Make Your Move (Hannaford Prep, #2)

by J. Bree

“The Jackal told Joey not to touch me because he thinks he owns me. He’s going to take me someday, lock me in a room, and force me to be with him. He’ll rape and torture me until I submit to him. If I don’t make some very careful moves in the next three years I’m going to be trapped by him. Any guy who touches me is in danger if it gets back to him.”

“I’m a Mounty. I’m a foster kid. I was a child of neglect before that. Last year I was the target of a game that had most of the male population of this school following me around bugging me for sex every day. I’ve had to threaten Harley’s psycho cousin with a knife to the dick. You think I don’t have experience fighting off rapists? Please. Go back to your privileged, gilded fucking towers and leave me the hell alone.”

“She’s as loyal to him as you are to Liam O’Cronin so don’t be a dick.” “Difference is I can’t help the family I was born into.” He grumbles under his breath. Her eyes are pure ice. “Neither can she.”

That doesn’t appeal to me at all. I don’t want random hot guys. I want a mobster’s son with the face of an angel and the rap sheet of a street kid. I want the singer with a soft heart wrapped in barbs and trip wires of devastating wit to keep it safe. I want the billionaire’s unwanted son with eyes of ice and an endless love for his sister.

It’s fine. I can feel his muscular arm across my shoulder and his chest is half draped over my back and I feel like I’m dying but it’s fine. Totally fine. I’m fine.

“You’ll need to come up with better insults than that. The guy sings like a fucking audible orgasm.”

Seeing as we’re all banned from Annabelle and Harley’s apparently taken a vow of celibacy there will probably be more complaints of blue balls than anything else.

Again, I adore this girl so fiercely I wish I were a lesbian and I could lock this shit down. Alas, I like dick.

It's only in black light that you can see the ink that covers me. The skeletal structure I've had tattooed to my skin, the jaw opening wide etched in my cheeks with vicious teeth. Every inch of my body is covered in the whorls and arches that imitate the pelt. The black light shows that underneath the human facade I wear the truth of who I am. The Wolf.

“Secret girls business.” says Avery in her most innocent voice. He rolls his eyes at her. “With the two of you that could be anything from pairing the correct shoes with an outfit to plotting the murder of a filthy rich senator for your own gain.”

“I'm weird. I wear guys shirts and sweaters with booty shorts and skirts. I listen to the same three albums on repeat. I like French toast, coffee, and cherry anything. I don't function my birthday or Christmas. I can kill a grown man eight different ways with nothing but my bare hands. I’m never going to be normal.”