“Weren’t you fucking my sister? Have you lot let a spy into my house?” His arrogant tone cuts through the rest of the chatter at the table.
“He got caught sticking his dick in someone else’s hole, so now he’s sitting with us. You always said anyone who fucks with the twins is welcome here,” is Harlow’s dripping reply. She doesn’t mention that she was the hole. She’s still open for Joey’s business, first and foremost.
Joey tips his head back and laughs too loud for the echoes in the room. Ash gets up to leave, and he tugs Avery along beside him. He’s practically vibrating with rage but, aside from her ashen face, Avery looks unaffected by their behavior. Blaise leans back in his chair and stares Joey down. I wonder whether new money would win over the old if those two had it out.
I’d bet on Blaise in the physical fight any day of the week. His shoulders were easily broader and more defined than Joey, and I knew from concert photos he was ripped. I’d also heard the rumors of the fights he’d won here over the years. The boys’ dorm was basically a fight club half the time, fighting over girls and money. None of those three ever lost.
The problem was the old adage that the Jackal had told me over and over again: new money can’t become old money without getting dirty first. Amongst the Twelve, it was crucial to our domination and survival. If you can find a family close to turning and get in with them, become indispensable, then you can amass power as quickly as money. Matteo had done it dozens of times, and now he was the most powerful man in the state.
The Beaumonts were old and dirty. The Morrisons were unparalleled in their wealth, but squeaky clean. If Blaise took on Joey for what he’s doing to his friends, then his hands wouldn’t stay clean for long.
From the look on his face, I’d guess he didn’t want them to.
“And how fares my little Mounty love?” Joey calls out to me, breaking my train of thought. I’ve been staring at Blaise for too long. Instead of being embarrassed about it, I just flip Joey the bird.
Gasps ring out around me. People begin to get up and move out of the way, desperate not to be noticed by Joey. I take a bite out of my apple and chew slowly, sending a glare down the table at the teachers hearing all of this and ignoring it completely. What a bunch of pussies.
When the bell tolls its warning, I get up and walk out of the dining hall calmly. As I push out of the dining hall, I feel the heat of Joey’s gaze on my back, so I turn to look at him.
The little smile on his face is manic, feral, and edged with insanity.
He’s not sober.
The time away has given him the chance to get a grip on himself and hide the addiction better, but the dancing flames in his eyes tell me all I need to know about what’s running through his veins right now. He winks at me, and I let the door swing shut behind me.
* * *
Joey’s return to Hannaford means I have trouble sleeping again.
I doesn’t matter that I have the best lock system money can buy now, thanks to Matteo. Every time I shut my eyes, I see that raging psycho’s face as he pinned me to his bed, and that fucking wink in the dining hall. I’ve slipped my knife into the pocket in the hoodie I’m wearing like a safety blanket, but sleep still evades me.
Usually I fight my insomnia by throwing myself headfirst into my studies, but I’ve just about finished all my assignments for the entire school year. I could go over my notes for my upcoming tests and the end-of-year exams, but I know that I already know everything, that I’ve already crammed it all into my head and it's stuck. I could also start in on the reading required for next year, but nothing is holding my interest at the moment.
I feel restless. Like my skin is crawling and my mind is climbing the walls of my skull and trying to get out. I can’t stop moving or jiggling my legs. My mind is currently torturing me with images of Matteo doing to me what Joey tried to do. I know someday his patience will wear thin, and he’ll want to take what he thinks he’s owed. It’s why I have to do well here at Hannaford, so that someday I can disappear somewhere even the Jackal cannot reach.
I’m thinking the Caribbean.
I have no idea what job I’ll do there, but fuck it if I’m not resourceful. Everywhere needs doctors, so my original career path works. I’ll just have to figure out how to go to med school there. I can figure this out if I put my mind to it.
I’m two hours into a deep internet research spiral when I hear a door slam.
I glance over and see it’s three a.m., so not the usual times for loud noises in the girls’ dorm. It’s possible someone has gotten up to pee or is even sneaking a guy into their room, but my mind is currently a vortex of spiraling anxiety and what-ifs. I carefully roll out of bed, thankful the creaking mattress has been replaced and I can be silent as I sneak my door open.
My stomach bottoms out.
Joey is sitting against Avery’s door, his phone in his hand and his face lit up in the dark as he texts someone. He’s wearing dark slacks and a polo shirt, loafers on his feet, like he’s just left some elitist gentleman’s club. He doesn’t notice me watching him, and I think about calling the student helpline to report him being up here to get him out. My hand reaches into my pocket, and I grip my knife. If he spots me and rushes toward me, I’ll only need one good swing to take him out. I will use his momentum as he rushes to let the knife sink deep into his throat. It’s a smaller target than his belly, but more effective at getting him taken out fast. I’d seen guys stabbed in the gut go on to run through the streets for hours during the Game. It was a good lesson on picking out the weakest spot and aiming true.
I don’t know how long I sit there and watch him. My ass goes numb and my fingers ache from where I’m gripping the knife handle so tight. I can’t look away from him, even for a second; my eyes refuse to blink. I jump when the door opens and Joey pushes himself off the ground to face Avery.
I’ve never seen the two of them interact. It’s weird to think we’ve been at the same school for months, eating meals together and passing each other in the halls, and yet I’ve never seen them so much as look at each other.
“Dad’s not happy you called the cops on me, Floss,” he says in a sing-song voice. Avery’s eyes are cool, even as her shoulders tremble.
“Don’t call me that. Is that all you have to say? Because we both know it wasn’t me that called them.”
The clock was ticking. Joey was going to make his next move on me soon. “Nevertheless. Just telling you what dear old Dad thinks. He asked me to pass this on to you.”
Joey’s hand cracks across her cheek so hard, she bounces back against her door. Her head makes a sickening thud, and I open my door up wide, the light from my room cutting through the darkness. Joey doesn’t look up at me, but Avery’s eyes grow wide.
