Apparently, it was, because it stirred up some trouble, and Vencor had to deploy a large number of resources to cover it up.
I knew I’d fucked up when Lenin and his favorite friend, Dad’s driver, Nelly, came to pick me up at the airport. It only got worse when Dad just frowned upon seeing me. He didn’t chastise me or give me that look of disappointment. Grandma and Satan’s lover did, though. Grandpa as well.
But then I realized Dad didn’t bother disciplining me, because he left the job to Lenin, who beat the shit out of me, then informed me I was under house arrest.
I mean, I can go to school and practice, and I can hang out after school, but Lenin is always there, monitoring me and making sure I go back to the Armstrong estate.
“Your dad is so close to giving up on you,” Lenin said that day as I was coughing blood onto the floor.
I straightened and smiled like I usually do. “I thought he already had.”
“You know full well he hasn’t. If you keep acting out, skipping meds, and pushing your luck, he might decide you’re not worth the trouble anymore and just let you drop dead.”
“Don’t care,” I whispered, but still stayed at home like an obedient little bitch, my eyes twitching every time Lilith started her passive-aggressiveness or Grandma called me useless.
Dad didn’t say anything. Actually, he seems to frown a lot whenever I go back home as if he doesn’t expect me there. He was the one who ordered this, for fuck’s sake.
The house arrest has come with real withdrawal issues.
Marcus.
I met him the other day, the evening before the Friday game, but only briefly because Jude decided to join the late-night training and crashed the party.
Had to smuggle Marcus out the back door, to which he just frowned and left.
That was three days ago. Haven’t seen him since.
And I think he’s mad. No idea why.
Okay, I may have a tiny idea.
So, here’s the thing. That day, as soon as he walked into the locker room, he kissed me.
And I’m not talking a simple peck or a brush of lips, but more like he devoured my face, his fingers gripping my hair tightly and his tongue hooking on mine, nearly fucking my throat.
It made me delirious and disoriented, like that time he kissed me out of the blue in his kitchen.
And the bathroom.
Only difference was that, in the locker room, when his fingers dug into my skin and his lips claimed mine, it was terrifyingly intense.
I didn’t like it—or more like, I didn’t like how it made me feel.
It was just sudden, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Part of me was horny and was about to jump out of my skin wanting more.
But then he tried to lift my shirt, and I pushed him away.
Might have done that violently, but I mean, he touched my bruised hip from Lenin’s beatings, and it hurt like hell. But really, the reason I reacted so aggressively was because a side of me, the little bitch lurking inside me, was shaking at the thought of him seeing the map Lenin created.
“What’s wrong with you now?” he asked in a low tone, his slashed brows looking a bit ominous over his harsh eyes. “Is this the denial again?”
“Just…don’t touch me today.”
His eyes darkened even as his words came out smoothly. “Is it that time of the month?”
I punched him, which I shouldn’t have done, but he was being a dick. “Fuck you.”
