Page 153 of Brutal Obsession

Greyson has the puck, and he charges across the ice. He’s a force to be reckoned with. He passes it to Knox and darts around one of the defenders. Knox passes it to Erik, who gives it right back to Grey.

He shoots and scores, and the Hawks come barreling toward him in celebration. We all jump to our feet, cheering and screaming as his teammates skate around him and clap his back.

Three to four.

He skates past and points at me. He grins, holding eye contact, and then raises his index finger up.One more to go.

I blush and grin back. It’s hard to beat back the team spirit. The dance team embedded that in me, if nothing else. I want our school to win—to go all the way to the finals, even. And I definitely want to know what Grey is going to do to me after he makes another goal…

My phone buzzes, more insistent.

Mom’s calling me now.

“I’ve got to take this,” I say to Willow.

She grimaces. “Do you want me to go with you?”

I pause and meet her eyes. “Really?”

“Of course.” She’s decked out in blue and silver, just like me. We sprayed some blue glitter in our hair, and some of it has flaked off on our skin.

I’m about to tell her not to bother, that I’ll be okay, when she rises.

“Not going to give you a choice,” she says. “Let’s go.”

We slip out of the row and hurry up the steps. I make the mistake of glancing up as we’re about to go through the tunnel out into the hallway. Senator Devereux stands at the glass, his gaze on me.

Fuck.

Greyson was planning on talking to him tonight.

Willow pulls me away, and I take a deep breath as soon as we’re out of sight. He freaks me out more than Greyson ever did.

We exit the stadium and step onto the sidewalk. I check both ways, trying to find my mother. I finally spot her across the street, pacing in front of a sleek black car.

“Violet!” she calls. She waves her hands.

Willow and I cross the street together, but I make the last few steps alone.

Even though time has passed, she appears… the same. People always said we looked similar. Like you could see us and tell we were related. Sisters, people often said, because Mom’s skin is smooth. Her hair is perfectly coifed, golden blonde. The features we share are those she can’t alter with Botox. The shape of our eyes, our noses, lips. The heart-shaped face.

Where I try to keep myself lean for ballet, she has curves. Hips and an ass that used to catch all the guys’ attention, her breasts—well, those are fake, at any rate. Not that anyone cares.

I don’t know what I expected. New wrinkles at the corners of her eyes maybe, or streaks of gray in her hair.

Whatever I think I might see… I don’t.

“What’s up?” I internally cringe at the question.

She twists her hands together, then sticks them in her pockets. “What’s been going on with you, Violet?”

I let out a choked laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not this girl.” She steps closer, and her eyes dart over my shoulder. “You know the agreement we made.”

“I signed the NDA. What more is there?” My skin prickles. I sense thereismore. The senator’s secretary let something slip that had me wondering—but this confirms it. “What did you do, Mom?”

She straightens. Her expression turns stony. “Come with me.”

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