Rage took over, propelling him forward, and then his hands were on her, gripping her by the shoulder and the waist, shaking her.
“Wake up, Jessica.Wake the fuck up and face me.”
She barely stirred, just made a low groaning noise in her throat.
“I’m not kidding.” He rocked her harder. “I know what you did.Wake up!”
Her groan grew louder, and she tried, feebly, to shake off his hand. “Go away,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible, half-asleep.
“You think you can dismiss me?” His hands were shaking. Even though it was from anger, the sight shamed him, so he shoved Jessica hard, forcing her to roll on her stomach like a naughty child, the better to be spanked. In the movement, her head smacked the headboard. She cried out, her voice catching in her throat.
The sound of her pain sent a tremor of satisfaction, ofrightness, through him.
“Leave me alone,” she garbled into the pillow, the words almost incoherent. She’d clearly been drinking. Her voice was strange and rough. “I told you… I’m done with you. I hate you.”
After everything she’d done,shehatedhim.
Mint’s vision turned red. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently, hearing the sound of her head hitting the headboard, again and again, sharp littlethwacks. “Say you’re sorry.”
She was making some sort of noise, but it wasn’t language. It wasn’t an apology. She must think he wasn’t someone who counted, someone to be afraid of. Wasn’t a man.
Impotence filled him, and the fire exploded.
Mint stumbled back from the bed, hitting the desk, and then he saw them. Massive, sharp-pointed scissors, the blades like knives. And what to do seized him, the rightness of it hitting him as swift as a lightning strike. He swept the scissors off the desk, gripped the handles so hard his fingers hurt, and drove them down like a pike into her back.
She screamed into her pillow, arms flailing. It was like opening a dam, all the rage and pain flowing out of Mint and into her. He wrenched the scissors out and stabbed her again, feeling the solidness of her flesh resist, then accept, the blades. This girl who’d humiliated him, who was trying to ruin him—nowhewas hurtingher, makingherweak, makingherflop like a fish out of water. The tables had turned.
He punished her again and again, taking the apology from her body since she wouldn’t give it to him in words. It felt so good that the feeling frenzied him, making his heart smash against his rib cage. He twisted her onto her back, pushing the scissors into her stomach—the power of it—and he knew with every fiber of his being that he wasn’t his father, that he had a backbone, that no one could laugh at him. She kicked wildly, foot catching the curtains, wrenching them open, and moonlight flooded the room. He looked at her with a thrill of anticipation, wanting to soak in the pain on her face, the horror and regret.
Blond hair, not brown.
His grip loosened on the scissors. They clattered to the floor.
It wasn’t Jessica’s face that stared back at him, eyes wide in terror, mouth open, fighting for a slow, gurgling breath.
It was Heather.
“Oh god,” Mint said. The room spun, fire draining out of him, and he went dizzy, nearly dropped to his knees next to the scissors. What was Heather doing in Jessica’s bed? And why hadn’t she spoken clearly, said something to identify herself?
What had he done?
Heather’s eyes tracked him as he took a step back, and suddenly Mint saw the scene for what it was, in all its terrible truth. He saw the blood everywhere, across the bed and climbing the walls and marring the skin of his hands, the white of his dress shirt under his black suit jacket. He saw the girl who had been his friend, shuddering with pain. He sawHeather, not Jessica.Heather, rasping and blinking,Heather, who he’d stabbed.
He was going to burn for this. He was going to be sent to prison. Everything—whatever was left of his family’s fortune, his spot at Columbia Law, his friends, his family, his future. This time there was no question he would lose it all. His mother would know what he’d done. His father, if he ever woke up. Everyone in the world.
His life was over.
No.Defiance cut through the panic. He’d made a mistake, that’s all. He didn’t deserve to have his life ruined because of one mistake, provoked by Jessica anyway, and by Trevor Daly, and Charles Smith, and Jack, and his father. It was their fault, not his. But he would fix it. He would save himself.
Mint scrambled to his feet and dashed to the bathroom. Now that the frenzied feeling had worn off, he was viscerally aware of the slickness of his hands, the heavy, coppery smell that clung to him. He scrubbed his hands furiously at the bathroom sink, digging under his nails. Then he saw his face and cursed. Peeling off his clothes, he showered, scrubbing hard, then put the dark suit back on. It was even starting to dry.
Looking one last time in the mirror, he caught it—there, on his neck. A bright-red mark, prelude to a bruise, peaked out from his collar. Heather must have hit him at some point. He pulled his bow-tie higher, hiding it, then closed his jacket over the white shirt so no one could see the blood splatters. He was fine now, covered.
He rushed back to the bedroom. There was no telling how long he had. He grabbed a T-shirt someone had left slung over the door and used it to wipe the handles of the scissors. Then he placed them securely inside his jacket.
A plan was taking shape, guided by survivor’s instincts. He wasn’t going down for this; there was no way. It came down to a simple choice: him, or someone else. And he knew who he’d choose every time. He just had to be smart.
Mint gave Heather one last glance. And stopped. He couldn’t see her chest moving.
