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With that, she closed the door and left me to myself.
I took a look around the room. It was loaded with expensive furniture and splashes of colorful decorations. It was also about twice the size of a normal bedroom, with a vaulted ceiling and a huge bay window.
I ran my hand along the dresser, marveling that it wasn’t even dusty.
The room was beautiful, but it was still a cage. Whether Cassian’s mom realized it or not, I was just down the hall from the boy who wanted nothing more than to torment me.
About an hour later, I heard a knock at the front door. I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed in a sort of trance. Nothing in the room felt like it was mine, so I’d settled for clutching my backpack in my lap and waiting—for what, I didn’t know.
I headed down the long hallway, which was devoid of any childhood pictures or personal touches. The decor was all highbrow, artsy, and expensive. It was designed to impress guests more than to make the three people who lived here feel at home. Then again, maybe they felt most at home when whipping out their figurative money dicks and laying them on the table for everyone to bow down to.
By the time I descended the spiraling staircase and half-jogged across the foyer, whoever was at the door began knocking more forcefully.
Dumbly, I felt a wave of dread that it might be Cassian. Then I realized people don’t usually knock to enter their own houses. Maybe it’d be a door to door salesman, and I could convince them to bust me out of here.
That was stupid, too. I had nowhere to go.
Back home? Dad was one drink away from self-destructing. But part of me thought what he needed most was a wakeup call. If it was just a matter of surviving his explosions, I could manage.
For now, this was my home.
My prison.
I opened the door and felt my eyebrows shoot up.
“Clint? If Cassian sees you here, he’ll kill you.” Somehow, I felt like that was an understatement. Cassian had looked like he wanted to burn the whole restaurant down when he saw us together at Dead Ringers.
Clint winked. I could still see the bruises on his neck, but he looked unworried. “Then let me in before he sees me.”17CassianI skipped Dead Ringers, even though Tristan, Logan, Gage, and about half the school would be there to pre-party for the basher some kid from Calvary was throwing across town tonight. All the drugs, alcohol, and pussy in the world couldn’t distract me from the shiny new toy I had waiting at home. It had been a test of will to avoid skipping class and then practice today, but I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing how much I was planning to enjoy this.
I flung the front doors open and sniffed deeply, though I wasn’t sure what I expected. Did I think I’d smell her on the air? That I’d find a trail of fear leading me straight to her?
I grinned.
She’d watched me nearly kill her would-be boyfriend and then ran out on her dad in the span of a few days. Now she was just finishing a tour of the system for misplaced and unwanted children in all its glory. I wondered if she’d still have that defiant glint in her eyes. If she’d still have the spine to look me in the eyes like she was the one who had a right to be mad.
Your childhood friend hates you now, Scarface? Boo fucking hoo.
I hadn’t even thought about what I’d say or do. All I knew was the cards had been laid on the table at Dead Ringers before I did my brief visitation with the prison system. I still wanted to hear her try and fail to explain herself.
I yanked open her door and froze.
Charli was sitting on her bed next to Clint, who had a hand on her shoulder. The dumb fucker still had bruises on his neck, and he was…
I sucked in a slow breath, watching the both of them stare up at me like scared children.
“In my own house?” My voice came out as a low whisper, devoid of emotion despite the roiling rage running just beneath the surface.
Charli stood, putting herself between me and Clint. “Your parents got you out of jail once. You really think they could do it again?”
“You really think I give a shit? Move, Scarface.”
Clint stood now, holding up his palms. “Look, man. I’m over it, okay? Water under the bridge. Can we just agree to be cool?” He stuck his hand out for me to shake.
I stared down at his hand, letting a slow smile form as I reached for it.18CharliCassian still loomed in the doorway like a shadow made flesh. Black pants, black shirt, and hair the color of raven feathers. The only hint of color was the icy blue of his eyes, and somehow, those seemed to burn more like fire as he looked down at Clint’s outstretched hand.
