Blackstone Academy: The Rogue

32. Jax Flores

Jax P.O.V

Date: October 28, 2238

"Stay sharp, Maverick," Ross muttered, eyeing him in the rearview mirror as we inched up the long, barrier-protected driveway leading into First Foundation.

The crowd mobbing us on three sides didn't allow much more than that as they rocked the car effortlessly between them.

Like five thousand plus pounds was nothing.

Like we were nothing.

My stomach roiled even more so than it already was at the thought. I didn't know which frightened me more, us tipping over or the people outside. Perhaps the latter. Cause heaven knows humans make dumb, irreparable decisions when angry.

My palm damped around the door handle, holding on for dear life as the car lurched violently to the right, nearly lifting off the ground. Ross gripped the steering wheel, the skin of his knuckles turning lily white as he worked to keep us upright while avoiding the idiots surrounding us.

I could feel the heat of their burning stare practically penetrating through the glass, but didn't dare turn their way, fearing eye contact would only further infuriate them.

And barely ten seconds pass when I'm proved right. Maverick's eyes flick toward the crowd, and a wad of spit splats on his window. The hard set of his jaw reveals nothing as he unfastened his holster before finally acknowledging Ross with a nod.

The single motion was almost lost in the insufferable swaying back and forth as we approached the massive iron-wrought fence.

Ross's fingers flexed around the wheel as he shifted his gaze to Troy. "You too, tough guy."

Before Troy could respond, a fist pounded against the window, rattling the glass and setting my every nerve on end.

I stifled a curse at the grimy faces mashed into the glass, hurling chants at us. Their overlapping words were indecipherable, but the makeshift signs clutched between their cracked fists provided more than enough insight.

Down with First Foundation

Our lives/ Your hands

Competition = Death

"They hate us," Nova stated.

"No. Not us." Ross uncurled one finger from the wheel, pointing at the signs. "But what we represent. The very system that sealed their fate out in the streets."

A loud thump from the other side of the car made me jump. A man with his lips twisted in a snarl held a rock above his head, poised to strike. But before he could, a small army of guards in full tactical gear with riot shields and batons at the ready charged forward. Moving in unified precision, they pushed the crowd back until we were safely inside First Foundation.

Ross navigated through the gleaming streets lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and trees nearly barren of their russet leaves. Townhouse after townhouse done in muted shades of brown, beige, gray, and green blended and merged into one big blur as we passed through several rows.

After a few minutes, we finally arrived at a two-story townhouse with beige siding and rounded bushes lining the pathway to the door.

Ms. Eve unbuckled her seat belt, looking out at a few kids no older than ten playing tag across the way.

"Is this where Ms. Jacob's family lives?" Nova asked.

"No. Well...yes. I suppose so." She cleared her throat. "She didn't really have any living relatives. Just her boyfriend."