Savannah Madis was a happy, bubbly, aspiring singer until her family died in a car crash. Now she’s in a new town and a new school, and if that’s not bad enough, she’s crossed paths with Damon Hanley, the school bad boy. Damon is utterly confused by her: who is this smart-mouthed girl who surprises him at every turn? He can’t get her out of his head, and—as much as she hates to admit it—Savannah feels the same way! They make each other feel alive. But is that enough?
Age Rating: 18+ (Graphic Sexual Content, Violence)
At the End of the World by E. J. Lace is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.
Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!
1
Savannah Madis was a happy, bubbly, aspiring singer until her family died in a car crash. Now she’s in a new town and a new school, and if that’s not bad enough, she’s crossed paths with Damon Hanley, the school bad boy. Damon is utterly confused by her: who is this smart-mouthed girl who surprises him at every turn? He can’t get her out of his head, and—as much as she hates to admit it—Savannah feels the same way! They make each other feel alive. But is that enough?
Age Rating: 18+ (Graphic Sexual Content, Violence)
Warning: this book contains material that may be considered upsetting or disturbing.
Reader discretion is advised.
Original Author: E. J. Lace
“Hustle it up, ladies, let’s go, let’s go.”
Coach Kline blows his whistle, making the people closest to him flinch away from the shrill sound.
His gray sports shirt hangs from his beer gut, the white and blue basketball shorts a little too short and tight.
His 70s porn ’stash is comical.
I’m sure he uses a hair comb and probably puts sunblock on it like a nasty pervert.
That kind of vibe wafts off him.
He claps his hands, and we all turn off the track and make our way back into the locker room, filing in one by one.
The white-washed cinder blocks pave the way and blue tiles cover the floor.
The wolf emblem painted on the wall screams for school spirit, but I can’t say I have any for this shitty place.
At least not yet.
Sweaty and gross from the forced physical exercise and the sweltering heat, I know I’m ready for a shower.
August being one of the hottest months and living on the coast doesn’t help.
Only week three of school and I still haven’t fallen into the blur of the crowd.
I still find a way to show up as the new kid.
If it’s not stumbling over teachers’ names or something to signal me out, it’s the questioning glances, the snide comments and the gossip at who I am and why Percy and I are inseparable.
None of them bother to mind their own damn business, but hey, this is high school.
Trudging into the locker room, I grab my clothes and try to figure out this dumbass lock that the school issues, before giving up for the fifteenth day in a row and heading for the showers.
The locks are far too complicated and even though it’s meant to be simple, it just isn’t.
Percy explains it and I swear I can get it when he watches, but I still can never get my gym locker to work right no matter how hard or how long I try.
I’ve been late to class a few times already because of this, making me have two tardy slips and it’s not even been a month of school yet.
Swallowing my irritation, I can’t wait to be through with school, out of high school and done with shit like this.
Who can’t get a fucking lock to click right?!
Of course it’s me.
I hate gym the most, not just because of the physical activity, which I loathe entirely, but it’s the only class we get separated in.
Percy’s my cousin, my only friend at the school. Not that I’m looking to make more, it’s just easier to have someone in your corner; he tries to help me.
He really does give it his best shot.
Stepping behind the fluorescent beige shower curtain that is half the size it should be, I turn the water on and undress in what they call privacy.
Quickly changing and hiding from the view of the rest of the girls, I try to focus on moving this along.
As I’m soaping up and rinsing the dirty sweat from my body, the rest of the girls leave.
The room fills with silence, and while I like being alone, this is a bad sign.
I’ll be late again if I don’t hurry.
I finish my shower in three more minutes and turn the chrome knobs to shut it off.
Reaching out for my towel, I find nothing.
A flare of panic invades me.
Nothing on the stool at the base of the outside panel, nothing on the little hook next to the opening.
Nothing.
Pulling the shower curtain back and pushing it to my chest I look around, seeing none of my clothes and no one around.
Where the fuck are my clothes?
I feel the panic start to course through my veins and eat me alive.
Maybe someone saw them on the floor and took them back to my locker?
