Chapter 2

Ruby

As soon as the bell rings, I rush out of the room. I can feel eyes on me, and I think I know who it is. I felt his gaze, like a burning blaze of curiosity, on me throughout the entire class period. After Sniper gave me the pen, I didn't look back at him. I wanted to because he's gorgeous. I forced myself to pay attention to the teacher by reminding myself of Dad's rules.

"Hey!" Someone yells. "New girl!" The same voice calls, making me cringe. It's him. It's him! Why is he following me? I dodge past people, and when I find my next classroom, I choose a seat at the back, releasing a breath and closing my eyes.

Something- rather, someone- touches my arm, making me jump again. I'm not used to people touching me. I open my eyes to see Sniper standing in front of me, and I feel my heart leap from... shock? Confusion? I don't know, but I didn't expect him to stalk me to my next class.

Then, in the next second, I realize he probably wants his pen back. I should've figured that sooner. If I had, he might've left me alone. Just give him the pen, Ana!

I lift my hand, my gaze catching onto my finger's shaky death grip on the pen. I try to take a breath to steady my hand, but it continues to tremble.

And why wouldn't it? I ran from him, stealing his pen, which isn't a great idea since he's several inches taller than me. He's big enough that he could crush me because I'm only five foot six and could be described as small compared to this giant. The thoughts from earlier- about him being able to cause me a lot of pain- flitter through my mind.

Again, I shove it away. This guy has done nothing to show he might be violent. Realistically, I know I can't judge everyone based on my father's actions.

He smiles and shakes his head when I try to pass him the pen more insistently this time. "You can keep it," he says, sitting in the chair beside me, holding his hand out to me, "People call me Sniper." I stare at his hand for a minute before peering at his face again.

Like I said, he is gorgeous. Those stormy blue eyes pull at something inside me. Something deep, deep down, right in the middle of my chest. Something foreign.

"See something you like?" The question is a bucket of ice water thrown at me. Again, heat creeps up my neck and settles on my cheeks, probably turning them the same red as my hair. I duck my head so he won't see, but it's probably too late. Jeez. What is it about this guy?

Sniper chuckles, and I feel his fingers curl under my chin briefly before he tilts my face, making me look at him. "Don't be embarrassed, Ruby."

Ruby?

"I don't think I've ever seen someone with hair this red before," he comments, tucking a stray tendril of my barrier behind my ear to expose more of my face.

My breath catches, and my brain screams, he's touching you!

Why is he doing this?

My heart skips a beat as his fingers linger on my cheek. I don't move. Don't breathe. His touch is soft, a brush of fingers that sends little goosebumps racing across my skin.

The better question is, why do I like it? I know I should pull away, but I feel safer with this guy than I have in a while. I don't think he'd hurt me.

Sniper studies my face, and his smile slips. "You gonna say anything?" My eyes widen. Ana, you're breaking the rules. Dad told me not to talk or interact with anyone; to stay in the shadows. If he finds out, he'll be so angry that the thought of it makes me grimace.

Without looking back, I run. Sniper calls out for me again, but I don't stop. I can't. I can't make friends, and I can't like anyone.

Memories of what happened to my last friends push me to put more distance between the dreamy boy and me. Dad threatened my friends from my previous school and said he'd have them arrested if they ever came on his property again. They'd come to wish me a happy birthday and bring me a gift, and all they got in thanks was a threat to their safety. Jax, one guy in the group, had acted angry and protested until my father took his phone out. That's when they all gave in.

We were only sixteen.

After they left, he beat me. I think he kept going after I passed out, but I don't know for sure. It was one of the angriest beatings he's ever given me because I ended up with a broken wrist and two fractured ribs, not counting the bruises that riddled my body from head to toe.

I spot the school's entrance at the far end of the hall soon as I turn the corner, but before I can get there, I smack right into a tall, solid body. The impact sends me tumbling to the floor. "Hell," the guy growls, "Watch where you're going." I look up to find a large guy in a letterman jacket. He glares, leans down, and grabs my arm. He pulls me to my feet, his eyes narrowed on me. "Are you blind?"

