Savage Little Lies: Chapter 10

Sloane

I basically ignored Legacy over the next few days.

They made it easy.

When I wasn’t ignoring them, they were ignoring me. The only place we really collided was lunch, and since they sat in the courtyard with their groupies, I didn’t see them anyway. I was once again on my lonely island, and as the days passed, I preferred it that way. I’d been nothing but anxiety-ridden since I’d gotten to this fucking school, and with my brother being out, one more thing to not have to worry about was a good thing. Bruno’s fever had broken, but whatever bug that “bit” him still lingered. He still had the aches and chills, and I’d been paranoid enough to call the doctor again. Dr. Richardson happily came out and changed his meds to ease his symptoms more. The meds, in general, made my brother super sleepy, though, so he was basically asleep whenever I saw him now.

It’d been over a week of this, a week of stress and strain. Since Bru wasn’t getting any worse, there was that, but something in my mind couldn’t help but focus on how he’d gotten this. My brother didn’t get sick, and I could only conclude him and that dumb haze had been the cause. Who knew what was in that water that night he’d dove in.

Dorian may have saved my brother only for him to get sick and die anyway. I was probably being dramatic, but the thoughts chilled me.

Don’t think about Dorian. Don’t.

I did enough—when I wasn’t stressing about my brother—while I was working in my studio. I did that just to give my mind something to do. My new series was the second priority in my life. In fact, I worked so much on the project I almost always missed Callum’s calls to check in on my brother and me. He had gotten back to me before. He was on business and traveling as per usual. With as freaked out as my brother’s situation was making me, I nearly asked him to come back, but I wasn’t about to disrupt his life. Not when he’d been so good to us. Our guardian was giving us just what I’d asked for when our father passed away, space.

Even if I felt mad within it.

I actually started working on my series at school too just to get out of my head. I had several advanced art classes at Windsor Prep, but also found myself with a free period. It used to be filled as a student assistant for Principal Mayberry.

That obviously wasn’t the case now, and Mr. Keene, our assistant principal, gave me the option to use the time how I wanted. He was taking over for Mayberry at the present, I assumed until the position was filled, and I took full advantage of the situation when I asked him if I could work on my art in one of the academy’s art rooms. They had like a dozen in this rich-ass school that weren’t being used every period.

I chose one of the biggest rooms with the best gear, my earbuds in when I pushed into the room that day. I hadn’t expected the room to be occupied.

Nor to hold a Legacy boy.

Ares Mallick had his legs propped up on a chair, ankles crossed, and a sketchpad in his hands. I should have been able to tell who he was by the sheer size of the guy alone, but it took me a moment to realize he was the large football player. He had a black hoodie on over his academy uniform, his hood up and his curls falling out of the front. I supposed the curls alone would have given him away. Not many had the crazy volume his did when he let them go.

His head lifted when I opened the door and his feet dropped to the floor when I came inside.

He sat up. “What are you doing in here?”

I could ask him the same question. I shrugged. “I chill in here sometimes.” I took my bag off. “It’s my free period. Not much to do.”

No one would know that more than him. He was well aware I’d had my free period with Mayberry this hour. He and his friends had planned to kidnap her and make that video during the time.

They’d obviously ended up doing something else, and Ares watched me under a more than observant gaze when I crossed the room. The way he eyed me, one would think he thought I’d shoot him.

“Right,” he said, finger tapping his sketchpad. The thing was huge, and he had a piece of charcoal in his hands. I recalled him saying he liked to do art, but this boy wasn’t in any art classes. I took like all of them, so I’d know.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

He gave me a look like it was obvious. I supposed we were in an art room, and he did have a sketchpad.

He eased into his hoodie after I said it, and I wondered if he was using it to hide his face. Good tactic really, as hoodies were allowed as long as they had the school’s insignia. His read Windsor Prep Football and happened to have the king on it, the large gorilla that was the school’s mascot.

Catching a glance of his face, I noticed it wasn’t as bad as the last time I’d seen him, the bruising more yellow today.

“Was trying to get some work done,” he snipped, and I rolled my eyes. This guy just couldn’t help but be an aggressive ass. Always had been. He ran the charcoal over the sketchpad. “I usually swipe shit from here, charcoal and pencils. It helps it’s quiet too.” His brown eyes lifted. “Usually.”

I laughed, mostly because he was just such a dick. I folded my arms. “Well, don’t let me bother you.”

“I won’t.” Even still, he eyed every move I made. I dropped my bag on a chair, then headed over to the easels. My series was paintings, and I’d brought one in to work on at school. I got my paints together.

Ares studied me for a while before he found me arranging my stuff and putting on my smock boring enough to get back to what he’d been doing. He smirked after a beat. “Calc one?” he questioned, and I noticed he eyed the books falling out of my bag. He tipped his chin. “That’s a junior class, little. You that far behind?”