Hoping like hell that’s the case, I rip the shower curtain from its clear white rings and wrap myself in it.
Scouring the locker room, I find no trace of any of my things.
Nothing’s left in my locker: no gym bag, no shoes, bra, panties, hairbrush, nothing.
I know someone must have taken it, most likely the snobby girls who’ve sent hateful looks my way since day one.
I check the trash cans, praying like hell that maybe they just tossed them away, but my luck is shit.
Briskly rounding the corner, I look everywhere for something, even pulling on random lockers hoping to find one that’s open so I can borrow some clothes for the day.
But of course my luck is worse than my life at the moment, and I find nothing.
Hitting my head on the locker, cursing my existence, I know what my only option is, and it isn’t pretty.
Tucking the shower curtain around me even tighter and making sure the top, middle and bottom are secure enough, I make a run for it.
Moving as fast as I can, I run up the short set of steps and up to the first level of the school.
Then I haul ass down the vacant hallway until I get to the boys’ locker room and pass through the doors.
Thankfully no one is in here; class is in session and I’m sure Percy is wondering where the hell I am.
Praying for some stroke of luck, some type of small blessing that these lockers are labeled just like ours, I move through the rows looking for Percy’s name.
The second row and I find the winner.
Fighting with the lock, again.
I can’t get it to open!
Tears sting my eyes and stain my cheek, feeling the hopelessness sinking into my bones.
Crying, wrapped in a shower curtain, after I broke into the boys’ locker room has to be an all-time low.
What else could possibly top this?
I look up, going to curse God for letting me still be alive, but I catch a break in blue and silver.
At the corner of my eye I notice a locker with no stupid lock hanging from it and what looks like clothes stuffed inside.
What could possibly top this?
Stealing from an innocent stranger.
That’s what.
Holding my breath, I slide in front of it and pop it open, snatching the clothes out and giving it a once over.
A shirt and basketball short, even a pair of sliders, thank God!
Big, but it will do.
Taking my new finds to the boys’ showers, I get dressed in a mad dash to cover myself in real clothes, even if they’re not mine.
Knowing my jacket is in my real locker safely stashed away, I don’t mind going braless until then.
Having big boobs sucks.
If I don’t wear a bra, it’s very evident.
Not that they hang super low or anything, it’s just…big boobs, big problems.
The immediate problem solved, I feel a tug at my conscience.
I can’t steal this stranger’s clothes.
My uncle is the deputy sheriff for crying out loud.
But I need them.
So I’ll borrow them?
Wear them home, clean them and return them.
Feeling better about that outcome, I go back to the locker, taking the scrap ripped page from the top shelf and the pen that’s thrown at the bottom to write out an IOU.
“IOU gym clothes. Sorry.”
I was going to put my name down, but I think it might go over better if I just return them without anyone knowing.
Poking it through the top, I leave it hanging from the little hook so I’ll know he’ll see it.
Closing the locker, I memorize the name painted on the front so I know who to return these to, along with a thank-you note and probably a gift card or something.
I feel like shit for taking these.
Even with the pure intentions of returning it, I still feel like a thief.
“I’m sorry D. Henley,” I whisper in the silence, leaving the locker room and this little debacle behind me.
When I get to my real locker the bell rings and classes all drift into the halls.
It fills with kids my age, and the side-eye glances make me so uncomfortable.
My arms at my chest, I rush the door of my locker open and slip into my jacket to hide my free range tatas.
“Where the— What are you wearing? What happened?” Percy gives me a worried look.
His straight blond hair sways in his face and his warm brown eyes study me, looking for any sign of concern.
“Those freaking plastic Barbies I think stole my stuff. I had to use a shower curtain to cover up with, then I thought I could wear your gym clothes but I couldn’t work your dumb lock.
“Luckily I found these in a random person’s locker.”
I ran my fingers through my long, honey-colored hair, tucking a lock of it off my face while I got ready for the last class of the day.
“Wait, you ran through the school naked and broke into the guys’ locker room? Whose clothes are you wearing?” His eyebrows scrunched together.
The bell rang, telling us to move along.
Shaking my head and mentally pushing myself, Percy and I walk to class.
