Page 155 of Anger

I grind my teeth and the pain of it shoots down my jaw. Nobody knows what happened on those weekends. Nobody but William, Daddy Dearest, Warbucks, the other Inferno fathers, Ezra and me. Plus … the others.

I can’t remember all the faces.

“He wanted me to fight a man twice my size. I was only fifteen.”

Seconds pass that become minutes, the room silent except for the faded music outside the door. I’m praying that she’s done, that the truth is too painful, but then she asks a question and draws out all my hatred.

“Why?”

Fucking why.

I don’t give a fuck about thewhys.

I hate the whys.

Let’s call it a return on my investment…

You both are worthless…

Just like your gold-digging mother…

The answer spills out of me along with the voices and laughter. “So he and his friends could make bets on who would win.”

I spin to face her.

“Fucking happy now? Is this what you plan to do to me with all your damn questions? Do you have any idea what I’ll do to you for asking them?”

Blue looks up at me with her brilliant violet eyes as she pulls her shorts into place. Jutting out a hip, she plants her hand on it and shows no fear, no terror, nor any sorrow for what I told her.

But there’s anger.

Despite what she attempts to hide, I can see it clearly in how she carefully controls her expression.

“Your father is a dick. But I already knew that. I hope you killed him that night he showed up at your house.”

She shakes her head and glances down at her feet. “Bet he’s still out there planning new ways to fuck up people’s lives. That’s all men like him care about.”

Shock tears through me, a tingle on my skin from what feels like lightning down my spine. It chases away the voices, muting them enough that I can think clearly.

“You know men like him?”

Her eyes lift. “Unfortunately, I have a habit of running around with shitty people.

She gestures to me. “I mean look at my present company.”

My stare hardens. “What’s wrong with your present company?”

Her brow arches. “That question will cost you a shirt.”

The fuck?

“That’s not how this works.”

“That’s exactly how this works,” she retorts. “Our agreement goes both ways, Champ. So, question equals shirt.”

There is no way in hell I’m playing along with this bullshit game. We stare at each other, neither of us looking away. Her brow arches higher.

Fuck this shit. I want to know, and it’s just a stupid shirt.

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