Page 42 of Hate Game

“Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, Rue.”

“But you will tell me if there is, right? Until the fight starts, you can ask me for anything if you drop out.”

“I won’t, Rue.”

He walks out of the house. I follow. My bad rep continues wreaking havoc on my life and the people around me. I must do better, starting with the guy holding the passenger-side door of his beautiful sports car for me.

I slide in the seat. He gets in and starts the engine. Biting down on my lip, I apologize. “Next time, I’ll ask first when I want to borrow anything of yours.”

“Noted. Apology accepted.”

“Will you drop out of the fight now?”

“Nope.” And he pops theP. That butt!

16

MALICE

The ride back to my place is done in silence until my stewing gets to me. I’m aware Rue ran with the wrong crowd when she was younger, but to see her inside Isaac the Punisher’s house and wrapped up in his arms?

“What is he to you?” I ask. “Not that I care,” I clarify.

She stares out the window and takes her time answering me. “A friend,” she finally answers.

“Since when?” Casual. Curious. No hint of jealousy in my voice, but the fucked-up emotion swirls in my core.

I had stopped by Isaac’s a few days ago, hoping to settle a score. Instead, I was roped into throwing my hat in the ring for a bag of money I had no use for. Imagine my surprise when I came by to drop off the cash, only to hear Rue’s voice on the other side of what I suspected was Isaac’s bedroom.

“Red has never mentioned you and Isaac’s name in the same sentence.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Nah. Red likes to push my buttons, and one of them is running his mouth off about you. He knows I could give a shit about what’s going on in your life.”

“Nice, Malice. One minute, you’re saving my life from Red’s mufflers. And the next, you say words that take away all the niceness.”

Rue is right. What right do I have to treat her like she is my everything one moment, only to tell her she means nothing when I am pissed as all get-out?

Damn it, my actions and my words are not jiving. No wonder I have issues dealing with how often my parents are gone. That they are never there for me when I need them the most.

The defeat in her voice has me reaching for her. “I’m sorry, Rue, for making you feel like shit. How about we start over?”

“Sure,” she mumbles, her gaze never leaving the passing scenery.

I take a turn, taking us away from the road to my place.

“Where are we going?”

“Cemetery. It’s my great-grandmother’s birthday.”

“Happy birthday to her. Did you get flowers?”

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