My eyes lifted to the art room’s rafters.

“It’s actually for Bru,” I said, tying my apron. “And I thought you liked it quiet.”

He made a noise with his mouth, like he was over me and over it all. This was typical of him. I mean, he was writing me off right now with the whole Dorian situation. His presence was definitely a reminder of the dark prince, which made me more than annoyed. I came in here not to think about him.

“Why you got the kid’s books?” he asked, though he barely looked up from his work. His fingers on his pad had slowed, so he was actually interested.

I swallowed at that situation, wetting my lips. “He’s sick. Something I guess you would’ve noticed if you actually cared about him?” I eyed him. “I thought you guys were friends. Or did you not notice he hasn’t been around at school?”

“I noticed.” He swung a glance in my direction. “And sick?”

“Yeah.” Though I definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

He nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, though.” He put one of his shined leather shoes up on the chair he’d used for his legs. “You and your brother have that sweet setup. I’m sure your guardian’s been taking real good care of you. Probably called out a doctor and everything for the kid.”

How did he know? I supposed he could assume. Especially if that’s how his own parents handled illness. Rich kids didn’t go to hospitals. Hospitals came to them.

But my brother and I weren’t rich kids. We weren’t like them. We might have currently had some of the perks, but that wouldn’t be forever. This situation with Callum was nice, but it definitely had a clock on it.

Ares moved his lips. “So is he?”

“What?”

His chin jutted at me. “Your guardian. He’s taking care of you. Bru?” He dropped an arm over his leg. “What is it that Montgomery does again?”

My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Ares passed that off with a shoulder shrug. “Smaller town. Just call us some nosy fucks.”

I shook my head. “He’s in business.”

“What kind?”

“He’s an entrepreneur, and is there a reason I’m being interviewed right now?”

“Nah, little. You good.” Though I noticed his stare didn’t let up. “Just trying to clear up some blanks about you. You came into this town all mysterious and shit. You, your brother, and your guardian.”

And with my supposed dishonesty, he was trying to gain some intel on me, something he couldn’t find with just an internet search.

If anything, that pissed me off even more. I hadn’t lied to him and the others… Dorian.

“Well, you’re right about the size of this town and having some nosy fucks,” I gritted. “Anyway, if you want to know something about me, why don’t you get to know me instead of just assuming shit.”

“No reason to get heated.” He tucked his hands under his arms. “Just trying to figure you out is all. Anyway, I noticed I never see your guardian around. He never came to Bru’s games. I’m naturally curious about all you guys.”

I frowned. “Callum doesn’t come because he’s busy. He has a life, and I don’t ask him to disrupt it just to take care of Bru and me.”

“So just take what you need, then?”

I seriously couldn’t with him. Ignoring him, I got behind my easel.

“That’s your stuff over there?”

Considering he wanted quiet when I came in here, he wasn’t giving me that now.

I stayed quiet, and eventually, he got up, coming over. I wouldn’t break my concentration for him, so I did what I could to forget he hovered.

I was working on the fifth piece of my series, and he watched me pull up a stool and get back into it. I liked to paint space, galaxies in particular.

“You’re pretty good.” He all but grumbled it. “Actually, very good.”

I’d say thanks, but I ended up shaking my head. “Any reason I’ve never seen you in any of the art classes?”

He studied my hand stroke across the canvas. “Yes.”

Elusive much? “And that reason would be…?”

It was as if I hadn’t spoken, and the way he watched me paint, intense like he was trying to dissect the work itself, I wondered for a second if he had. He braced his arm. “I find them stifling. I don’t want to do shit because people tell me to do shit.” He shrugged. “I feel it’s a waste of time.”

“How do you learn, then?”

“I make my way.” Smirking, he looked at me. “I’ve studied art for what feels like my whole life. Just not from these basic-ass art teachers.”

I laughed at what he said, and probably the only reason I didn’t find the teachers here sniffling was because I hadn’t had such resources before. Half the schools I’d been to didn’t even have art programs.

This was all a new world for me, but obviously not for this guy. Rich, he’d probably studied with the best. Especially if he’d been doing it his whole life.

“I’ve learned the most from my dad,” he said, glancing my way again. “He’s quite prolific. He owns half the art galleries in town.”

More nuggets of surprising information from who was truly the worst out of all the Legacy boys. Over the weeks I’d been here, I’d been able to find some common ground with Thatcher and Wells. Of course, Dorian had been a more difficult case, but Ares had been completely hopeless. The way Ares and I had met set the foundation for nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred on both our parts.

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “He as much of a delight as you are?”

