Page 86 of Pretty Savage: Defy

Still, he doesn’t move.

“Jack and his son are over there, buying favor with smooth talk and promises they can’t keep.” Rebecca nods across the room. “While we’re here dawdling.”

I follow her gesture, and sure enough, there’s Jackson. His tuxedo is immaculate, his hair combed neatly into place. There’s no trace of the drugged-out mess I last saw on Silas’s bus.

He catches me looking and grins, then licks his lower lip.

I shudder.

“Ugh, gross. Why is Jackson doing that?” Samantha has appeared beside us. She raises her middle finger at him with a scowl, then adds, “Is he limping?”

Rebecca catches her wrist and forces her hand down with a hissed admonishment. “Samantha.”

“He never learns,” Carrson growls. “I’m going to kill him.”

Carr plants a hand against his chest before he can move. “That’s what Jackson wants. Be smarter than that. I raised you better.”

“Raised me?” Carrson turns on his father. “That’s a generous word for it.”

They start talking over one another, yet keep their voices lowered and their expressions neutral enough that anyone looking wouldn’t know they were airing old resentments. It’s a strange way of fighting, engineered to avoid detection by all the people watching us.

I take a step back and hold up both hands. “Enough.”

Four pairs of eyes turn toward me, widened with surprise.

“Carrson, go with your father,” I tell him. “Sam, give me enough time to make one lap around the room before you come rescue me.”

Samantha nods.

“Good. We have a plan,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “Let’s go.”

I lower my hands, pressing them against my skirt to hide their shaking, and walk away before they can argue.

Turns out, finding people to talk to isn’t hard. They come to me, some to judge me and others simply curious to see the new girl in town. They ask how I like the weather here compared to California. Humid, I tell them, but I love seeing the seasons change. They ask how I met Carrson, and I tell them I delivered pizza to the fraternity house, leaving out the part about the dead body and Carrson covered in blood. I smile in the right places, tilt my head like I’m listening, and accept wine and champagne only to set them down when no one’s looking.

When someone moves to embrace me, I angle my body away, protecting the brand from an accidental touch. Sometimes I’m too slow. A stranger’s shoulder presses the bodice into the burn, and pain stabs through my chest so sharply I want to cry out. I grit my teeth and pretend like their congratulations don’t hurt.

Through it all, I watch Carrson from across the room. He smiles in all the right places too, moving through groups of admirers who ask far fewer questions than mine do. He shakes hands, throws his head back, and laughs loud enough to be heard over the orchestra.

He’s convincing. If I hadn’t seen him happy enough to forget himself and sad enough to stop pretending, I’d believe the story he’s selling: the successful college boy with a bright future. Everyone surrounding him seems invested in that future, as though they plan to live through him and claim each of his victories as their own.

Sometimes when I glance over, Carrson’s already staring back at me. We exchange a small, secret smile, and the version of him they’re all applauding disappears. He’s my Carrson again, and magically we’re the only two people in the room.

Laurel with MINE necklace. Art by: Momo Mitsuko

Chapter twenty-one

Two Days Until Bonding

Laurel

I’m not sure how much time passes, only that sweat gathers at the base of my neck. I excuse myself from the latest conversation and head outside.

The lawn is more crowded than inside the house. Guests fill the terraces and gather beneath the white tents. They cluster around linen-covered tables or wander candle-lit paths with drinks in hand. The mansion has enough land to hold them all without feeling cramped, allowing the party to extend farther into the darkness than I can see.

No one looks my way as I slip into the shadows, needing a minute alone to regroup. I start to lean against the stone wall but quickly straighten, afraid I’ll muss my dress. I adjust my neckline, making sure the brand is covered. The light touch sends a sting through the raw skin, and I snatch my fingers away.

A voice carries from around the corner.