They were here. The Four Horsemen.
They were Thunder Bay’s favorite sons, and they’d gone to high school here, graduating when I was a freshman. All four went on to separate universities afterward. They were a few years older, and while not one of them knew I existed, I knew almost everything about them. All four of them stalked slowly into the room, filling the space to where the sun’s rays turned black across the floor.
Damon Torrance, Kai Mori, Will Grayson III, and—I locked my gaze on the blood red mask covering the face of the one always in the lead a little more than the others—Michael Crist, Trevor’s older brother.
He twisted his head left and jerked his chin toward the back of the room. Students turned, watching one of the male students step forward, a smile pulling at his jaw even though he tried to hold it back.
“Kian,” a guy’s humor-filled voice called out, slapping him on the back as he walked past him on his way to the Horsemen. “Have fun. Wear a condom.”
Some students laughed, while a few girls fidgeted nervously, whispering and smiling to each other.
Kian Mathers, a junior like me and one of our school’s best basketball players, stepped up to the guys, the one in the white mask with the red stripe hooking him around the neck and pulling him out the door.
They grabbed another student, Malik Cramer, and the one in the full black mask pulled him out into the hallway, following the other two and probably off to collect more players from other classrooms.
I watched Michael, the way his size had nothing to do with how he filled a room, and I blinked long and hard, feeling the heat flow under my skin.
Everything about the Horsemen made me feel like I was walking a high wire. Cast your balance a hair in the wrong direction or tread too hard—or too softly—and you’d plummet so far off their radar, you’d never reappear.
Their power came from two things: they had followers and they didn’t care. Everyone idolized them, including me.
But as opposed to the other students who had looked up to them, followed them, or fantasized about them, I simply wondered what it would be like to be them. They were untouchable, fascinating, and nothing they ever did was wrong. I wanted that.
I wanted to look down at the sky.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Gabrielle Owens sauntered up, followed by her friend, both of them carrying their books. “We have to go to the nurse. See you Monday!” And then they squeezed between the horsemen, disappearing out the door
I shot my eyes over to the teacher, wondering why he was just letting them leave. They were clearly not going to the nurse. They were leaving with the guys.
But no one—not even Mr. Fitzpatrick—tried challenging them.
The Four Horsemen, not only ruled the student body and the town when they attended school here, but they commanded the court and hardly ever lost in the four years they played.
Since their departure, though, the team had suffered and last year was a humiliating disaster for Thunder Bay. Twelve losses out of twenty games, and everyone had had enough. Something was missing.
I assumed that’s why the horsemen were here now, called back from college for the weekend to inspire the team or do whatever they had to do to pump them up and get them on track before the season started.
And as much as teachers like Fitzpatrick frowned on their hazing, it had certainly helped make the team a unit in their time here. Why not see if it would work again?
“Everyone sit down! You boys move on,” he told the horsemen.
Dropping my head, elation filled my body as my stomach floated up to my chest. I let my eyes fall closed, my head feeling light and high.
Yeah, this is what had been missing.
Opening my eyes again, I saw a pair of long legs in dark washed jeans walk past my desk, next to the window, and stop.
I kept my eyes down, afraid my face would give away what was happening in my chest. He was probably just scanning the room anyway, seeing if we had any other players in here.
“Anyone else?” one of the other guys asked.
But he didn’t answer his friend. He just kept standing over me. What was he doing?
Keeping my chin down, I tipped my eyes up, seeing his fingers, slightly curled, at his sides. I made out the vein over the top of his strong hand, and the whole room seemed to suddenly grow so quiet that dread filled my stomach and my breathing stopped.
What was he doing just standing there?
I slowly raised my eyes and instantly tensed, seeing golden hazel ones staring straight down at me.
I shifted my gaze side to side, wondering if I’d missed something. Why was he looking at me?
Michael looked down, his vicious red mask—a replica of the deformed and scarred Army of Two masks from the video game—making my knees weak.
I’d always been scared of him. The thrilling kind of scared that got me turned on.
I tightened the muscles in my thighs, feeling the throb between my legs, in the space that only felt empty when he was close but not close enough.
I liked it. I liked being scared.
Everyone sat silently behind me, and I watched him cock his head just a little as he regarded me. What was he thinking?
“She’s only sixteen,” Mr. Fitzpatrick spoke up.
Michael held my eyes for another second and then turned his head, looking at Mr. Fitzpatrick.
I was only sixteen—until next month, anyway—which meant they couldn’t take me with them. The basketball players’ ages didn’t matter, but any girls that joined them had to be eighteen, leaving school grounds of their own free will.
Not that they were going to take me anyway. Mr. Fitzpatrick was mistaken.
The teacher glared, and even though I couldn’t see Michael’s eyes, turned away from me as he was, I deduced that it unnerved Mr. Fitzpatrick, because his stare faltered. He dropped his eyes, blinking and backing down.