Him somewhat in front of me while he goes on about what work I’ll have to do.
The next hour and half passes slowly—snail speed slow.
We walk home like every day before, the kids at school who drive race past us.
“You know I can walk to and from school alone. I know you miss driving—you don’t have to give it up for me.”
The sun beats down on us, making us sweat and fan our faces with a folder.
Looking forward at the road, we could see the heat hissing from the pavements.
Percy has a car, a driver’s license and a parking spot at school that he paid for.
“It’s fine, Van. Walking is good for the both of us.” He nudges me with his elbow.
I know he was just being nice.
He missed his car and driving.
But since I wouldn’t get in another vehicle to save my life, he decided to go along with my crazy to help me feel better about being alone.
I wasn’t always like this.
But five months ago my life changed.
One day we went for a drive, just going to the movie theater, and it started to rain.
The passenger side tire blew, we hit a puddle, hydroplaned and went off the median and down into the river below.
Dad died on impact.
Mom got Morgan and me out of the car but got dragged away by the current and drowned.
Morgan died of pneumonia in the hospital a week later.
I woke two weeks after to find my family was all gone.
Percy and his dad, Uncle Jonah, are all that’s left for me.
One car wreck was worse than Armageddon at my doorstep.
It was just…my world that ended.
Life goes on, though.
The people around you go back to laughing and smiling, planning futures and being happy ,but not for me.
I haven’t smiled or laughed since then.
In the court-assigned therapy that I’m forced into, that’s the thing we are working on.
But how can I laugh when Morgan’s laugh was so infectious and now it’s lost forever?
How can I smile when mom’s smile lit up the room and always made me feel warm?
What’s there to laugh at without dad’s ridiculously corny jokes that made me groan and roll my eyes, which I now miss more than anything else in the world?
“I’m sorry you had a shitty day, would pizza make it better?” Percy punches the code in at the front door, letting it unlock and fall open.
The crispy, cool air conditioning hits us like a frosty snowman blowing a kiss our way.
Uncle Jonah’s house is nice, now that it’s mine too, as they like to remind me.
Smaller than my family’s home, but as it was just Percy and my uncle, they didn’t need much.
A simple white-brick two-story with a pool in the back and a nice porch in the front, on which my uncle had a swing put out for me.
It’s in a nice neighborhood, not stuffy like a cul-de-sac or bougie like a gated community.
Our house is the only one down the dead-end lane, but other houses are scattered up the road; we can see them from the front porch.
“Pizza makes everything better.” I rolled my eyes and headed upstairs.
Throwing my bag down and stripping out of the stranger’s clothes, I got into my PJs.
Snapping into a bra and some panties makes me feel human again.
My black Odyssey T-shirt hangs off my chest and gives me no figure.
My simple black boy shorts are long enough down my thigh that they cover the self-harm marks that sprinkle the tops of them.
Tossing the stranger’s shirt and shorts in the washer, I make sure to add extra soap so they smell nice and clean when I return them.
I give the blue and black sliders a shine and pat them dry.
“Do you think I should buy a gift card to, like, a store, or just for, I don’t know, like, a gas station? That’s gotta be a safer bet, right?”
Percy hits pause on his game, sitting up on the gray sectional that frames the living room.
The flat screen hangs on the wall in front of us like a homing beacon for our attention.
“Whose clothes do you take? I probably know them well enough to help.”
He pops a Cheeto in his mouth, holding out the bag for me as I plop down next to him.
“Uh…fuck, I think I forgot.” My mind draws a blank on the name tag, making Percy laugh and shake his head.
Fun fact about head trauma, memory loss is a big part of it.
Either short-term or long-term, and the degree of how bad, is a needle in a haystack.
Mine is pretty good. It’s not like I’m Ten Second Tom from 50 First Dates or anything.
It’s just harder for me to keep little bites of information when I used to have the memory of an elephant.
I forget conversations easily now, studying is harder, I forget things I need if I don’t make a list and learning someone’s name is ridiculously hard for me.
That’s not all either. I have random bouts of uncontrollable anger, nightmares and sickening migraines.
