Liability

Chapter 13 - Rhys

The school is buzzing with the news of the alleged terrorist attack that morning. Security is tighter than ever, security guards littered at every entrance and in the entrance hall. Rhys tries to ignore the excited and fearful chatter, the noise level grating on his nerves. Thommy is next to him, glaring at anyone who has the guts to try and ask Rhys any questions, his menacing scowl terrifying enough to scare away most people.

But not their friends.

Or Gareth fucking Carroll.

"Put away the fangs or I'll put a muzzle on you, mutt," he jeers before their English class is about to start, his tone nasty but he stays a good two steps out of reach.

"I'd love to see you try, midget," Thommy snarls back. "Get lost, Rhys isn't interested—"

"What? The great Rhys Martinez cannot speak for himself now?"

"What do you want, Carroll?" Rhys asks, his voice as disinterested as possible.

"Just curious like everyone else, you know. What your daddy says? Is he swearing to find the terrorists already? Doing everything in his power?" Carroll sneers, the expression matching the one his dickbag of a father often wears when bitching about how immigrants are ruining America to bored Fox News reporters. The knowledge that, despite never seeing eye to eye with each other, Rhys' very much not white father is the governor of New York puts a slow, cruel smile on his face.

"I'm sure you'll see his statement on TV when you get home. I'm sure your father has already said all he could on the matter anyway. Any other useless questions?"

"You won't be this smug when the Yurievs call for a manhunt and raze the entire country to find the scum that nearly blew them up."

"That's an interesting take on the recent events, Mr. Carroll," Armand comments suddenly. Rhys has no idea when or how he managed to sneak up on them without them noticing. "Now, I'd like to ask you to take your seat, because who knows? The Yurievs could start their manhunt with you."

Rhys turns his head down to hide the smirk that threatens to stretch his lips too wide for his comfort. Carroll sputters for a second, but obviously still feels like he has the upper hand that morning because he doesn't shut the hell up and piss off but thinks it'd be a good idea to mouth off to their homeroom teacher, who looks worse for wear and in no mood to take their shit.

"As if a commoner like you would know, but the Alenka Yuriev is my father's close friend," Carroll brags, smug and belittling.

Thommy snorts in derision. "As if a dame like Alenyka Yurieva would ever willingly be in the same room as your father."

For some reason, that makes Armand smile. It melts away, however, as fast as it came almost a second later. He lifts an eyebrow, bringing attention to the gash on his forehead and the purpling bruise on his sharp cheekbone under his left eye. His lower lip is also split, and Rhys only just realizes that he hasn't seen Armand all day. Not at homeroom or in any of the corridors. He can feel Thommy tense next to him when he comes to the same conclusion as him; someone beat Armand up and it's serious enough for him to skip out on his first class. Or maybe all of them. Rhys hasn't heard any whispers about Armand's looks, then again even after seven periods all everyone can talk about is the attack last night.

Before he could comment on the issue though, Carroll has to open his mouth again, picking on Thommy once again. "Mongrels like you should be in a kennel," he spits. "I mean, come on, how much closer can you get to an animal than this... filthy darkness."

"How dare you?!" It's James who jumps to Thommy's defense before Rhys can open his mouth. "If anyone should be in a kennel, it should be you!"

"Why? I just say what everyone thinks. This ragtag group of mixed-breed dogs has no place—"