Page 1 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

Summer

They say the taste of revenge is sweet.

I don’t know who they are, but I’ve heard that saying—or something close to it—my entire life. Revenge is sweet.

Sweet.

Let me tell you something.

Revenge isn’t sweet. Not even close.

It’s bitter and nasty and dark and vile. It chokes you, literally chokes you until you’re filled with nothing but anger and sadness and despair and you can’t even breathe, you’re so overcome with emotion.

And the rage.

The rage is what drives you, despite the awful taste. And if you have enough rage inside you, then you will do your damnedest to get back at the one who hurt you the most.

You see, I know what revenge tastes like, because I am hell-bent on revenge against the one who did me—us—wrong. I’m going to destroy her, just like she destroyed my father. My poor, heartbroken father, who lost his will to live long before he actually died.

She tried to destroy me too, but I wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t. Someone had to be strong. Someone had to be able to withstand this and survive.

My father? He’s gone.

Dead.

And now?

She’s going to pay.

And she won’t even know what—or who—hit her.

Fall

I watch him, the way he laughs just before he takes another drink from his glass, his hand braced, long fingers spread wide on the gleaming oak bar counter. Blue-and-black plaid sleeves rolled up to reveal glorious, carved-from-marble-but-not-really forearms that can’t be real, yet are.

The black and blue on his shirt reminds me of bruises. I should want to see him bruised and battered, just like my heart, my freaking soul. But he’s not bruised. Not even close. He seems happy and carefree, like he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything.

Life is just that good for him.

I can’t tear my gaze away from him, not that he notices me. Why should he? He’s surrounded by so many girls, all of them focused only on him. His dark brown eyes light up when he smiles, bright and open and flirtatious, and he doesn’t have to say a damn thing. They’re all quivering with anticipation, hoping and praying he’s flirting with them.

So. Pitiful.

The way the girls swarm him makes me think of flies, and he’s the giant, steaming pile of crap freshly deposited on the ground. They buzz, buzz, buzz around him, loud with their laughter and their gestures and their ever-ready smiles, calling his name over and over again like that’s going to magically make him respond.

He’s not interested in any of them. When one of the girls touches him—the lightest press of fingers against his arm, his shoulder, even his chest—those glowing eyes of his dim. For the briefest, bleakest moment, I feel almost…akin with him. Like he and I, we could be the same.

No way is that even close to possible.

Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, I slump my shoulders forward, my posture closed off, though my gaze sharp, aimed directly at him. Rhett Montgomery. He’s with a group of friends, his frat buddies with snotty names like Chip and Spencer, assholes who rule the campus and keep tallies of the girls they’ve fucked by carving dashes into their headboards with extra-sharp knives. They keep score sheets and compare notes like it’s a great big laugh, how awful they are. How they use girls and toss them aside like a tissue they just blew their nose into.

Even though I’ve been on campus for only two months, I’ve heard rumors. These guys are not my kind.

Especially Rhett Montgomery.

One of the girls laughs extra loud, an almost guffawing sound that reminds me of a horse. I lift my head, wincing at the offensive noise, and my gaze meets Rhett’s. Locks with his.

Look away.

The voice is a harsh whisper rattling in my brain, and I usually obey it.

But it’s like I can’t look away.

He doesn’t either. That glow in his gaze, I swear it intensifies the longer he stares at me. Like his eyes are lit from within, flickering candlelight that hypnotizes and draws me in, and when his lush mouth curves into a slow yet knowing smile, I finally do tear my gaze away from his, breaking the spell.

My heart is pounding furiously and I reach for my glass of water with shaky hands, the ice rattling against the sides as I sip. Once I swallow, I take a deep, cleansing breath, glancing out of the corner of my eye to find he’s already distracted by someone else. Another one of his asshole buddies who’s giving him a high five, God knows why. The slap of their palms is loud despite the multiple TVs hanging on the walls, the girls’ laughter, the clink of glasses, the low hum of constant talking.

He looked at me. He seemed to look right through me, and I feel completely…

Unsettled.

That ha

ppened too soon. He wasn’t supposed to notice me yet.

The thought flashes in my brain, like too-bright headlights in the darkest night, and I remember why I’m here. What I’m doing. Why Rhett Montgomery is involved. I’ve studied him for days. Months. He’s never noticed me before until tonight. And I’ve been around. Lurking close by, on the sidelines like some sort of twisted stalker, which I suppose I am.

Really, I should’ve known he doesn’t like obvious girls. And every single one of those girls surrounding him right now is obvious. Desperate.

I keep my distance on purpose, because I’m not ready. Eventually, I’m going to approach him. And when I finally do talk to him, when I finally become a part of his life, I want him to believe I’m a mystery, a code he can’t crack.

“Hey.”

I go completely still at the sound of his deep voice. Panic rises, making my throat clog with unspoken words, and I lift my head, our gazes meeting once again, his expression open. Friendly. A flood of helplessness fills me and I part my lips, but no sound comes out.

This isn’t going as planned. At all.

“You’re alone.” His statement is obvious, and he does this soft laugh thing that could only be described as a “duh” sound.

I nod, still unable to speak.

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