Hitting your head on the car window going 75 miles an hour causes problems.
Who knew, right?
I was also underwater for a while, something about the lack of oxygen made some things fucked up in my brain.
“It will come to you, don’t worry. Where was the locker from mine?” He munched down on a handful of chips.
Using my hands, I demonstrate how the room is set up.
“I don’t even know. Your locker being here, I think his locker is facing out and maybe the fourth one?” I take a handful of chips myself and let him think.
“I say get the gas card, it’s probably Noah’s, Patrick’s or Zack’s locker. Wait no, you said it didn’t have a lock on it?”
His brown eyes widen with worry as he realizes whose locker it must be.
Nodding his head, he throws his controller down and stands up.
“Was it D. Henley?” His voice pleads for me to say no, but the name sounds right and I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it is.
“I don’t know, maybe? Maybe not.” I raise an eyebrow at him and why he looks so afraid all of a sudden.
His face visibly pales as all color drains away.
“Nobody saw you, right?” He bends down in front of me, coming eye level.
“Of course not, I was wrapped in a shower curtain.” I don’t understand what the worry is over.
He puts a hand up to his face and threads it in his hair, sighing.
“Forget about returning them until I find out who you took them from, and never tell anyone what happened. Not even dad, okay?”
Nodding, he stands back up, walking from the dining room to the middle of the living room.
“Did I, like, break into the mayor’s kid’s locker or something?” My curiosity kicks in.
Percy stops, giving a dry chuckle.
“More like the devil’s kid. Damon Henley is Lucien Henley’s son, the gang leader of the biker clan dad is always fighting with.
“If he gets an arrest on one of them, then something always happens, either the case gets thrown out or evidence goes missing, witnesses go missing—they always get out of it.”
He shakes his head. Before I could ask anything else, Uncle Jonah steps through the door with three extra large pizza boxes and a tired smile twisted on his lips.
“Hey guys, how are my troopers doing?”
His voice is light, but I can hear the tiredness and stress hanging at the ends.
Just like my own dad, Uncle Jonah does his best to hide the adult problems from his kids.
I felt even worse.
Now we had to do damage control before I pissed off a biker gang.
Great.
Just what we need.
Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!
2
Percy and I have kept this little mishap under wraps for the past two days.
He has been trying to figure out whose locker I broke into and how I can return the clothes if it was this Damon Henley.
Since he is the biker king’s son and had an ongoing war between the police, and me being the niece of the deputy sheriff—that wouldn’t go over well, so Percy says.
On day three I figure I should just face the music and take whatever problem this Damon wants to throw my way.
Two hours before we normally get up for school I snuck out of the house and walked to the gas station down a few blocks.
Buying a gas gift card at four in the morning got me a strange look from the cashier.
Getting back home in under thirty minutes and sneaking back in was so easy I thought about talking to Uncle Jonah about the security system being shit.
I had made a thank-you letter with no name to say sorry for “borrowing without asking” his clothes and shoes.
And thanking him for leaving the lock off so I could use them in my time of need.
I explained the gas card as a thank-you.
I even ironed his clothes and put them in this black velvet box that I tied a blue ribbon around to make it seem like I put extra care into returning his clothes.
I wanted to make sure this guy knew I wasn’t stealing; it was an actual emergency and I was grateful.
I hid it in my backpack, and when Percy and I got to school I asked him to point out Mr. Damon Henley.
I told him it was so I could make sure to stay out of his way.
Believing the lie, he did just that.
“Okay, so don’t look yet, but the one in the middle with the black hair. The tallest one by the bathroom.”
He nonchalantly pointed without actually turning to point them out to me.
Acting like I was just looking around the hall, my eyes soaked in the man I needed to talk to.
Percy talked about Damon like he was legitimately Lucifer’s heir, and looking at him I could connect some truths that made me almost want to laugh.
They say Lucifer was the best, the most glorious and handsome Angel in heaven, and looking at this Damon Henley, I saw the truth in that.
Damon, sweet baby Jesus.
He looked like a fallen angel in black leather and ripped jeans.
