Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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"LOOK, IT'S BEST YOU DON'T KNOW," Anakin said, for the seventh time since Raina had dragged him from his dorm to one of the secluded picnic tables that sat near the edge of the campus.
Raina replied with what she'd been saying for the past fifteen minutes. "Like hell it is."
Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose.
To Raina, he looked disturbed, a little wild. She marvelled that she was even able to get him out here with her, even though for every second he'd sat at that bench, he'd looked as though he was ready to flip the stone table between them over and storm away.
"Your friend is safe," he said.
"You're lying," snapped Raina. She'd heard him, anger pooling from his breath, as he threatened to put a bullet in Andre Kirova's heart if he dared to come near Freya. Raina's mind tried to link Freya to the man she'd met yesterday at Seth's match, but to no avail.
Kirova was Russian, that was the only connection she came up with. She didn't understand though why the affairs of a Russian businessman extended onto the daughter of Nikolai Arsov. And knowing Freya, and if yesterday was any indication of how much she didn't know Freya, the reasons could quite frankly be anything.
"Why would the man I met yesterday want to harm me and my friends?" Raina demanded. Anakin Graves was a fool if he thought she was going to stand by and not try to protect her friends.
"I don't know," Anakin said, dropping his hands from massaging his temples to thump onto the stone table. It was this act of frustration that made Raina believe him.
But the voice in the back of her mind reminded her of the conclusion she'd drawn of this boy yesterday, that he was a liar. And she could not trust him.
Hell, she'd known Matthew al Nassar for years. She'd known his father and his aunts and uncles. Her father and grandmother had flown to England for Elias al Nassar's funeral, she remembered specifically because she'd asked to come with them, if only to hang with Freya for a couple days. And never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated that he'd be the type of angst-ridden, bad boy, gang leader she only ever read about in the trashy romance novels Raina stole from Freya's room, narrowly avoiding death by a thousand icy glares if the girl knew Raina was even aware of their existence, far less had stolen them.
"You know something though," Raina lashed out, growing impatient. She was not a patient person by nature. In fact, it was a miracle she hadn't yet punched him in the face.
She knew why she hadn't punched him yet though. It was the wild look behind his slate green eyes, like a cornered animal, a deer caught in headlights. And beyond that, there was brewing fury, one so intent and deep she didn't think she should understand it. Yet she did. God, if there was anything Raina al Hassan understood, it was fury.
