Diana felt jealous. That was the truth of it. She put on a brave face on the outside, but on the inside...
It seemed as if Caine had been spending more time with Drake and less with her. He also would ask Drake when he needed something, and used the psychopath to help him think up future plans.
"Why, Caine?" she asked to no-one in particular. The cool breeze of the dark night was the only thing that answered her. That and pain-staking silence.
Caine loved her, and she knew it. She didn't love him - nothing of the sort - but she didn't like to be elbowed out. She'd never love him, no way.
Diana shook her head as if ridding herself of such thoughts.
She glanced toward the ground, dejected, only to look up to the smug face of Drake, who had come out of the heavy back doors of Coates Academy to follow her out. He's making fun of me, she realised darkly. The girl bristled.
And leapt.
"YOU FUCKING SON OF A-"
And she fell to the ground, staring at the gaping wound in her chest, pouring with blood. She looked up at Drake, who was grinning like a shark. He held a small black pistol in his hand, still smoking.
The last things she saw and heard were Drake holding up his middle finger at her. He said, in a voice just loud enough for her to hear, "Take that, bitch."