The Return Of Adrian Raines

8. Back To School

He knew better than to let his newfound wealth twist him into someone ugly. But one thing had settled in him, quiet and certain as stone: he would get back at every single person who had ever made trash of him.

The classroom buzzed the moment he stepped through the door. Whispers rippled from desk to desk, no one bothering to lower their voices, as if he was deaf.

They'd all heard about the expulsion, the hours spent in a holding cell, the humiliation of it. News like that didn't need an official announcement. It just needed one mouth and twenty minutes.

He took his seat and pulled out his notebook, keeping his eyes down, though he could feel the stares crawling over him like insects.

Charlie approached with his usual swagger, the kind that came from years of never once being told no. He dropped into the seat beside Daniel's desk like he owned it, like he owned everything, the way boys like Charlie always assumed they did.

"Who would've believed it," Charlie said, loud enough for the back row to hear. "Daniel, going from school bully's punching bag to certified criminal, all in one day. That's gotta be some kind of record. Somebody get this man a medal."

Laughter broke out across the room, ugly and immediate. Someone in the back muttered that they should keep their distance if they didn't want to catch whatever made a person turn into a criminal overnight.

Daniel didn't look up. He turned a page in his notes, and if his hand trembled slightly, he made sure no one saw it. He didn't have time for trash. Not anymore. Not when trash like Charlie wasn't even worth the air it took to respond.

The silence annoyed Charlie more than any comeback could have. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to something meaner, more private. "How'd you do it? How'd you weasel your way out of expulsion?"

Daniel said nothing. Kept his eyes on the page, though he'd long since stopped reading the words on it.

That silence cracked something in Charlie. His palm slammed flat against the desk, sending Daniel's books skidding to the floor in a scatter of loose pages. "Hey! Trash bag! I'm talking to you!"

Daniel finally lifted his head. His voice sounded very calm and even when he spoke. "What do you want from me, Charlie?”

He paused, just long enough to make his words sink in. "What's wrong? Is someone's pride a little bruised because his plan didn't work?"

Charlie barked out a laugh, sharp and forced. "My pride? Hurt because of you?" He scoffed, shaking his head like the very idea offended him. "Please. Just tell us what tricks you pulled. Who'd you pay off, huh?"

Daniel rolled his eyes and bent to gather his scattered notes from the floor.

Charlie kicked the desk aside and grabbed a fistful of his collar, yanking him upright, and then his fist hit Daniel's jaw before he'd even registered the movement.

Daniel's back slammed into the desk behind him, the wood biting into his spine before he crumpled to the floor, ears ringing, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.

He expected silence. Concern, maybe, from someone. What he got instead was laughter. Bright, delighted, like they'd just watched the season finale of their favorite show.

Rachel strolled over, arms crossed, standing above him with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Next time," she said sweetly, "you'll know better than to ignore Charlie when he's speaking to you."

Daniel swallowed the blood pooling at the back of his throat. The split lip didn't hurt — or if it did, it was drowned out by something sharper. Her.

Rachel, who used to sit with him at lunch when no one else would, now looking down at him like he was something she'd stepped in.

That was the part that actually hurt.

The classroom door slammed open hard enough to rattle its hinges.

"What is all this ruckus?!" the Dean's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Charlie straightened immediately, smirk sliding back into place as he looked down at Daniel still sprawled on the floor. "You're done for now," he muttered, just low enough for only Daniel to hear. "Unclaimed dog."

Then he turned, all wounded innocence, toward the Dean. "This useless trash doesn't know his place anymore. Kept talking so rudely, and then he actually raised his hand against me. I was just defending myself."

The Dean's eyes swept the room and landed on Daniel, who was pushing himself up onto shaky arms, blood smeared thin across his bottom lip.

Whatever color had been left in the Dean's face drained out entirely.

"Daniel." The name came out strangled, panic threading through every syllable. "Are you alright?”

Daniel nodded his head. “I'm alright.”

Charlie stared between his father and Daniel, confusion knitting his brow so hard it looked almost painful. And judging by the murmurs rippling through the room, he wasn't the only one struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Uhm… Dean," Charlie tried again, voice filled with disbelief, like he couldn't quite believe he was being ignored. "I don't think you heard me. He keeps causing trouble. Why don't you talk to the chancellor and finally give him the expulsion he weaseled out of?"

It was as if he hadn't spoken at all.

The Dean crouched slightly, hands hovering near Daniel's face without quite touching it, eyes darting over the split in his lip with something close to panic. "Are you sure you're alright? You're bleeding — here, let me take you to the nurse, we'll get that looked at right away—"

Daniel shook his head, offering a small, tired smile. "I'll be fine. Really. Don't worry about it."

He didn't know exactly what Lily had said — or done — to soften the Dean this drastically, to turn a man who'd once looked at him like gum on a shoe into someone hovering over him like an anxious parent. But watching Charlie's face twist with disbelief, Daniel decided he didn't mind the change one bit.

Charlie grabbed his father's sleeve, tugging hard, desperation cracking through his usual arrogance. "Father, can't you hear—"

The slap cracked across his face before he could finish the sentence.

The sound of it silenced the entire room. Charlie's head snapped sideways, his hand flying up to cradle his cheek, eyes wide with a shock that went far deeper than the sting.

"What the actual fuck?!" The words tore out of him, raw and disbelieving, like the world had just tilted sideways beneath his feet.

The second slap came faster than the first. Charlie staggered back, nearly losing his footing, the print of his father's hand blooming red and vivid against his skin. He looked at the Dean like he was staring at a stranger wearing his father's face.

"How dare you disrupt this entire classroom." The Dean's voice shook, low and furious, each word landing like a blow of its own. "You are lucky to have been born my son, and instead of making something of that, you waste it acting like this. One more word out of you, and I will personally see to it that you're expelled from Crestmont. Do you understand me?"

Charlie's mouth opened, then closed. His hand was still pressed to his burning cheek, disbelief filling his eyes as he looked around the silent classroom.

Every single face turned toward him, watching the great Charlie, who had never once been told no in his life, get put in his place in front of everyone.

"What the actual fuck," he whispered again, quieter this time, like the words were the only thing left holding him together.