His inky black hair slicked back with gel that kept it out of his face…the length was like something out of a wet dream…
Perfectly long enough that you wanted to play with it, and it gave off this bad-boy-smoking-under-the-bleachers look.
Tattoos played peek-a-boo up the white V-neck that showed off chiseled shoulders and collar bone.
I never thought a neck could be sexy, but seeing Damon turn to look at the guy next to him, and the tattoos that were checkered along it, it was like my panties disintegrated.
In all my seventeen and half year of life I have never seen a human being so fucking good looking.
It should be illegal.
And when he combed his hair with his fingers, leaving wide streaks through it and this almost tousled wave, I was entranced.
Growing up I started noticing boys kind of early on.
At ten, I got in trouble for playing spin the bottle, and at thirteen truth or dare was my favorite game.
I like the male species.
I never dated anyone seriously or went all the way, but I was hot-blooded like my mom tried to explain.
Saying how I was more impulsive and needed to think things through before I went off and did the things I did.
I always accepted dares, I broke some bones and got into trouble quite a bit growing up.
In the summers when Percy and I got to spend an endless amount of time together, he got sucked in for the ride even though I made sure he never got the blame.
I hadn’t felt like this though, ever.
Damon was dripping with sex appeal, and Lord did I want to be the sponge to soak it all up.
“Hey, Earth to Van.” Percy snapped his fingers in front of my face, making me fall back to my harsh and cruel reality.
“Oh no,” I whisper, giving Percy a look that made him hit his textbook to his forehead.
“No, bad Vannah! Absolutely not.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the hall.
He shoved me into the lunchroom and pushed me into my seat.
“Do not, and I mean it. Do not try anything with him. He is bad news.”
I know he’s being serious, and it’s laughable how badly he’s trying to convince me to stay away.
If this was six months ago, if I was the same person as back then, I would have walked right up to him and started talking.
I used to be able to instantly make friends whenever I walked into the room.
I used to be a lot of things.
I had killer confidence; I loved my body and loved what it felt like.
I showed it off and owned every inch of my skin. It helped being the star in my choir; I won every competition, either going solo or as a part of a group.
I loved me.
Which was super rare being a teen girl.
The world around me preyed on the idea of insecurities and made us vulnerable.
Now I was that girl I always thought I was lucky not to be.
Now I was broken and insecure.
I had scars, the worst ones being invisible to the normal eye.
I used to be full of life and joked around, I loved making people laugh.
I was bright, warm and loud.
I smiled all the time; I was the party.
Now, I don’t know shit about this new version of myself besides the bad.
I used to be fearless.
I would go after anything or anyone I wanted; I used to command the stage and live in the limelight.
Looking at me now, you wouldn’t believe it.
It feels like a distant reality.
That girl died with her family.
The one that woke up is hollow and dark, staying in the shadows and hating the thought of ever singing again.
She’s quiet and reserved.
Cautious and withdrawn.
No more parties or jokes to tell, no laugh to be heard, no smile to give.
I’m not bright or cheerful anymore.
I went from Tigger to Eeyore and somehow Percy was forgetting that.
“Chill, I’m not going to.” I swatted his hands off my shoulders and moved a seat over to give us some space.
Head trauma, like any trauma, sucks massive donkey dicks.
After all the tests and the pills and the therapy, psychiatric and physical, I ended up with a list of diagnoses.
I used to be just Savannah Gabrielle Madis.
Now I was more of my diagnosis than a person.
Every doctor, I felt, overlooked me and just saw the problems in my body and not who I am, what those problems were doing to me and causing to me.
What kind of toll the medicine was taking on me.
It’s like they only saw what I had and not me.
My brain is scarred and mutilated from the car crash, along with other parts of my body.
It would be easier if my mind had been spared…not like I lost enough, right?
On my ever growing list of fucked-up parts, I have PTSD, claustrophobia, anxiety, depression, stress-triggered schizophrenia and the list goes on…also it changes.
Isn’t that fun?
Different therapists give me different diagnoses.
Yep.
Fun.
Different meds too.
