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If only it was that simple for my baby sister. If only she’d said all right, maybe I wouldn’t have lost her to him. Maybe she’d still be here. Maybe…
“Can I have another one?” I ask, holding my empty glass up.
“Nope.” She shakes her head, snatching it from my hand. “Shower. Now.”
I glare at her, and she grins, shaking her bossy little ass as she walks over to the mirror above the bar. I could tell her to go fuck herself, but I don’t do that. She’ll only stay in here and annoy me until I cave, which is why I decide to save myself the headache. Forcing myself to stand, I make my way upstairs. Checking to make sure no one’s around, I bypass my room and stop at the next one over, listening for movement inside. Hearing nothing, I silently open the door and peek through the gap. I expected him to be awake, but he’s not. He’s lying on top of the sheets in the middle of the bed, curled up into a little ball with his hands tucked up beneath his chin. Sound asleep as if he hasn’t got a fucking care in the world. My hand tightens on the door frame, and it takes some serious willpower not to walk in there, climb on top of him, and suffocate him with a pillow.
Too easy.
If I was gonna kill him, I’d make it hurt.
I’d make him fucking scream.
My heart beats a little faster, and I back up before I do something stupid. I close the door with a soft click and make my way to the bathroom inside my room, peeling my shirt off before I turn the shower on. My fingers find the chain around my neck, and I reach up to undo the clasp, my eyes glued to the ring I’ve been wearing on my chest every day since the day I took it. I cried into my sister’s shoulder that night and stole it from her limp, lifeless body, lying on the floor of that filthy, strange house I found her in.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t let her go with that piece of him on her finger.
Now I wear it as a punishment.
As a reminder and a promise.
I’ll never forget what he did to her.
8
XAVI
It’s dark outside when I wake up. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but a quick glance at my phone tells me it’s almost nine, meaning I’ve been out for almost three hours.
Groaning, I push myself up on my elbows and roll out of bed. In the bathroom, I rub the grit from my eyes as I check myself in the mirror above the counter, hissing at the throbbing pain that follows.
I look like shit. And I definitely didn’t ice my face for long enough.
Letting out a sigh, I brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and get dressed. I still look like shit, and my face looks even worse than it did before, but there’s not much I can do about it now.
Running my fingers through my damp hair, I make my way downstairs. I’m starving, but it feels weird to have food delivered here, so I take my phone out and search for the closest pizza place I can drive to, stopping in the entryway when I hear movement in the kitchen.
Just keep walking.
I veer right, keeping my steps light as I peek through the open door. I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved when I see it’s not Nate like I thought it was.
It’s Easton Miller—one of the guys I recognize from Nate and Carter’s team. He’s got light brown hair and an easy-going smile on his face, busy on his phone as he sets his duffel bag on the floor by the laundry room. I try not to make a face as I take in the gym clothes he’s wearing and the basketball he’s spinning on his forefinger.
Of course there’s another ball boy here.
I’ve gotten into countless fights with guys like this. Mostly back in high school, with the asshole jocks who used to think it was funny to put hands on Katy. They teased her, pushed her around and gave her hell every chance they got, so I gave it right back to them. Got my ass kicked more times than I can count, but I didn’t let that stop me. Every time, I got right back up and kept on swinging until one of the teachers came along to break it up.
After it became clear they had to go through me to get to her, everyone at school thought we were dating. Even our parents thought there was something more going on between us. Probably because I’ve never bothered to tell them pussy doesn’t make my dick hard. Not that I give a shit what they think. I’d just rather save myself the headache. Luckily for me, everyone I meet usually takes one look at me and just assumes I’m straight.
Almost everyone…
I clear my throat when I realize Easton’s caught me standing here, his eyebrows pulled down as he studies the dark bruises around my eyes, then the black hoodie I’m wearing and the too big, holey jeans hanging off my narrow hips.
“Hey,” he says cautiously. “Are you Xavi?”
I frown, unsure how he knows that. If Carter didn’t even bother telling Nate I was coming, why would he tell this guy?
“Frankie texted me just now and told me you were here,” he explains. “I’m Easton.”
