Wreck Me (Corrupt Legacy Series #2)

I bend over and dry heave. Slamming my fist into the wall, I inhale and exhale in small puffs of air until my breathing returns to normal. Just to torment myself further, I type my name on my phone’s search engine.

My biggest competitor, Juarez, uses my name to get more publicity. I click on his latest interview, and he says, “He’s done. Dane doesn’t have what it takes.”

I’ll show you, asshole. I do have what it takes.

Anger streams through my blood, making my insides boil. I head toward the damn school building, trapped here while my nemesis is actively trying to take my number one position.

The hallways are empty, which means I’m late. Great.

I knock, and the teacher puts her hands on her waist and grimaces as she glances at her watch.

“The school day starts at eight a.m., Mr. Donovan.”

“It won’t happen again,” I grumble.

She gestures for me to take a seat, and my shitty morning takes a turn for the better when I spot those red lips and a tight expression on her breathtaking face.

This girl’s beauty is unmatched. Her long blond hair cascades down her slender back, those almond-shaped eyes framed by long lashes. Not one flaw, but pure perfection: heart-shaped mouth, high cheekbones, and pert nose.

She sticks her nose up the moment I reach her. I love to mess with her, so I drop into the seat next to her. She rolls her eyes at me, and knowing I rattle her well-constructed exterior gives me great satisfaction.

Abigail doodles on her paper. She’s either too smart or vapid enough not to care. The latter doesn’t sit well with me.

“You should pay attention to the teacher and not me. I won’t let you copy.”

“Abigail and Dane, you’re interrupting the class,” the teacher says.

While I lean into the chair, I wink at Abigail, ignoring the teacher.

“Then you should get your facts straight. The higher tax rate is paid only on the portion of income in that tax bracket and not the entire income,” Abigail says.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked why would you take a raise into the next bracket if you’re going to be taxed more? To which you answered people refuse a raise to avoid losing money by going into the next tax bracket. It’s simply not true.”

My jaw drops while she stares at the teacher, who blushes a fiery red. They get into a discussion while the entire class rolls their heads between the two of them like they’re watching a tennis match.

When the teacher agrees with her, Abigail resumes drawing. I catch what she draws. It’s a flame. I contemplate her every stroke while she focuses on layering out the image.

When the bell rings, I snatch the paper from her, and her fierce expression pins on me.

“I must have been the inspiration, so it’s technically mine.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose to grasp for calmness when all I want is to see her come undone.

“Abi?”

At a guy’s voice, she turns to him, a genuine smile lighting up her face.

My stomach knots. From the door, he snaps his head to me, and his detached eyes find me with a clear warning stamped on them.

She goes to him, and whatever they talk about makes her bite her lower lip, nodding. There is no trace left of the girl who put the damn teacher in her place with facts.

When they leave, I crumple the paper only to flatten it and tuck it in my jacket pocket.

Students greet me as I pass them in the hallway. A girl sashays over to me—I think her name is Jessica. She flicks her hair back, her eyes taking me in.

It does nothing for me.