Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(74)

“Music room,” Brandon said from farther down.

“Here. This is Jorgeson’s room.” Yukio stepped back to let Ryan look.

“That’s it. There’s that ugly-ass, dried-up frog he keeps on his desk.” Ryan turned to Brandon. “You got the bag of shit?”

“Oh hell yeah.” Brandon took off his backpack and pulled out a small blanket. “Yukio, hold this in front of the window. Carson, grab a rock and hit the blanket. Bust a hole in the glass.”

“Noise control.” Ryan nodded approval. “Smart.”

Me? Why do I have to break the window? Carson’s heart hammered. Say no. Leave.

“Hurry up, Cars,” Brandon snapped.

Carson looked around and found a big rock.

God, Mom would kill him if she ever found out about this. Did they send kids to jail for busting a window?

But Jorgeson was a total asshole. Carson’d had strict teachers before, and even if they were a pain, they were fair. Jorgeson was purely a jerk, especially to mouthy kids like Ryan or the ones who couldn’t keep up, or didn’t do their homework. And he picked on girls and anyone of color, too. He’d get all sarcastic and nasty, and he’d made Ryan cry. Not sobbing or anything. Still, everybody could tell cuz Ryan’s eyes and his freckled face got red, and his lips pinched together, and he kept swallowing. And he wouldn’t talk with anyone for the rest of the day.

That wasn’t right. It wasn’t. Mom always said to stand up for his friends and not give in to bullies.

Jorgeson deserved a bag of shit in his classroom.

Exchanging unhappy looks with Yukio, Carson gripped the rock and smacked the blanket-covered window.

Nothing happened.

“Use some muscle, wussie,” Brandon hissed.

This time, Carson swung hard. The cracking sound of glass made him cringe.

“Again,” Yukio whispered.

Gritting his teeth, Carson hit the window hard, and it gave. Glass tinkled into the room. He ducked down behind the palmettos.

Yukio crouched beside him.

After pulling on thin gloves—like in those criminal shows—Brandon pulled out a bottle filled with clear liquid. When he unscrewed the lid, the scent of gasoline filled the air.

Carson’s mouth dropped open. “What are you doing?”

“My bag-of-shit idea was okay; this is better,” Brandon said.

“I don’t know, BB,” Yukio whispered. “Fire?”

“It’ll make a statement.” Brandon snorted. “But not much of one. The sprinkler systems’ll go on before anything much gets burned.”

Start a fire? Horrified, Carson stared in disbelief.

Ryan frowned, and then shrugged. “It’s not like anyone’s here over break.”

Yukio looked worried, but he didn’t say anything.

Biting his lip, Carson took a step away…and stayed silent.

Brandon stuffed a long wadded up paper towel into the end of the bottle to plug the top. “Is there anybody around?”

Looking down the line of palmettos, Ryan asked in a loud whisper, “Juan. Are we clear?”

Juan gave a thumbs-up.

“Here goes.” Brandon used a lighter and set the paper towel on fire. Standing up, he flung the bottle through the window. Sideways.

Carson heard the bottle break and a sound—foomph. Frigging-A, they’d really set something on fire!

“Let’s get out of here.” Brandon ran down the side of the palmettos, and the rest followed with Carson in the rear. He glanced back and could see that the science room’s window was no longer as dark as the others.

When they reached their bikes, Brandon was giggling. Bouncing on his toes, he ordered, “Split up, and we’ll rendezvous at my place. See you there.”

Carson pedaled to the left with Yukio beside him. As they turned the corner off the grounds, the fire alarms came on.

Yukio looked back, then at Carson. “That was crazy.”

“Yeah.” Carson’s palms were sweaty on the handlebars. “Let’s get out of here.”

*

Pleasantly stuffed with barbecue and potato salad—and the cherry cobbler Josie had made—Holt stretched his legs out and tilted his face up to the afternoon sun. Below the deck where he sat, a long expanse of white sand rolled down to the blue Gulf waters. The air was laden with the scents of brine and seaweed.

Anne and Ben had a hell of a beach house—and Ben could grill a mean steak.

Lazily, Holt watched Ben, Josie, and Rainie stroll the beach. Rainie’s fluffy dog, Rhage, and Ben’s beautiful golden retriever, Bronx, danced around them.

Farther down, Cullen and Andrea, hand-in-hand, were walking off the big meal—or, as Cullen said, making room for more dessert.

Jake had gone to the kitchen for more drinks.

Holt glanced toward the house behind him, then up at the balcony overlooking the shore. Earlier, seeing how tired Anne had grown, Ben had taken his pregnant Mistress upstairs for a nap.

Must be hell having an extra twenty pounds to lug around.

A high yipping drew his attention back to the beach. Charging a gull, Rhage sent the bird screeching into the sky, before prancing proudly back to the women. Josie bent to ruffle his furry head, and Holt could hear her husky laughter.

Her laugh had been mostly absent this afternoon. She’d been uncommonly withdrawn.