I currently take a handful in the morning and at night, along with “rescue medication.” That I keep in my bag like a safety blanket.
After we parted ways for the gym, I acted oblivious to the girls in the locker room giggling and whispering behind my back.
If I was the old me I would have run up and handled my business, but…things change.
For the last few days I’d kept all my stuff in my real locker.
When we started our run, I finished my first lap before asking Coach Kline if I could change out of my shoes.
Knowing he wouldn’t let me go to use the bathroom, I acted like I had completely forgotten I was wearing sandals and not my tennis shoes.
Being a gruff asshole he agrees, telling me to hurry back before he has to come looking for me.
Thinking I can sneak back into the locker room and I’ll remember the locker when I see it, I do just that.
Grabbing the thank-you card and the black-velvet-trimmed box, I raced to the doors of the boys’ locker room and listened for anyone inside.
Hearing nothing, I moved in; stealth-like as ever I channeled my inner 007 and moved fast around the rows of lockers until I found Percy’s.
Recreating that day, I stood in front of it and walked down. Sure enough the only locker without a freaking lock was D. Henley.
Opening it up, I sit the box down with the thank-you card on top.
Feeling good about this, I shut the door, giving a thumbs up to the locker itself like it should be proud of me, and snap my fingers like I’m cool before spinning on my heels…
…only to smack right into a wall of fabric-clad bricks.
Falling to my butt, I let out a panicked gasp that involuntarily rushes from my chest.
Holding a hand to my nose and rubbing it in circles to work the sting of it out, my eyes crawl up the dark angel and his two goons in front of me.
“What the fuck did you just put in my locker?” he growled, his arms crossed at his chest like bulging pythons.
If I wasn’t so surprised, I might have swooned from the deep masculine voice that would sound like smooth melted chocolate in any other conversation.
My neck had to crane all the way back to look him in the eyes.
“Speak, girl,” he barked, glaring down at my shocked state.
“She’s cute, stop scaring her,” the ashy blond to his left flirted.
“Aw, she just wants to be your friend, be nice.” The dirty-brown-haired boy on his right flashed a charming smile and fluttered his lashes.
“No I don’t. I was just returning something.” I got to my feet, wiping my hands clean on my blue shorts.
“Returning what?” Damon stepped forward; the glare he cast down at me could make babies cry.
“Oh fuck, she’s the one who took your shit, look.”
The blond held the box, handing the thank-you card to the brown-haired boy and popping the lid open.
I watched the blue ribbon I took a lot of time to make sure looked good fall to the floor and be forgotten about in a second.
“So you’re the dirty little thief. Want me so bad you steal my dirty clothes? Man, you must have it bad.” Damon rakes his eyes down my body like he was disgusted by the sight of me.
I felt my cheeks light up; anger hit my bloodstream. Adding to my obvious embarrassment was not a good combo.
I snorted and rolled my eyes.
“Wow, conceited much? I don’t even know who you are.”
We know that’s a lie, but I didn’t when I took the damn things.
I stepped closer; going toe to toe with this jackass wasn’t on the to-do list but here we go.
His eyes practically hit the back of his head with his own challenging eye roll.
“Secondly, I am not a thief. I borrowed your things without asking and now I’m returning them.”
I crossed my arms and mimicked his stance, adding my own glare back.
“She got you a thank-you card. And oh, a $40 dollar gift card to Murphy’s. Nice.”
The brown-haired boy handed it to Damon to look at, which he gave a quick flick of his eyes to, before he was back to trying to mentally catch me on fire.
“Borrowing without asking is stealing. You’re a fucking thief, not to mention my dirty clothes? Fucking sick,” he spat like I was inferior and 100% wrong.
“No, actually, it’s not.” I stood taller, my hip cocked to the side and my eyes pinned to his in an unwavering show of dominance.
“Borrowing without asking is poor manners and rude, but if returned, not stealing. Like the note I left. It was an IOU.
“Thieves don’t typically leave IOU’s, nor do they get gifts for their unknowing victims. Believe me, if I had any other options that day, I wouldn’t have gone for your nasty belongings.
