2. Frankie

Shadow Locke Universityis located on an island connected to Morrow Bay by a bridge and a sandbar. I have to drive over the Morrow Pass to reach the university. The road stretches out, a ribbon of asphalt that clings to the coastline, its other side dropping steeply into the churning sea below. The scenery here can snatch your breath away, with rugged cliffs and expansive skies, but today, my focus is pulled elsewhere.

As I approach the bridge, I get the feeling I wasn't the only one with the idea to see if I could get on campus early. A line of cars sits at the gatehouse, and I slowly pull up. My Jeep shudders and shakes as I throw it in park and lean over the center console to grab my student ID from the glove box. The little card falls into my hand just as someone behind me honks, startling me. With a snarl, I sit up and unfasten my seatbelt, my self-control disintegrating like a Chinese lantern on fire.

As I kneel on my seat, my attention snaps to the black Bentley idling impatiently behind me. Its sleek, imposing form stands out starkly against the more modest vehicles lined up for the gate. As I throw a defiant two-finger salute at its tinted windows, a ripple of curiosity runs through me. Cars like this are rare at Shadow Locke, and they usually herald the arrival of someone of importance—whether for their wealth, their family's influence, or their hidden agendas.

I flip back around, bounce in my seat, and creep forward. The bastard honks again. Maybe it's the lack of sleep—hell, maybe it's just some weird astrological event—but I turn into the embodiment of fuck around and find out, because when I'm one car away from the gate, I angrily throw the Jeep into park and climb out, intent on giving the bastard behind me a piece of my mind.

As I stalk closer, the window rolls down to reveal a flustered older gentleman with a bright red face. "Miss, I do apologize, but?—"

"Tell whatever pompous prick is hiding behind the tinted windows that just because the car has a horn doesn't mean he should wield it for no fucking reason," I snap at the old man, who is probably just a driver for some rich kid. In fact, as the old man stammers, I push off the door and glance at the license plate—New York. I should have known.

"Miss, I do apologize, but if you will," he pleads, pointing at the gate. I know that car in front of me is gone, but the fucker behind me needs to learn a bit of patience. "Move forward, I beg of you."

"Ah, you work for an asshole." I shake my head. "We really don't need another pompous prick at this school," I tell the man. His eyes nearly bug out of his head. Behind him, I can just make out the shadow of someone moving, and he tilts his head to the side as though listening.

"Miss, sir apologizes," he insists, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow.

"Sir," I mimic and walk away, only because my bladder is yelling at me to get on the island and find the nearest restroom and then hit up the coffee shop if it's open. "Dick," I mutter, slamming my door a little too hard, and creep forward.

"Frankie." The gatekeeper leans on his bulky brown arms, the white in his brows giving him a distinguished look.

"Franklin," I reply, visibly relaxing. He's like everyone's grandpa, and he acts like it too.

Laughing, he shakes his head. "Just for the sake of the camera, show me that identification."

Grabbing it from the seat where I dropped it, I hand it over. Franklin doesn't even look at it, just says, "It's move-in day for the out-of-staters."

Grumbling a few choice curses under my breath, I drag a hand down my face. All it seems to do is smear the sweat over my cheeks and neck. "I forgot." I yawn, taking my card back. "Freshmen." I glare in the rearview mirror.

"Some," Franklin agrees. "From what I've heard, there are a few transfers."

"Really?" I crack my neck and glance at him. The teacher to student ratio is low, assuring everyone succeeds. It's what I've come to love about this place.

"Yeah, a few from overseas. Looks like some people dropped out last year, opening up space," he states. "Apparently, they snagged a few rich boys for teaching assistants."

Shadow Locke University only accepts five hundred students at any given time. The number fluctuates between years, so there could be a hundred freshmen, fifty sophomores, and so on.

"There will be more," I mutter, because by the end of the first semester, at least a dozen students will drop out. Somehow, Shadow Locke, while being one of the more prestigious schools on the East Coast, has one of the highest turnover rates.

I haven't figured out why yet. It's all so… excruciatingly normal.

"You working tonight?" Franklin asks just as the vehicle behind us honks again.

I chuckle and throw it into park just to be a dick. "Yeah, why? You and the misses thinking of stopping in for a drink?"

"Nope, just letting you know that the dean put a university curfew into effect."

"You're kidding me." The bridge is the only way on and off the island.

"No, they are having us shut it down at eleven," he explains.

"Typical." So much for having a place to sleep tonight. I was so close. "Alright, thanks for the heads-up."

"Only do it because you're the only one who doesn't treat me like the help around here." Franklin stands up and presses the button to raise the boom. "Welcome home, Frankie."

I don't feel welcome, not as I press on the gas and drive onto the bridge, and not as the guy behind me honks once more, probably just to be a dick—just like me, only with a different motivation. I'm here to survive, to get through university and graduate, and maybe do something with myself someday. The guy behind me? They are probably here on Daddy's dime, here for ragers and beer, and they'll still graduate and get a better job than me.

I'm not salty at all for my parents noping out of life—not like I blame them. The world is a shithole. I remember the first time I drove over this bridge, catching sight of the university before me, and just how incredibly magical it was to see it that very first time, rising into view as though it sprung from the ocean itself.

I've never had a home, not really. My parents died when I was too young to remember them, and after that, I jumped from foster home to foster home, then from shelter to shelter because I turned eighteen during the school year, and there was no way in hell I was spending one more minute in an environment like that.

Shadow Locke University rises from the horizon like a stone sentinel, and just like the first time I saw the monstrous campus, it takes my breath away.

Fog rolls over the bay as the sun warms the ocean, giving the university a hazy appearance. Spires climb through the fog, piercing the sky, and ivy clings to the stone walls, creeping as high as it dares to go.

