“Too many weeks have passed. I’ve offered more than enough time for you to get your dick out of your hands and handle your fucking business. Every time I have to remind you of that, there’ll be hell to pay.”
He releases my forehead and pulls his hand back only to drive the lit end of the cigarette into the side of my neck. Excruciating pain pricks at my skin, stabbing at the circular area where it meets my skin.
Do not let him get a rise out of you, damn it.
I grunt through the impact of burning embers and gnash my lips together. I imagine them sewn into one; my vocal cords having been muted by the power of my brain, but then my body goes haywire, and the adrenaline sparks a superhuman rage at the same time his goons loosen their hold. I shove them away, spit out a curse, and nearly fling myself at Finn. I would if it weren’t for Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum.
Agony clamps down on my neck. My nervous system kicks into overdrive. The adrenaline from the last few seconds doingnothing to numb the pain or the bile that’s slowly working its way up the back of my throat.
By the grace of God, I maintain my composure and ignore the need to upheave my last meal, standing taller when the three of them walk back to the SUV.
Clyde watches me with ominous eyes as I bring my hand up to my neck, then gets in the car with them before they’re zipping down the quiet, dark road as if nothing ever happened.
EIGHT
VIOLET
I’m ridingthe elevator up to my floor when my phone rings. The name on the screen makes me smile and I answer. “Well, hey. To what do I owe the pleasure, Olive Garden?”
“I should hang up on you for that.”
I toss my head back and laugh as I make it down the hall to my apartment.
“You’re lucky you’re my favorite sister,” she tells me.
“I’m youronlysister, Olive.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you.”
I press the key into the door and twist it open, setting my stuff down in the foyer and slipping my shoes off. “How are classes going?”
Olive took a scholarship at a prestigious dance academy three-hundred miles away in Florida. Her freshman year kicked off a few weeks ago, but her coursework is different than the average college. Not only is she required to take the general courses at her level, but she’s expected to work on style and formation regularly. By the end of the year, she’ll perform a never-before-seen number that the academy will take into consideration for her to remain a student for the following year.
She groans. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Olive.”
“Everything’s okay, Vi. I promise. I’m just already feeling the burnout.”
Concern finagles its way through my veins as I head to the kitchen and grab a water bottle from the fridge. The second Olive was old enough, Mom put her in dance classes. She also took gymnastics, but ballet stuck. She used to come home from the studio with bloody toes. I remember being the one who wrapped them. Each day after, she was back in the studio again.
I can’t think of a time when Olive didn’t enjoy dancing, so the fact she’s telling me it’s already wearing her down worries me.
“Pace yourself,” I tell her. “Take breaks when you need them. You put your body through a lot so make sure you rest it too.”
She sighs. “Breaks aren’t always an option, Vi.”
“What have you been doing to get your mind off it?” There’s a pause and when she doesn’t answer, I figure it out on my own. “You’ve been out partying, haven’t you?”
“It’s my first year, Vi! I’m supposed to be out having fun.”
“You’re on a scholarship to one of the best dance academies in the nation. You’ll never forgive yourself if you ruin your chances because you spent too much time out on the weekends.”
She grumbles. “I know, I know.”
“Promise me,” I say after taking a sip of water.
“Okay. I promise.”
