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“Jagger,” the coach yells, and the tension evaporates.
I let out the breath caught in my throat.
First Ace going up against Bexley, and now Cole going up against Hayden. This isn’t good. But it’s not my problem.
My cell phone dings, and I dig it out of my pocket.
Dad: Please, Remi. It’s just dinner.
Me: But it’s not just dinner. It’s dinner with them. With her.
Dad: It’s your first day of senior year. I’d like to hear how it went.
Me: It was fine.
Dad: Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Dinner at Surf’s at six-thirty or I’ll call your mom.
Bastard. He knows she’s my weak spot.
Me: I hate you.
Dad: I know. See you at six-thirty. Don’t be late.
His words coil around my heart and squeeze, turning my blood to molten lava. The l
ast thing I want to do is have dinner with him, but every few months, he does this: demands I spend time with him. Only spending time together is never just him and me.
It’s me and them.
His family.
The one he chose instead of me and mom.
Della, his wife. Farrow, his step-son. Pacey, their son, and Michaela Fulton, his step-daughter.
My step-sister.
And my ex-best friend.
Chapter Seven
Ace
Sterling Prep is exactly as I’m expecting it to be—full of self-righteous, privileged assholes. I turn up to my math class late, thanks to Principal Vager and his long-winded way of laying down the law to the three of us. Does he really expect us to follow any rule he puts in place? Rules are basically challenges to guys like us. Tell us no and we only work harder to prove some motherfucker wrong.
The teacher is expecting me and immediately directs me to my seat before continuing with whatever the fuck he’s explaining to the class. I don’t think he realizes that from the second I entered, all attention left him in favor of following my every move across the room.
As I make my way to the back, the whispered gossip starts to fill my ears.
Did you hear that he’s killed someone?
Shot between the eyes.
He dragged his brothers with him into a gang.
He killed his own mother.
The rumor mill is already getting out of hand, although the worse it gets only works to my advantage, making people even more terrified of me. Something I’m more than happy with, especially if it means they keep their distance. I have zero intention of befriending any of these assholes. I just need to do my time and get out as soon as possible. Prison would have been fucking easier than this shithole.