Shaking my head, I try to pull out of his grip. "Then you shouldn'ta run into me," he spits. I nod and whimper as his grip tightens. "What? You not gonna apologize?" My entire body shakes. Why is he doing this? It was just an accident. It's not like I ran him over and injured him.

When I say nothing, the guy growls again and throws me against the wall, causing me to cry out when I collide with the hard surface.

"Apologize!" He demands, circling a hand around the base of my neck and pushing. I try to get away, but the pressure pins me to the wall. How can someone so young be so cruel?

My vision blurs as tears dribble down my cheeks. "I'm s-sorry," I whisper.

"What? I can't hear you," he demands, raising his hand in the air. I clamp my eyes shut and brace for the suffering I know is coming.

"Let her go, Stuart!" A loud voice booms, causing me to open my eyes. Sniper prowls toward us, anger clouding and darkening his eyes. Within a split second, Stuart flies off me, and Sniper takes a protective stance in front of me.

"The little rat ran into me," Stuart defends himself. I sniffle and wipe my tears away with the sleeve of my sweater. I hadn't even realized I was crying until this moment. Sniper glances back at me, and his face hardens, causing me to look away. For obvious reasons, I don't like when people get angry. I definitely don't like the anger simmering in Sniper's eyes.

Sniper does nothing to me, though; he merely steps forward and grabs Stuart by the collar like it's the easiest thing in the world to move a boulder like this Stuart guy. With wide, teary eyes, I watch as Sniper raises his fist, but I quickly squeeze them closed and cover my ears. I don't need to see more violence. I've witnessed and experienced enough for a lifetime.

Not long after, large, gentle hands pull mine away from my ears.

Sniper.

"Ruby, look at me." It takes a second, but I slowly open my eyes and look up at Sniper. His have darkened with concern, trim lines of worry bracketing his mouth and eyes. "You okay?" He whispers, and I try to get a hold of my breathing. He's so close- too close.

My lungs constrict like that guy's hand is still around my throat.

My savior notices. "Hey, just breathe, okay. In and out." Again, I try to steady my shaky breaths. It doesn't work, and I gasp, fear clawing its way up my throat.

"Do what I do," he instructs, breathing in. I do as he says and match my breathing to his. I inhale when he does and exhale when he does. Inhale. Exhale. We do this a few times before my breathing finally returns to normal.

Sniper smiles, but the emotion doesn't reach his eyes. "See, you're okay." Nodding, I bite my lip. I should thank him. I want to thank him, but if my dad found out... I peer up at Sniper and offer him a small smile.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replies before lifting something. My eyes widen when they land on my bag. I must have forgotten it when I ran out of the room. In all, I guess it's good that he followed me out. With another small smile of thanks, I take it from him.

Once again, he looks me over, and his face turns serious. "Did he hurt you? Do you need the nurse?"

Shaking my head quickly, I pull my bag onto my arm. No nurse. If I go to the nurse, I'll break another of Dad's rules. Sniper says nothing for a minute but nods. "Do you want to go to class?" I shake my head again. I really just want to sleep. Because of the constant aching, pounding, and burning sensations in my body, I didn't sleep well. It wasn't much different from usual. I rarely sleep well since I never feel safe. I rub my eyes and look down.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Sniper asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. I look up at him again and raise an eyebrow. Why is he so adamant? He chuckles, "I'm not going back to class either." Oh. I shuffle nervously on my feet. He isn't going away, Ana. I peek through my eyelashes to find Sniper leaning against the wall, watching me still.

Nope, it doesn't seem like it.

"I'll have to kidnap you." My head snaps up so fast it spins. Did he just... I take a step away, my back bumping into the wall, which makes him raise his hands. "I'm kidding, but if we don't want to get in trouble, we should leave." Letting out a breath of relief, I watch as he turns and walks toward the front doors. He motions for me to follow.

