She didn’t block me out.
I lay on my side, staring at her sleeping form, trying to figure out what kind of hold Story Austin has on me. I know it’s more than her physical looks. It’s her fight—the way she pushes back—the roiling emotions under the surface. Maybe it was the way she begged Rath to fuck her with the knife handle that night in the funhouse. Maybe it was the day in the computer lab when she got on her knees for me. Fuck, maybe it was even before all that. Maybe it was that night, years ago, in Killian’s laundry room, when she looked up at me with those eyes.
She’s innocent, yet dirty and depraved, and strong enough to take it. It ignites something in me that no one—not Genevieve or any other female—has sparked before. She makes me want to make her feel good. She makes me want to give her everything. I don’t want to burn her down.
I want to burn with her, high and bright.
“No.” My father’s voice is clear and brooks no argument.
“It’s only one year,” I reason, wiping my face. My morning workout had been hard, pushing me to the brink. I usually try to keep it chill, but I knew this godforsaken call was coming. “I have too much to do. I can’t drop everything for a dumb Christmas party.”
“Dumb?” Fuck. I know that low, dangerous tone. “The annual Mercer Christmas party is dumb now?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I can’t exactly tell him the truth, which is that we’re dealing with some psycho murderer who wants our balls on a platter, and the exposure of the annual Mercer Christmas extravaganza would be idiotic. “I just mean that it’s a bad time.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” My father’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I know how incredibly difficult it must be to be the heir to the Mercer fortune.”
“Dad,” I start, but he interrupts.
“No, no, no. I completely understand. Just like I completely understood when you blew us off for Thanksgiving. Your mother and I have only been planning this event since March.” Christ. Real guilt tripper, my old man. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Well, that’s a whiplash moment. “Stupid? Where did I imply—”
“This is about Daniel Payne,” he says, voice hard. “And I think you need to remember whose son you are. You’re going to be here on the 24th at seven sharp. You’re going to wear the tux your mother’s had painstakingly tailored for you. You’re going to smile and shake hands and be so goddamn charming that people are still talking about you at the next one. You’re going to be the immaculate representation of the family you actually bear the name of. Is that understood?”
My father doesn’t make threats. Never has, doesn’t need to. It’s unspoken, but plainly obvious what denying his request will mean.
Silently fuming, I bite out, “Yes, sir. Seven sharp.”
“Attaboy,” he says, hanging up.
I toss my phone on the weight bench, pushing my sweat-dampened hair back. Rath doesn’t know how easy he has it. His dad is some absent sperm donor he’s never met, and his mom couldn’t care less what he does. Killian and I have to exist with the knowledge that some asshole holds the keys to our future, and they’re constantly being dangled over our heads, just out of reach.
Except Killer’s actually grown enough balls to fight back.
I think about this as I shower and change for classes, dreading that fucking party. It’s always a huge spectacle, the Mercer Christmas party. It’s more of a ball than a party, full of champagne and pretense, and usually I’d be all over it. But this year, I have more important things to worry about. Like keeping Izzy and Lizzy safe from this psycho. Like watching over Story. Like finding out who the hell this guy even is. I don’t have time for photo-ops and speeches and waltzes.
I’m just heading down to find Killian—he’ll feel my pain—when he finds me.
“Got a meeting in ten.”
I pause on the second floor landing, inspecting the hardness that’s fallen over my friend’s features. “Meeting? We have classes in—”
Fists clenching, he explains, “It’s the only time he’ll see us.”
Ah. So Killer really can feel my pain.
Crossing my arms, I ask, “You told your dad about Viv’s finger.” He gives a jerking nod. “And he wants to talk it over? Compare notes?”
“That’s the plan,” he says, the vein in his temple jumping. “Now or never.”