“Now, I’m sorry I took your clothes but I didn’t have a choice. I washed, dried and ironed them, I said I was sorry, so good-bye and thanks for not having a stupid-ass lock.”
I pointed to the silver padlock that hung from the rest of the blue lockers around us.
Stepping back, I turned and walked away, but when I got to the door the blond was standing in front of it.
“Who are you?” he whispered with a smile and a twinkle of awe in his eyes.
“I’m nobody.” I matched his voice level, making his soft smile grow.
“Hey, I didn’t say you could leave. Nobody talks to me like that,” Damon growled behind me.
Turning around, I smirked up at him.
Yeah, I know.
Damon had followed me around the lockers and trapped me in between the blond and his towering self.
The blond held the back of his hand to his mouth to cover a chuckle.
“Why did you take it?” The brown-haired boy leaned on the stack of lockers behind him.
“Because I needed them.” I looked him in the eyes while I answered back.
“Needed them why?” Damon seethed.
Not wanting to add to my embarrassment, I didn’t want to tell anyone the truth.
“Because I did,” I snapped back.
Looking bored from this conversation, I didn’t add anything else.
Scoffing at me, his inky black locks fell and started to shift down to his forehead.
I lost my train of thought for a second when I saw three thick strands of his hair fall forward and hang in front of his eyes.
The dark color looked like a starless sky.
“I’m not looking for a new toy.”
His voice pulled me out of my little daydream.
“I have no idea what that means?”
I widened my eyes and pressed my lips together to show my annoyance.
“I’m not fucking you, girl.”
“Well thank GOD for that.” I raised my hands to the heavens in exaggeration just to piss him off.
The other two guys laughed, but the prince of darkness in front of me looked like he was trying to figure me out.
“You are honestly so full of yourself that you think I borrowed your dirty sweaty gym clothes to wear home so I could what? Do some weird perverted fetish shit?
“That has to be the reason why I return them in private and use discretion so you wouldn’t know who borrowed them or who I took them from.
“I don’t know anything about you, not your name, what you looked like, nothing. Don’t worry though, Angel, you don’t make me wet.”
I scrunched up my face as I shook my head up at him.
The two goons sucked in a breath and coughed to cover the chuckles they erupted with.
Damon seemed taken aback by my words—honestly I was too.
I didn’t know I had this fire still inside me.
Damon’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with a click from his chiseled jawline.
I made sure my eyes never strayed from the darkness he had captivated me with.
I stared into the endless pits of his dark black pools and never wavered.
“Your name,” he growled.
“Lara Croft.” I smirked at the blond laughing behind me.
“Your goddamn name, girl.” His arms fell to his sides and his face was turning red.
“Fine! If I tell you my name can I go?”
I followed his lead and dropped my hands down too.
We held a staring match for a minute until he licked his bottom lip and took in a deep breath that made it look like he was trembling with anger.
“Tell me your motherfucking name and you can go back to gym.” He said it so calmly it was like he was a different person.
Acting like I was really going to tell him my name, I sighed and looked down, acting like I didn’t want to do this but he had backed me into a corner and this was my only chance.
“Ginny,” I mumbled weakly.
His eyebrow raised up but he didn’t question it.
“Last name.”
“Why?” I faked fear, worried about why he needed it like he was going to snitch me out or something.
“Name, girl!” His face lit back up with the red I was so easily coaxing out.
“Fuck, fine! Granger okay! Now can I go?”
I stomped my foot and shot as much attitude his way as I could.
“Bye.” He waved sarcastically with joy.
I turned around and looked at the blond; he grabbed the door handle and pulled it open for me, bowing and smiling like he loved the show I just put on.
“Thank you, Sunshine.” I waved bye to him and cut my eyes at Damon one more time before I rounded the corner and got out of sight.
I hurried back to the gym, not even changing my shoes, which went unnoticed.
Ginny Granger.
Two of my favorite characters from Harry Potter.
I thought about my fake full name.
In the last half of the year I haven’t even wanted to laugh.
But thinking about the big bad biker prince thinking my name is honestly and truly Ginny Luna Granger almost made me crack a smile and laugh out loud.
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