Page 62 of Wicked Little Secret

“Nyssa…” he swallows audibly. “I didn’t… mean to…”

“To what, Samson?” I ask. “Cheat on me? With my best friend, by the way.”

He shakes his head, his lids hanging lower as if the medication’s taking over.

I take no pity on him. I’m not here for mercy. I’m here to make one thing and one thing only clear.

“You’re sorry,” I say. “Is that what you expect me to believe?”

“I was drinking…”

“And you attacked me. You pushed me into the dirt. You held me down andlaughed. One fuck for the road, right? I owe you, right?”

His nostrils flare, his usually ruddy skin blanching. He has no words. No real defense. But awareness lives in his bleary gaze.

He knows exactly what he did.

Even if he doesn’t know who did what to him…

“Let’s get one thing straight, Samson,” I say, cutting a cautious glance over my shoulder. We’re as alone as ever.

The room’s quiet except for the occasional beep from the machines he’s hooked up to.

“If you ever tell anyone about who attacked you, I tell everyone about who attacked me.” I tug at the neckline of my sweater to reveal a vicious scratch mark along my collarbone. A memento from that night. “We’ll see whose story is better.”

The lump in his throat bobs. The rest of his face pullstight. He’s trying to scowl, but the medication’s fucked him up so bad, his reaction’s are off. Instead, he winds up with a wincing expression, deep blinks, and a downturned mouth.

I smirk down at him. “In case it wasn’t already clear, we’re over. For your own good, stay away from me.”

Samson mumbles in protest, his attempt to get me to stay.

But I’m already striding out the door. I meant it when I said I’m done with him. At least in the capacity I’ve been using him for—our short-lived relationship is over.

I’ve got what I wanted, and it’s time to move onto the next stage of my plan.

When I return to my apartment a couple hours later, Heather’s parked outside along the curb. Her chauffeur jumps out of the car to rush over and open the rear door. She steps out in dramatic fashion, giant sunglasses disguising her blue eyes and her long strawberry blonde hair swinging.

I keep walking like I haven’t noticed either of them.

“Nyssie! Can I come in? I’ve been waiting almost an hour.”

“Why is that any of my concern?”

I’ve shoved at the revolving glass door and entered the vestibule of my apartment building. I’m halfway toward the elevator by the time she’s caught up.

“Can’t you hear me out, Nyssie? I promise I can explain.”

“Who says I want to hear that explanation?”

“Please,” she gulps down air. As the elevator door slidesopen, she rushes in after me. “Don’t throw away three years of friendship!”

On the outside, I’m stone-like. I’m stoic and impenetrable to Heather’s begging. Meanwhile, on the inside, I’m delighting in the fact that Heather Driscoll is practicallygroveling.

Exactly what I anticipated.

She’s chasing me like a sad puppy, pleading to be my friend.

Funny how the tables turn…

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