My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91 A Rival Party Filled With Unwanted Attention

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The gravel crunched beneath the thick soles of my combat boots.

I left the shadows of the chain-link fence behind. The heat of the massive bonfire hit my face in scorching, suffocating waves. Flames licked the night sky, consuming the stacked wooden pallets in the center of the dirt lot. Orange embers drifted upward, disappearing into

the bruised, starless dark.

The bass of the music vibrated through the ground. It resonated in the marrow of my bones. Dozens of Westbridge students surrounded the fire. They wore frayed denim, dark leather, and heavy silver chains. They passed cheap bottles of liquor back and forth. They spoke over the deafening music with rough, scraped voices.

This was the edge of the world. This was the place Crestview Prep parents warned their children about in hushed, terrified tones.

I lowered my chin. I pulled the dark wool beanie down over my ears, hiding the neat, pristine sweep of my dark hair. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my thick sweater. I forced my posture to relax. I needed to blend into the chaotic background. I needed to look like I belonged in the smoke and the noise.

I navigated the outer ring of the crowd. I scanned the faces illuminated by the firelight. I searched for broad shoulders, a familiar leather jacket, and the stark, faded bruises of the boy I loved.

I did not see Ryder.

A fresh spike of adrenaline pierced my chest. If he was not outside, he was inside the warehouse. He was walking straight into the trap

Winton set for him.

I turned my attention to the massive, corrugated metal building looming behind the bonfire.

The warehouse looked like a rusted, decaying beast resting on the cracked asphalt. The sliding metal doors stood wide open, swallowing the teenagers passing through the threshold. Red and blue strobe lights flashed from deep within the belly of the structure.

I altered my path. I walked away from the heat of the fire, stepping toward the gaping entrance.

The air grew stagnant near the doors. It smelled of stale beer, damp concrete, and sour sweat. The music inside was a physical assault. It stripped away my ability to think in complete sentences.

I stepped over a shattered glass bottle on the threshold. I entered the warehouse.

The interior was a labyrinth. Pallets of discarded industrial supplies formed makeshift walls and narrow corridors. Shadows stretched long and distorted against the concrete floor. Graffiti covered every exposed brick surface. Teenagers clustered in the dark corners, their faces obscured by the flashing strobe lights.

I kept my spine straight. I channeled my mother. She faced hostile, demanding customers at the diner every single shift. She met their disrespect with an unbreakable, stoic grace. She never let them see her bleed. I shared her blood. I refused to let the fear show on my

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Chapter 91 A Rival Party Filled With Unwanted Attention

face.

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I walked down a wide aisle cleared through the center of the debris.

I searched the shifting crowd. I examined the posture of every tall guy in a dark shirt. None of them carried the dark, restless energy of Ryder Steinmann. None of them commanded the space the way he did.

A heavy shoulder bumped into mine.

The impact knocked me off balance. I stumbled sideways, my boot catching the edge of a wooden pallet. I caught myself before I hit the

concrete floor.

“Watch where you step, a rough voice commanded.

I regained my footing. I lifted my head.

Three guys stood blocking the aisle. They formed a solid, impenetrable wall of muscle and frayed denim.

The guy in the center held a plastic red cup. He possessed a sharp, angular face and dark, sunken eyes. I recognized the frayed collar of his jacket. I recognized the smirk twisting his mouth.

It was the messenger from the bake sale.

Recognition flared in his dark eyes. The smirk widened into a cruel, triumphant grin. He crushed the plastic cup in his fist. Amber liquid spilled over his knuckles, dripping onto the concrete.

“Well, look at this, the messenger drawled. His voice scraped over the heavy bass of the music. “The little honor student decided to crash

the party.”

The two guys flanking him shifted closer. They boxed me in, cutting off my exit path to the front doors.

My pulse hammered a frantic, punishing rhythm against my ribs. The logic equations in my head shattered. There was no math to solve this. There was no negotiation.

“Move out of my way, I stated. I kept my voice cold and flat.

The guy on the left laughed. He wore a gray hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal crude ink tattoos winding around his forearms.

“She has an attitude,” the tattooed guy noted. “Steinmann likes them feisty.”

The messenger took a step forward. He invaded my personal space. The scent of cheap alcohol and stale smoke washed over my face. He looked me up and down, taking in the thrift store boots and the oversized sweater.

“You look different without the little blue blazer, the messenger mocked. He reached out.

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Chapter 91 A Rival Party Filled With Unwanted Attention

His hand moved in a blur. He grabbed the edge of my dark beanie. He yanked the wool hat off my head.

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My dark hair cascaded over my shoulders. The neat, pristine appearance I worked so hard to hide was exposed to the harsh strobe lights.

I snatched the beanie out of his hand. Do not touch me.”

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