Should I? Would my father find out if I went? He probably would. Somehow, he always does. If superpowers were real, that'd be his; to always know where I am or what I'm doing, especially if it's something that disobeys one of his rules.

"Ruby, you coming?" Sniper asks, again using that name. I shake my head no. His eyebrows tilt in, forming a V, and he sighs. "Come on. We won't get in trouble if that's what you're worried about," he tells me. I shake my head again. I'll get in trouble, just not the way he's thinking.

"I- I can't."

Sniper strides back to me and asks, "Why?"

"If my d-dad found out, he-he wouldn't be happy," I stutter, cursing myself. I hate that I sound so afraid, but I don't want to think about what my dad will do if he finds out I left school. Internal debate makes me think about last night. I probably woke up ten times during the night because of the discomfort.

Sniper nods and crosses his arms over his chest, "So.... we can-" he stops talking when I yawn. I try to cover it, but I still make a weird mewling sound, kind of like a cat. Sniper just smirks. "Could take you home to get some sleep," he suggests. I think about it for a second. I could sleep and pretend that I went to school all day.

But if my father asks, I'll say I got sick. I'll say I came home so the nurse wouldn't start asking questions. That'll help him understand... maybe. Probably not, but it's worth a shot.

"Okay," I murmur. Sniper smiles, nods, and lays his hand on my back. Before taking a step, I move away, which makes him raise his hands, palms out toward me, and take a step away. I bite my lip and look down. "I- I don't like to be touched." He says nothing else, just opens the door and lets me exit first.

Once we're in the parking lot, he leads us over to a very nice, sleek Harley Davidson motorcycle. I know nothing about motorcycles, but this one is black and has two seats. I wasn't expecting a bike. If he'd said something about it, I would've thought of the ones that teens usually ride that are skinnier and make that annoying, high-pitched whining sound when they pass you. Not this beast.

"You're okay to ride, right?" He questions. I take a deep breath and nod. It's this or walk home. I've never been on a motorcycle, but I've seen people riding, and it always looked fun.

"Come on, I'll help you on," Sniper says and steps towards me. I move away from instinct. Sniper sighs and climbs on the bike, straddling it with ease. "Now, you climb on. With your right leg, step up on the peg. Hold on to my shoulders while you throw your left leg over the seat. Do it all in one movement, so you don't fall," he tells me.

Carefully, I do as he says. I step on the footpeg, my hands white-knuckling his shoulders, and swing my leg over the seat. When I sit, I hesitantly wrap my arms around Sniper's waist.

"Where do you live?"

"Northside Heights."

He nods, and his bike roars to life. The loud noise and sudden vibrations from below startle me, causing me to jump and tighten my arms around Sniper. If teachers were looking for us, they'd know our exact location by the loud, thunderous sound. At least they'd know where Sniper was.

After a second, the bike shoots off, and I bury my face in Sniper's back. My nerves get the better of me, and I wonder if I should've just walked like I'm supposed to.

The drive to my house isn't very long, and of course, it is significantly shorter than my walk. It only takes about ten minutes with little more than stating my address to Sniper. I realize Sniper must've grown up here or at least lived here for a while.

When we pull up to my house, I gasp. My father's car sits in the driveway.

"Oh. Looks like someone's here," Sniper says as he helps me climb off the bike. I glance over my shoulder at the front door and windows. Crap, crap, crap, crap. If he's here, then he heard the motorcycle, which means he's probably watching me right now. Watching and planning. Waiting to pounce.

When I don't see my dad in the windows, I turn to Sniper. "Th-thanks for dropping me off, but I have to go," I tell him. He nods, and I run to the front door. This won't be good. I should've just stayed at school or gone to a park or something. I walk into the house without looking back, hoping my father is too occupied to pay attention.

"Anastasia."

My body freezes at the sound of my father's voice. Slowly, I turn to find him standing in the living room with an angry look on his face. "He- I- I wasn't f-feeling well, so he b-brought me home." I stumble over my excuse. Before I can do anything else, he seizes me by the neck. The incident from earlier flashes through my mind as familiar pain sprouts in my neck.

