Page 87 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“She’s not even pretty.” Whoever is speaking has a drawl like Carrson’s, but hers has more twang. “How could he pick her over Samantha? I don’t get it.”

I quirk my head, listening hard. They can’t be talking about me. Can they?

“I know,” another girl exclaims, a slight slur in her voice. “Samantha’s gorgeous. I’d die if I looked like her.”

I sidestep to the end of the wall and peer around the corner. Three women about my age stand in a circle. The smell of weed wafts over as the glowing tip of a joint moves between them.

They’re beautiful, all three of them. Slim, with long hair and sleek dresses in shades of lavender, pink, and silver.

“She thinks Carrson chose her over Samantha,” the girl in lavender says. “He didn’t. He chose a fight with his father, and she happened to be standing there.”

The others laugh, the sound high and mocking.

I brace one hand against the rough stone and lean farther out. Carrson cares about me. I know he does. But affection and rebellion can exist inside the same choice. What if choosing me gave him both?

“That’s why he keeps an eye on her,” the girl in silver says. “He knows she’s weak.”

“Exactly,” the girl in lavender says. “Samantha would’ve stood beside him. Laurel’s just another person he has to protect.”

My fingers find the necklace at my throat.

The girl in pink takes the joint and glances toward the mansion. “Did you see him tonight? He used to walk into a room and everyone watched him. Now he walks into a room and all he does is watch her. You saw it too, didn’t you, Gillian?”

“Of course I did.” Gillian, in lavender, gives a disgusted laugh. “He’ll figure it out once choosing her has cost him enough. He’s already losing power because of her. Did you see all the Fathers paying court to the Beaumonts? Mother says they’re backing Jackson for the White House now. Not Carrson. Can you imagine that half-breed as First Lady?”

The White House? Carrson as president? Apparently Carrson has a future he forgot to tell me about. One that even these girls getting high behind the house know. One they can’t see me in, but can Carrson? Can I?

I don’t know the answer to that.

I only know how convenient it is to call me half-breed. They use my father’s blood to pull me into their world, then my mother’s to push me back out.

“It’s not fair.” The girl in silver stomps a foot clad in a heel so high I’d break my leg if I tried walking in it. “She didn’t go through the trials and tests like we did. She hasn’t bled like we have, but she gets to waltz in here, raggedy and half-assed, and snag an Ashford. What the fuck?”

She takes a deep drag, holds the smoke in her lungs, then releases it in a thick plume.

Gillian takes the joint. “Remember Melanie, Renee, and Jodi? The Death Trials?”

Death Trials?

All three women lower their heads.

“I left flowers on their graves the last time I went to the cemetery,” says the girl in pink. “I put flowers on the other girls’ graves too.”

Whatever the Death Trials was, more than three girls never came home from it. Their resentment isn’t only jealousy. The Order taught them pain was the price of belonging, and I walked in for free.

“That was nice of you, Steff,” Gillian says. “She doesn’t deserve him. That’s all there is to it.”

The joint has burned down to a stub, so small that Steff yelps when an ember catches her fingertip. She flings it into the grass and grinds it under the tip of her shoe. Then she digs through her purse and removes a tiny glass vial.

“I got more DD after brunch yesterday. Before Pilates.” Steff holds the vial toward the girl in silver. “Want some, Alexandra?”

DD. Devil’s Dust.

“Fuck yes.” Alexandra grabs for it. “Gimme.”

“Thank God.” Gillian crowds closer. “I thought you said your supplier was out.”

“He got a new shipment and called me first.” Pride lifts Steff’s voice.