This quirked a small but genuine smile to his lips, and I nearly fell off my chair. Ares Mallick smiled at me. Chuckling, he tugged his hood down more over his curls.

“Everyone loves my father,” he said. “He’s a good man. A kind man.” His head tilted. “I’m sure even you’d love him.”

“Why even me?”

His grin widened. “After all, you’re as much of a delight as I am.”

That had me laughing, and go figure, laughing with this guy.

He continued to watch, and I noticed his sketchpad at his side. I stopped painting. “Can I see what you do?”

Eyeing me, he took a beat, but eventually, he raised it for me to see. I might have hit a nerve there. Artists could be touchy about showing their work, and this guy was nothing but a loose cannon anyway.

And had absolutely no reason to be.

Cars. He liked to sketch cars, boats. He even had a few motorcycles.

“I do some designing,” he said. He shifted on his shoes. “Actually, yeah. Designing. It’s my thing.”

Puffing up, he was kind of looking uncomfortable talking about it or at least showing me. Again, he was an artist, so I got that.

“These are good,” I said, no lie there. They were fabulous and so realistic. He had people in his sketchpad too, portraits. I turned the page, hoping to see more of them. Mallick surprisingly had an eye for realism I’d never seen before.

“Okay, little,” he stated, stopping me. He took his pad back, and apparently, didn’t want to show me more.

I did get that being an artist. I had work myself that would never see the light of day in my own sketchpads.

“You’re very talented.” I wasn’t trying to stroke his ego, facts.

Ares closed the pad. “Thanks. I do a lot of geometric work too. I try to put it into my designs when I can.”

“What are you trying to do with it?” I asked. “Your art.”

“Design school is first.” He dropped an arm on the shelf that housed all the watercolor paints. “Actually, that’s what my senior project is. I’m going to use it for my applications.”

That was cool. I figured I’d just do an essay for mine. We just needed it to graduate, and since I hadn’t thought about going to college, doing anything more than that hadn’t crossed my mind.

“I could use some help with it,” he said, stealing my attention. His eyes narrowed. “This piece has gotten a little bit away from me, and it’d be nice to have the assistance. I’m still in the design phase, but I can tell it’s going to be too much for one person to meet my deadline.”

“Wait.” Was he asking me to help? “Are you asking me to help you out?”

His stare didn’t let up. “I guess I am. Like I said, it’s too much for one person, and what you’re doing with these galaxies flows with what I’m trying to do.”

I wondered what that was, but I wondered even more why he was asking me of all people. He didn’t trust me. Hell, he couldn’t stand me. “Why are you asking me? I thought I couldn’t be trusted.”

“Lucky for you, what does or doesn’t come out of your mouth has nothing to do with how well you can paint.” His jaw ticked. “Which is decent. Even if I don’t want to admit it.”

Shit, he was honest. Like a fucking slap-in-the-face honest.

His hand slid in his pocket. “Anyway, if you decide to commit, you’ll get credit for your own senior project.” He shrugged. “You can even use the piece on your applications of wherever you decide to go for college.”

That sounded really good and was another thing I wouldn’t have to think about. I had enough on my mind these days. I shifted on my stool. “What about Dorian?”

He messed with his curls. “What about him?”

I twitched. “Won’t he be pissed you asked me to help?”

His thick eyebrows knitted. “Well, I guess it’s good things between my friends and I have nothing to do with you. You and I are working together. And as far as you’re concerned, that’s all you need to worry about.”

Fuck, this guy was a literal nightmare and definitely didn’t give a shit about me.

And his words stung more than I wanted to admit.

In fact, so much so that I was considering working with the asshole. Why should I care about what Dorian thinks about what I do? He didn’t care about me. At least, not enough to listen to me. He’d just left.

My mouth moved. “When would we start?”

He blinked, as if shocked I’d agree so quickly.

“It’d be right away.” He angled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text you everything. You’d need to sign a contract and an NDA.”

“Wait. What?”

His eyes lifted from his device. “The contract is so you don’t pussy out if the work starts to get to be too much for you. I don’t need you leaving me hanging. The contract locks you in. No getting out once we start.” His gaze was sharp. “The NDA is to avoid any potential problematic shit, i.e., loose fucking lips. The art you see stays between us. No photographs. No talk. I don’t need my shit showing up everywhere.”

I didn’t miss how he called me problematic again. He really didn’t trust me, but apparently that didn’t matter since I could hold a brush well enough.

I really didn’t want to work with this guy, but I couldn’t deny having the school credit wouldn’t hurt. I also didn’t want to care either about what Dorian would say.

I’d look over his little contract, and if things seemed on the up-and-up, I’d say yes. I wouldn’t care about Dorian Prinze, or his opinions about it. He didn’t own me.

At least, he wouldn’t anymore.