"P-please," I gasp, shaking my head. I try to get free by clawing at his hand, but he just tightens his fingers, the grip much tighter and more severe than Stuart's. Suddenly, I wish I'd told Sniper to just take me away from here. To keep driving.

"You broke the rules, Anastasia," he growls, pushing me against the wall. "You'll face the consequences now." I whimper as he chucks me to the floor. Immediately, I curl into a ball, preparing for the impact I know is coming.

"I told you not to talk to anyone, and I told you no friends," he growls, a kick landing in my already bruised stomach, making me scream. The pain from yesterday flares back up and makes everything worse. I try to wrap my arms around my head as punches rain down, his fists coming down on my arms and ribs like hammers.

"Please, I- I won't d-do it ag-again," I bawl, tears spilling down my cheeks. Agony washes over my body. A tidal wave of hurt and anguish. Dad's hand laces through my hair and pulls, causing a burning pain to sprout on my scalp. I try to claw at his hand, but, like always, he ignores my cries and attempts to get away from him while he drags me into the kitchen.

I gouge my nails into his skin and scrape them down his wrists. He doesn't even flinch. How could he not care? How could he do this?

These aren't new thoughts. I ask myself these questions all the time, even when I know the answers.

"P-please, let me go!" I kick and swing my arms. He throws me against the cabinets, and I whimper in pain from the contact with the hardwood. My father stalks towards me and lands a kick to my chest before I can block him. The impact forces the breath from my lungs, leaving me gasping.

My father rummages around in some drawers while I lay on the floor, bloodied and barely breathing. I need to at least attempt a getaway, so I grab the counter to pull myself up. If I can get to the front door, I can get out. Perhaps I can find somewhere safe to stay until he calms down, like... like... I don't know. It'd have to be someplace people wouldn't see me either.

I knew I shouldn't have left school, and I still did it. Stupid.

"Now, we're going to have a talk about disobeying the rules," my father declares, producing a knife. My heart stops, my eyes widen, and I slip, crumbling to the floor again with a shout of alarm. He wouldn't.

As he steps closer, I scramble back, but my dad grabs my ankle and drags me to him, the knife at the ready to carve me up like I'm the turkey at Sunday lunch.

He would.

I try to kick him away, but my energy is low, and he blocks me. He glares down with a sadistic smirk. That smirk is never a good sign. It's his you-definitely-won't-like-this-but-I-will smirk. It usually takes over when he has something truly evil in mind. I hate that look.

I think he's got something wrong with him that isn't just anger problems. I think it runs deeper than that. Sometimes I wonder if he was always this cruel, but didn't show it until he got the news about my mom and me.

On my hands and knees, I try to move away again, but he manages to grab my shirt, yank, and turn me on my back. He kneels on my legs to where I can't move them. I wiggle and thrash. I try anything to get up. One of his hands wraps around both of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I struggle in his grip and whimper when he raises the knife.

"You do as I say, or I'm sending you off to your Aunt's," he growls, bringing the knife down. Searing pain burns my side as my father drags the blade across my skin. I try to hold the screams in, but it hurts. It hurts so badly like nothing I've ever felt before.

Tears pour from my eyes as my body shakes and heats from the torture of the metal digging in, slicing through my delicate skin.

"D-dad, ple-ease! Sto-p!" I finally scream when everything becomes too much. Something in my heart cracks when I hear my own broken screams.

It shouldn't be like this.

I cry out and whimper as he slashes again and again and again, warm, sticky blood pooling around me. The last of my energy flickers out, and I wish he'd send me away. Anywhere he sends me would be better than this.

Anything.

Blood flows down my sides, and finally, my eyelids grow heavy. My body throbs, black spots clouding my vision as the fight leaves my body alongside my blood.

"P-please," I whimper, letting the darkness take me away from the pain.