I never had a home, but if I could, I'd call SLU home. It looks ancient, as though the founders themselves built the university as a cathedral during the darkest years in history. Built by the Knights Templar, it's stood the test of time, beautiful and ancient with more ghosts walking the halls than most can count. It also has this gothic vibe that contrasts with the crystal clear waters all around the island, and I absolutely love it.

There are so many places on this island to hide, even though it's only three miles long and two wide—not to mention the caves and secret tunnels. A sense of belonging settles over me as I drive over the bridge and onto the main road that weaves around the island to the only parking lot here.

You have to travel everywhere else by foot. I don't even mind that. In fact, I love it. There are more places to hide, and it's less likely someone will bother me—save for whatever roommate they stick me with this year. Nerves bubble in my gut as I pull into a spot in the middle of the lot, shaded by one of the spires. A chill rolls over me with a cool gust of ocean wind. Many people mill about, all fresh faces and excitement in their veins… and the parents. There are a ton walking around with their excited offspring, tears in their eyes. I'm only a little bit jealous.

"Screw this." I pocket my keys and lock up, mostly just because I set the alarm on the Jeep to deafen the person who tries to open the door without unlocking it first, then I climb out, letting my Docs hit the pavement.

I'm halfway across the parking lot when I feel like someone just walked over my grave. Goosebumps ripple over my body, and I pause. Keeping my chin high, I crouch to the ground, pretending to tie my shoes. I look around under my lashes and spot that black Bentley parked in an administrative spot, the back window rolled down just enough for me to see the shadow of someone's eyes as they watch me.

I see you too, Bentley.

Pushing off the ground, I saunter through the open doors. It's just as sweltering inside as it is outside—maybe worse. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I head toward student affairs. Empty. The corridor is empty. Well, aren't I lucky? Getting keys to the dorm is usually an easy process. I walk in, sign in, and get a key, but when I walk inside, there isn't a single person here. There is air-conditioning. The sweat on my skin instantly chills, causing the beads to feel like shards of ice and goosebumps to pimple harder on my skin. The bell on the counter looks tempting, but the coffee pot with the little sign that says, "Help yourself," is even more tempting. Making myself at home, I begin to make a cup of coffee just as the door creaks open.

"What?" a voice questions. It's clear by his tone he doesn't want to be here. That's fine, neither do I.

"Here for my key." I press down on the single-serve coffee maker and spin around to see the man at the tall counter.

Cruel, ocean-colored eyes glare at me—deep ice blue with what looks like waves of green. They are the most piercing and mesmerizing eyes I've ever seen in my entire life, and they are attached to a man visibly sneering at me.

"Damn, do you want the cup of coffee I'm brewing? It looks like you could use it." I blink at him and his absolutely beautiful appearance. His golden blond hair is cut to within an inch of perfection. I say within an inch, because there's a rogue curl that messes up his appearance. Dressed as though he's trying to impress the King of England, he's wearing a designer suit—well, I'm guessing at the designer part. It has to be.

"Name,"he drawls, his tone laced with unearned superiority.

"Frankie Vale." I almost wish I could see if he's wearing dress pants, but alas, I don't have laser vision. Also, why does he hate me so much? All I did was show up looking for my keys. "You're new." I cross my arms, taking him in.

"Name," he sneers, ignoring my question.

Yikes. "Francesca Vale." I give him my government name because I still have to pee, and I really want my keys. He grunts and turns around to walk just out of sight. I stretch to see if he's wearing slacks, and I'm pleasantly rewarded by the shape of his ass which stretches the fabric of his fancy pants perfectly. I don't care if he's mean. A hate fuck is the best fuck, and I'll die on that hill, blissed out with a sore vagina, no regrets in sight. With an ass like his, I'd bet he's the type to hold me down and take his pleasure.

Why does that sound so fucking appealing? A shiver races across my body as the coffee pot sputters.

I try again. "You're new here." And so quick to judge people he doesn't know. I keep my head down and make sure no one really sees me, so why does he hate me?

"Of course I'm new, you dishrag." He doesn't even bother to turn around. Dishrag? I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. That's adorable. "You're from out of state?" he asks in a normal tone.

"Yep." I mean, technically, I'm from Arizona.

Two years ago.

He grunts again and turns around, that sneer still on his pouty lips. "I'm only giving this to you because you stink and need a shower, and I don't want to smell you any longer than I have to."

"Aww, gee, thanks, mister." I grab my coffee with two sugars and step up to the counter. I go to reach for the keys, only for pretty boy to hold them just out of my reach. "What, are you a child?"

"Do you belong here, Ms. Vale?" he asks me, catching me off guard.

"I like to think so." I casually sip my coffee. If he's going to hand them over, then he is, but I'm not about to beg for them. Besides, I can read the room number from here. CT30. Celestial Tower. Excitement swims in my stomach that I get to stay in the year three dorms. Unlike other universities, SLU shifts their students around. I don't get the same dorm, and I don't get the same roommate. This year, it's the towers. I've been looking forward to living there since the moment I stepped on campus.

Tilting his head to the side, he drops the keys in front of me. "You don't." He looks me up and down, and somehow, he finds me lacking. I don't care. At least that's what I tell myself.

"Well, that's your opinion." I sip the bitter coffee, making no move to get my keys, and instead keep my eyes on him. "And unfortunately, everyone has an opinion." I drop my voice. "Doesn't make your opinion the right one." I grab my keys as his eyes focus on my lips. "Thanks for the chat, pretty boy."

With the tension between us still crackling in the air, I pivot sharply, ready to put this uncomfortable exchange behind me, but fate, it seems, has a different plan. I collide with a solid mass that wasn't there a moment ago, the shock of the impact sending waves of hot coffee cascading down my front.