."
"That's not the answer I wanted to hear."
Before Santino can respond, a soft buzzing resonates through the quiet room, vibrating the floor. My gaze darts that way, spotting my phone under the desk I sat in to take my exam. Relief washes through me at the sight of it, replaced quickly by a swell of anxiety. The man turns his head toward the sound, giving me a brief glimpse of his profile. He seems to pause that way for a moment, listening to my phone buzzing, before turning around completely to face the doorway.
To face me.
I dart out of sight, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.
Strained silence passes until my phone stops buzzing, whoever it is hanging up.
"I'll be back for it," the man says after a moment.