Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,2
got a date.”
“Lilah, are you in there?” asked Orlando.
“Just a minute,” I shouted, hoping to convey a little panic in my voice. I turned to Myra and whisper-hissed, “Let me go to the door and tell him to fuck off.”
“Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll shoot his balls off.”
Sending her a silent thanks, I gave her a sharp nod. Some of that dirty talk seemed to have seeped through her mind and addled her resolve. “Alright, then.”
Myra nodded back and stepped out of the doorway’s line of sight.
This was my chance. As she took another step, I sprang to my feet and rammed my shoulder into her gut, and we both tumbled to the floor.
Chapter Two
Myra and I hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, and a gunshot exploded in my eardrum, making one side of my head vibrate. It hit the ceiling, and plaster rained down on our heads.
“Stupid bitch.” Myra slammed the butt of the pistol against my temple.
Pain exploded across my skull, but I grabbed her forearm as she twisted it to point the gun in my face. Myra reared up, trying to buck me off her spindly body. I pulled my head back and rammed it in her nose, making her howl.
The door slammed open, and heavy footsteps hurried toward us.
“Get back,” Orlando shouted.
I scrambled off the larger girl’s body, wincing as my cuts tore open. Orlando rushed in front of me and stamped down on her wrist.
Stiffening, Myra cried out, “Get off me.”
“Lilah!” Orlando’s hazel eyes blazed with fury. “Are you alright?”
The tight band of panic around my lungs loosened, allowing me to take several deep breaths. Rolling the stiffness out of my shoulders, I muttered, “Fine, considering.”
Myra lay amid the glass on the floor, thrashing her limbs like a caught daddy long-legs. Her spindly fingers gripped the pistol as though it was her only chance of escape.
I swung my foot back, ready to give Myra the kick in the gut she deserved for holding me at gunpoint, but the panic bulging in her eyes made me step away. What was the point of kicking a girl when she’d fallen into the gutter?
Myra was about to lose everything—her position at the academy, her reputation, and her precious Elizabeth. Elizabeth would sooner discard Myra like a used panty liner than stick by her disgraced friend.
“You’re hurting my wrist,” Myra shrieked.
Orlando leaned forward, putting even more weight on her arm. “Let go of the gun.”
“It’s an air pistol,” she said.
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
Tears gathered in the corners of Myra’s eyes. “I wasn’t ever going to kill you. It was just a joke.”
Nausea crawled up the back of my throat as our struggle on the ground returned with alarming accuracy. At one point, I had stared down the barrel of that gun. “If that hit me at point-blank range, you would have blown off my head.”
Myra’s mouth went slack, and she stopped struggling. The stupid cow had probably thought she’d been handling something as harmless as a paint gun, but even those caused serious injuries up close.
Shaking my head, I walked across the room to where I had dropped my phone, dialed nine-nine-nine, and waited for the operator to pass me onto the police.
“What are you doing?” Myra shrieked.
“What do you think?” I snapped.
“You can’t waste their time over a prank.” Her gaze darted to the door, where a small crowd of younger students had gathered.
As a large amount of the girls had left with Mrs. Campbell, it was mostly younger boys in their short pants, staring open-mouthed at the carnage of blood and broken glass. None of them dared to enter, so I didn’t scream at them to bugger off.
Orlando turned to me, his eyes softening. “You’re probably going to need stitches for all those lacerations.”
The woman on the other end of the line took down my details and agreed to send an ambulance along with the police. I glanced around my room and sighed at the broken window, muddy footprints on the white bedspread, and all that glass. This was the second time it had been infiltrated, and no amount of cleaning or air-freshening would get rid of the taint of fear and blood. And Elizabeth had trashed my room in Mr. Burgh’s house.
A lump formed in my throat. Who the hell did a girl need to kill for some peace? Elizabeth, most likely, but that wretched coke fiend had powerful family members who protected her even more fiercely than Billy Hancock’s Rottweilers.