Page 22 of Break You

Intellectually they were streets apart too. Pixie was as dumb as he was wide. Sure, he was street smart—he had to be to get where he was in his career, and not wind up dead, but MENSA wasn’t about to come calling. Rocky was clearly both. To be accepted to Heathcote on a full ride—or at all without a family legacy, or the money to pay her way in via generous “donation,” her IQ wasn’t in question.

“No. Evidently they have different fathers. I’m guessing Rukiya’s is African American. Neither of them has any paternal details entered on their birth certificates, but the girl has her mother’s surname, whereas his is different. I’m guessing it’s his father’s name, but who knows, with people like that?” By people like that, he meant drunks, junkies and trailer trash.

The blood pumped so heavily in the veins at my temples that I could feel and hear it. I concentrated on it to distract me from the nausea rising inside me. This was what I’d wanted all this time while I’d waited for Mike to dig up information on Pixie. This was what I needed to bring him down. I’d known that Mike would eventually dredge up what I asked him for and that this moment was a victory. I should have been doing a happy dance—if I was the kind of person to dance, which I absolutely wasn’t.

Clearly I was overtired or more drunk than I thought. Either way, I obviously wasn’t thinking straight. That was the only explanation for why it felt like a hollow victory when the person I had to take down to get my revenge was the girl I currently loved to hate. Of all the people in the world or even just girls in the school, why the fuck did it have to be her I needed to break to get even?

Even with that thought in mind, a plan started to brew immediately. I had work to do, and the giant pain in my butt that was Angry Girl wasn’t about to get in the way of that.

“I need you to get some information for me, like yesterday.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

“Rocky. I mean Rukiya Gordon works for some kind of event or casual hospitality staffing company, or something like that. She was waitressing at a gala dinner I attended earlier this week. I need you to get me the name of the business, details of how much she gets paid, names of the staff who were working the event at Trinity Hall on Monday, anything you can. Specifically, I need the name of the supervisor managing the floor that night.”

“Leave it with me. I will do my best to have that information back to you in a couple of days.”

“I need it today, and I’m not interested in hearing you say you’ll try. Get me that information without fail.”

“Okay.”

“I also want as much intel as you can get your hands on about Rocky. And I mean, everything—who she hangs out with, every detail about her scholarship, her grades, who she’s fucking. I want to know every little detail.”

“Of course.”

“I want that today too.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Not good enough. You have until 6 p.m.”

I hung up the phone not bothering to say goodbye. He knew me well enough not to expect niceties. We weren’t friends. He was there to do a job, and he was on a deadline. Neither of us had time to waste on meaningless pleasantries.

Next I called Drew. If my plan was going to come off, I was going to need his help.

“Someone better be dead or dying for you to call me at this time, especially after last night.”

“Not yet, but if you don’t wake the fuck up and get to work, it can definitely be arranged.” The growl in my voice would have told him I meant business.

“Full of the joys of spring as ever, I see, Mr. Cross. Who put shit in your sandwich today, or need I ask?”

“I literally don’t have time for your bullshit. I want you to pull the cygnets together for tonight. I have the perfect hazing for them, but it’s going to take some work to pull together.”

“Tonight? Why the hurry?” He was drunk and sleep addled, and his failure to rise to the occasion was really starting to piss me off.

“Because, I fucking said so. Do you need any other reason?”

“I guess not. I should know by now not to look for method in your madness.”

“If you’re not careful, you’re gonna be looking for my shoe in your ass.”

“I’m terrified. What do you need, oh intense one?”

I didn’t have time to rip him a new asshole, but I added it to the list of reasons I needed to.

Rocky

I looked down at the phone on the campus cafeteria table as it buzzed with a message. I hated the place. Not only was the food of about the same standard as I’d feed to pigs as swill, but it was also shockingly overpriced. Every time I ate there—only, as in this instance, if I had no food at my apartment to make my own, and no time to grab an alternative—I marveled at what it was to be rich. Clearly, being happy to part with money you didn’t earn for shit that wasn’t worth it was something I’d never be able to understand.

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