Page 43 of Study Games

“Shit.” Fluid filled his eyes.

That was it.

I ground my teeth. Again. At this rate I’d have none left. “I'll cover the cost of your debt. Two hundred thousand, is that right?” I clarified, giving him a chance to up the value, just in case. I didn’t want to go into an enemy I didn’t know yet blindsided.

He got shifty. The empty beer bottle tapped a staccato beat on his knee “Yeah, about that. But it doesn’t matter.”

I lifted the front of the hoodie. I had no shirt beneath and ripping it up displayed the blue and black bruises formed beneath. “Last night I took a beating meant for her because of you. So yeah, I'll pay the fucking debt because I don't want this happening to your sister.” The harsh words tore at my throat but I didn’t care.

A growl built in my throat as I dropped the material. Crush’s hand found my chest. He increased the pressure when I didn't back up straight away and I glanced down to find myself towering over Vincent, the ex-military man I'd been so afraid of earlier cowering in what smelled like a puddle of stale piss.

“Shit.” His breath came shorter this time. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He grabbed for another beer and I lashed out, tossing it across the floorboards where it drained onto a matted rug. His eyes narrowed, focusing as I took Crush’s place and crouched in front of him, though my expression was far from kind or gentle. “You wanna tell me what else you promised this man?”

Vincent pursed his lips and said nothing.

“Come on, man. You’re scaring him.” Crush gave my shoulder a not so gentle shake.

Any other time I might have listened to him, but I saw what my friend missed.

The guilt that flickered through Vincent’s eyes. Brief but it was there.

I closed my eyes and blew out my cheeks. “He fucking sold Waverly two hundred grand. That's why you’re drunk off your ass?” I backed up, my incredulity mirrored in Crush’s face.

Vincent sagged back into the couch. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Fucking coward.” I took a step forward my fist tightening enough to burst another stitch.

I doubted Crush had a big enough supply of Band-Aids for what would come next.

His words, however, stopped the thrashing I nearly threw down. “What's the kingpin's name?”

Vincent shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“What was that?” I snapped. “Speak up, you drunk bastard.”

Never mind the fact I couldn’t identify who I drove to his place with thanks to mafia boy’s moonshine.

Vincent smirked at me. “The biggest asshole on the West Coast.”

My stomach sank before he said another word.

“Fabius Palmer.”

I didn’t need to look sideways to see Crush’s reaction. I knew it would be the same as mine as the floor line shifted beneath my feet.

My father.

Vincent sold his sister and his debt to my fucking father.

And I had no idea how to save her from him.

15

WAVERLY

Istood at the bottom of the stairs of the Kingsman frat house in my new favorite outfit the day after my lilac clad ass was painted on a giant brick canvas by my–cue gulp–artist boyfriend. The same boyfriend, yeah, it was still a novelty, who then kind of abandoned me after he also put that same art all over a bestselling album cover that might or might not have gone platinum overnight. Either way, it didn’t change my position. I was here to find Jax and–hug him. Kiss him. Slap him.

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