Clear Lake Academy holds some of the worst delinquents from around the country. Each and every student there holds a notorious background and almost everyone avoids them.
After setting another building on fire, which just so happened to be a commun...
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A low groan escaped me as I forced myself upright. I was folded forward awkwardly, body screaming in protest the second I tried to move. My head spun violently, and a sharp flare of heat tore through my skull, radiating down my neck and into my stiff shoulders.
Another sound came from the front of the car.
I shook my head, instantly regretting it as pain ricocheted behind my eyes. My vision was blurred—fogged over, like something was smeared across it.
I lifted my cuffed hands and wiped at my eyes. Something wet dragged across my skin. When I pulled my hands back into view, they were coated in dark red.
Blood.
I didn't let myself panic. I wiped my hands on my skirt quickly, then reached up to feel along my scalp. My fingers found it almost immediately—a deep gash at the side of my head, tender and slick. I must have slammed into something during the crash. Hard.
Breathing slowly, I looked down.
My legs were pinned. The driver's seat had been forced backward on impact, crushing into my knees and trapping me in place. I tugged once—useless. The metal frame had buckled around us.
Focus.
I turned my head carefully, scanning the wreckage.
Bentley was slumped over a men. Both were unconscious but breathing Both were unconscious but breathing. Bentley's chest rose and fell unevenly. Relief flickered through me. He was alive.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the man on my other side. Not yet.
Movement caught my attention from the front.
The driver.
It turned out to be the driver who was pulling himself upright, a hand held to his head as he muttered incoherent words. In the cracked rearview mirror, I could see the damage clearly—a deep split across his scalp where he'd struck the steering wheel. Blood poured down the left side of his face, seeping into his eye and along his jaw. He blinked it away and began searching frantically.
His phone.
It lay near Hendrix's feet. The boy was slumped against the passenger window, eyes closed, blood slowly soaking through his shirt where the seatbelt had torn into his collarbone. The restraint had likely saved his life.
The driver lifted his eyes and caught mine in the mirror. He glanced at the phone again. Then back at me.
If he called for backup, this was over.
This was our only chance.
The second he lunged across the center console, I moved.
