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Chapter 2
Astrid
I frown at the piece of lined notebook paper folded neatly in a square as I take it in my hand. I unfold it and immediately recognize my writing. It’s the list that was stolen from my room. My hand trembles as I stare at it, and all the emotions from that night jump out and overcome me. Who was in Roni’s bed? And was this the only thing they wanted? The new lock on the door starts to make a little more sense as my body floods with numbness.
“It’s nothing really,” I say as I smooth it in my hands. “I was just thinking on paper.”
Wyatt’s grim expression doesn’t change, and I don’t understand why he’s so worked up over a silly list I wrote. It was such a dumb girl thing to do, and maybe he’s not used to seeing dumb-girl shit. I stare back at him, wondering why he’s so upset. I know what’s on that paper.
Bryce – Status.
Justin – Brains
Pierce – Ego
Wyatt – Pushover
Howland – Birthright
Pushover? Beside Wyatt’s name is the word pushover. But I didn’t write that. Someone has imitated my sloppy handwriting. I rub the word with my fingertip as if it will go away, but it won’t. He can’t believe that I would think he’s a pushover. My eyes widen as I begin to sputter.
“I didn’t write this,” I insist as he stares down on me coldly. “I mean, I wrote the names and part of it but not that.” My voice rises into a whiny plea. “I would never think this about you.”
He refuses to speak, but his eyes answer me with a horrible glare that makes me feel guilty for something I didn’t do. “Don’t even bother,” he snarls, disgusted by my presence, and when Wyatt turns away, I know he’s done with me forever.
Moving fast, I grab for his shoulder before he can reach the door, and he hardly budges when I try to pull him back. Wyatt has to believe me because I’m telling him the truth. I’ve always tried to. He knows what we’re dealing with. He knows what the others are like. But Wyatt won’t look at me as he stares over my head at the wall. This is my second strike. I can’t let him believe this is what I really think of him. I don’t want to, but I have to cry. The frustration pours out of me in tears that choke my breath. Dammit, he has to believe me.
“I didn’t write pushover by your name,” I tell him with force. “You know how they play us off one another. So you have to believe it’s another trick.”
His beautiful face contorts into a mask of pain that I created, and I step back quickly, almost tripping over my feet. What have I done to him? The hurt I’ve created will never go away. Wyatt will never forget it when he looks at me.
“It doesn’t matter if you wrote it or not,” his voice borders on a snarl, “because it’s true. So what do you want from me, Astrid? Are you stringing me along until you figure it out? Are you keeping me in reserve, just in case you get tired of chasing after them and giving it away?” He pushes me away, and I stumble against the wall but stay standing. He doesn’t care that I almost fell.
“Give me a pen!” he shouts, “So I can write slut beside your name.”
I slap him before I can control what I’m doing. The harsh, sharp sound repeats in the small room as my hand swipes across his chin again. My hand stings like a motherfucker, but I’m glad it hurt. I hope Wyatt feels the pain he always makes me feel.
“Shut up,” I hiss at him like a crazy person. “I wanted you, and you pushed me away. You told me to go find someone else. And it happened, but now you’re furious and treating me like trash. I did what you told me to do.”
“I told you how I felt about Justin!” he shouts. “Have you met his sleazy father? You want that man near you?”
The rumors about Governor Ted Leister are incredibly disgusting, and my lip curls in disgust. I recall the man I saw waving in front of Foxworth House. How could he do those things? Gross. Wyatt’s eyes gleam as he gets satisfaction from my honestly freaked-out expression.
He grabs the paper out of my other hand and scoffs, shaking his head. “And next, you’ll be fucking Pierce.”
When I aim, Wyatt catches my hand easily in his and pulls me toward him. For a moment, my body is pressed against his. I inhale sharply, waiting for him to relent and forgive me. Suspended in the moment, I want him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me until my lips swell. I want him to tell me he’s too cruel because he does want me, and he’s made an awful mistake. But when I look into his eyes, the reproach is still there. Wyatt pushes me off his body, and I slump against the wall, locking my legs so I don’t collapse into misery.
He points his judgmental finger in my face. “You made me wait for what you’ve given away to every guy who asked for it. And you don’t care who asks.”
I’m past caring about my pride and swipe the tears off my face with both hands. “Go away!” I shout, “You only know how to be mean.”
“And you only know how to lie,” he tells me coldly.
“You told me to do it…” My voice trails off as he roars over my weak excuses.
“And you lied about being broke.” He scoffs. “The whole time, Elliot Howland was your father. One of the richest men in the state, and you hid it from me. I am a pushover.”
My lip trembles, and it hurts to stare at so much hate. “Howland doesn’t give me anything,” I shoot back, “Nothing at all.”
“Except he’s paying your tuition to Stonehaven,” he replies, “and paying for the rent on that building where his princess hosts a fight club.”
Of course, Nova told Wyatt about the new location and probably told him that she and I are running it, along with Derick and Grinder. So Wyatt went from fighting at the Pit to fighting for the Monarchs. Instead of him finally being in charge, I’m in charge of him. He’s my paid fighter, taking hits while we take a percentage of his purse.
“I didn’t have any money…at first,” I protest loudly. “I’ve been struggling since before I got here. For fuck’s sake, I was wiping down tables at the dining hall.” My tears stop as my anger increases. How dare Wyatt think I have an easy life because my sperm donor dad is rich? “Howland tells me what to do or tries to. And the jerk tips me a few dollars when he thinks I’ve done well.”
Wyatt grins, not believing a word I’ve said. He eyes me as if I’m excelling at drama. “Well, you’re not struggling now. You’re doing all right, princess. You don’t need me or anyone else to help you climb to the top of the pile.”
Wyatt grabs his gym bag without looking back and leaves out the door. I want to run after him. To tell him off again—to let him know that he’s wrong about me, that he’s always wrong about me, as if he’s looking for more reasons to hate me.
But instead, I watch him walk away, my heart breaking with each step he takes.
