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At almost midnight, when I didn’t see anybody outside, I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and slipped into the darkness. Dim lights lit the paths that crisscrossed the campus, and I kept my distance from them, not wanting to be spotted by anyone who might be glancing out a window.
Mason’s car was in the student lot, parked in one of the few covered spaces. The walls and ceiling of the covered spots were tall and wide—probably in case some student with a tiny dick decided he wanted to park his Hummer there—and I glanced around the dark shelter assessingly as I stepped into it.
This’ll work.
Setting my backpack down, I drew out the length of chain. The links clanked together, the sound loud in the quiet stillness. I worked slowly, trying not to make too much noise. It’d get loud in a second, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d have before campus security or someone else came running, but I didn’t want to give them advance notice.
I slipped my arms back through the straps of my empty bag, keeping it with me so I wouldn’t lose it if I had to run in a hurry, and doubled up the thick chain, grasping one end of the shortened length in both hands.
Then I swung it at Mason’s tail light.
Red plastic cracked as the heavy metal slammed into it. His alarm blared loudly, a high-pitched keening sound, but I didn’t stop. Counting slowly in my head, I hit it again, and again, and again. Then I worked my way around the car, swinging the chain like a baseball bat. I caught the passenger window just right, and glass exploded inward, tinkling down onto the seat.
The windshield didn’t break, but spider web cracks formed all over the surface. The paint job was scratched to shit by the impact of the links, and I wanted to do more. But when I reached one hundred in my head, I took one last swing, shattering the driver’s side window, before dropping the chain and sprinting away.
I kept to the shadows, taking the long way back to Prentice Hall to avoid crossing through the center of the quad. When I was halfway there, I thought I heard raised voices near the student lot, but I didn’t look back.
From the Wastelands, it was impossible to see the student lot—the view was interrupted by Craydon Hall and Hammond Hall. But I peered out my window anyway, staring across the expanse of grass toward Clarendon, the dorm the Princes all lived in. I didn’t see any lights go on or catch sight of any figures emerging from the building. And from inside my dorm, I couldn’t hear the blare of Mason’s car alarm anymore. So in all likelihood, the boy himself had no idea his car had been wrecked yet.
My arms were sore, muscles in my back aching from swinging the heavy chain hard and fast. I was breathing heavily, but when I raised a hand to my face, I realized I was smiling.
It hadn’t been as satisfying as punching Mason, but that had been the next best thing.
By the time I stepped inside Craydon Hall the next morning, I knew Mason had found out about his car.
For one thing, an email had been sent out to all students early in the morning warning them to secure their valuables and report any suspicious activity on campus. For another, he was waiting for me just inside the door.
Cole, Elijah, and Finn were there too, but they hung back as he strode slowly toward me, his emerald eyes glittering.
“Late night, little dancer? You look tired.”
I stopped several feet from him, ignoring the other students who slowed their steps as they walked by, like sharks sensing blood in the water.
“Actually, I slept like a fucking baby. Thanks for asking.”
He grunted and stepped forward, forcing me to decide between giving ground or letting him invade the bubble of my space. I kept my feet planted, even as his cedar scent crept into my nostrils, teasing me with its painful familiarity.
“What happened to ‘you do what we do’?” he asked softly, his voice pitched low. “I never fucking touched your car. As I recall, you don’t have one anymore, do you? Didn’t your grandmother get rid of it when she disowned you?”
A twinge of pain twisted in my gut at that. The bubblegum pink Bentley Jacqueline had bought for me had been a fucking eyesore, but the reminder of why she’d sold it still hurt.
Keeping my face carefully neutral, I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “No, you didn’t touch my car. But I let a few other things slide, so I figured this made us even. And since a sociopath like you obviously doesn’t care about people, I figured maybe breaking one of your favorite toys would actually get to you.”
His nostrils flared, a look of such intense pain flashing through his eyes that I almost did take a step back. It reminded me of the way he’d looked in the basement that day when the five of us had played truth or dare—when he’d talked about losing his mom.
For a split second, pity rose in my chest, but I shoved it back down like a dirty secret.
Of all the things the boy in front of me deserved, pity wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t think of a single hurt or loss in his past that could justify what he’d done to me.
“That’s what you think, Idaho?” Mason’s features were back under control, his voice dangerously smooth. “That I’m a sociopath? That I don’t care about people? What if I told you everything I’ve done is because I do care? Because I believe in making things right?”
I huffed a breath. “Then I’d tell you you really are a sociopath and that I don’t give a shit about whatever fucked up justification you invented for the fact that you hurt me.”
My lips closed around the last words, but not fast enough to stop them from coming out.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.
I didn’t like to admit that what they’d done had hurt me, had destroyed me—far beyond the fact that my only remaining family had kicked me out of their lives. It’d hurt because I had actually believed the Princes cared. Because I had started to care for them too. Because even as I’d watched the video play on the screen in the gymnasium, I hadn’t expected the betrayal to come from these four boys.
