My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 93

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Chapter 93 The Monster Off His Leash

The rusted steel door crashed against the concrete floor. A cloud of ancient dust and rust flakes rained down around Ryder’s broad

shoulders.

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Ryder did not look at me. His pitch-black eyes remained fixed on the messenger holding the switchblade.

The messenger took a half-step backward. His cruel smirk vanished. He raised the silver blade, a pathetic, trembling defense against the

storm standing in the doorway.

Ryder moved.

He crossed the short distance with the terrifying, predatory speed of a striking snake. The messenger thrust the knife forward. Ryder slapped the blade aside with his bare left hand. He ignored the slice of steel against his palm. His right hand shot out, his thick fingers wrapping around the messenger’s throat.

Ryder hoisted the guy off the ground. He slammed him backward. The messenger’s skull hit the brick wall with a sickening, hollow crack.

The switchblade clattered onto the concrete.

The messenger choked, his hands clawing at Ryder’s iron grip. His feet dangled inches above the floor.

The tattooed guy and the towering guy broke. The false bravado of Westbridge evaporated the moment they witnessed the true monster of Crestview Prep. They scrambled backward, shoving past each other in a desperate bid to reach the opposite end of the hall. They abandoned their friend without a second glance.

Ryder held the messenger against the brick for two agonizing seconds. He leaned in, his face inches from the choking boy.

“If you ever look at her again, Ryder rasped, his voice a lethal, scraping whisper, “I will kill you.”

He released his grip.

The messenger collapsed onto the concrete floor. He gasped for air, clutching his bruised throat. He curled into a pathetic, shivering ball.

Ryder turned.

He looked at me. His chest heaved. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on his left palm, staining the heavy silver rings on his fingers. His hazel eyes were entirely black, stripped of all warmth, all humanity. He looked at my pale face. He looked at my ripped sweater. He looked at the smeared blood on the palms of my hands.

He closed the distance between us.

He did not pull me into a hug. He did not ask if I was hurt. He reached out and wrapped his large, uninjured hand around my bicep.

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13:02 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 93 The Monster Off His Leash

His grip was an iron band. It bruised the flesh beneath my sweater.

“Walk,” he commanded.

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He turned on his heel. He dragged me down the corridor. My combat boots scraped against the concrete as I struggled to keep up with his

massive, punishing strides.

“Ryder, you are hurting me, I gasped.

He did not loosen his hold. He marched us out of the dead-end hall and into the main floor of the warehouse.

The party was a blur of flashing strobe lights and deafening music. The crowd parted for him. The teenagers took one look at his face, at the blood dripping from his hand, and they scattered. They pressed themselves against the corrugated metal walls, creating a wide,

terrified path to the exit.

I stumbled over discarded cups and broken pallets. My lungs burned. He pulled me through the hostile territory, a human shield absorbing

the stares and the muttered threats.

We burst through the massive front doors.

The weather had broken. A torrential April downpour hammered the dirt parking lot. Freezing rain fell in heavy, punishing sheets. The giant bonfire in the center of the yard hissed and sputtered, fighting a losing battle against the storm.

Ryder dragged me across the gravel. The rain instantly soaked through my thick sweater. The cold bit into my bones. Lightning flashed across the bruised sky, casting stark, jagged shadows over the rusted cars.

We reached his dark blue Ford truck.

He jerked his hand back, releasing my arm. He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and yanked it open. The hinges shrieked over the

sound of the pouring rain.

“Get in, he snarled.

I rubbed my aching bicep. I stared at him. The cold water plastered his dark hair to his forehead. His black t-shirt clung to the corded muscles of his chest. He looked feral. He looked completely out of control.

“No,” I defied. I planted my boots on the slick asphalt.

Ryder froze. He turned his head. The disbelief in his eyes morphed into a blazing, explosive fury.

Get in the damn truck, Raisa!” he roared.

The raw volume of his voice rivaled the thunder overhead. He slammed his fist against the metal roof of the cab. The dent echoed in the empty space between us.

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