Without another word, Greyson storms out of the room, and just like that, the tension in the air thickens. Zayden jumps from my lap.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, shoving me onto the ground. The back of my head connects with the metal headrest of the chair. It hurts, but I hold it in. His foot comes down on my chest, pushing me into the ground. A laugh works its way up my chest, my arms splayed beside me, and I’m even harder.
“What was what?”
He presses harder. “You’re kicking in the doors now?” His eyes narrow, lips curling into a scowl. “Didn’t you want me to fuck for some answers? Such a spoiled brat, incapable of sharing his toys.”
“Guilty as charged, how about you show me.” I grin, noticing the tent on his shorts.
“Show you what?”
“What were you going to do to Greyson?” I breathe out, this time expecting him to react. To kick me, to play with me like he always does. But instead, he stumbles back, clearly shaken by my response.Why? Who knows? It’s not like I ever denied my attraction towards him.
Zayden simply shakes his head, confusion striking his beautiful features. We don’t fuck,shit, we don’t even talk. He just grabs his things and storms out of the locker rooms, trying his best to outrun me. That won’t happen, I’m a Safra after all. Running will only lead him right back into my waiting arms, plus I like the hunt. The harder he makes it for me, the more I’ll chase.
And I don’t play fair.
My phone buzzes again, and a cold, eerie feeling runs down my spine.
A warning bell rings through me. I pull the phone from my pants, read the message, and swallow hard. Ezra and Peter are in a room with Nico, and my stomach tightens; its contents threaten to spill when I see the attire and who chuckles beside them. His hand greedily on my friend. I exit out of the picture,inhaling deeply, before exhaling a shaky breath. Bringing the phone to my forehead, I slap the area over and over when it dawns on me.
Whoever is behind Anonymous just made a big mistake. Given the room the picture is in, it means that whoever is behind the messages has access to Velarium, which means they are either a petal or a team player. Maybe even a donor. But who? A headache throbs at my temples, and I rub the spot, letting out a sigh of relief. This is going to be a problem for another day. I’m tired and need some sleep. Right now, I’m more curious to know if he’s a friend or foe; another buzz sounds.
Anonymous:
You can’t protect both of them.
This time, there is a picture of Zayden outside, in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette. The sight makes my blood run cold as I storm out of the room and head towards him, another buzz.
Anonymous:
You will have to choose. Or they will both bleed.
1. my little lion
2. my little lion
Chapter Eight
Zayden
It’s been days since the fight, and the more I try to escape from the infection that is Thiago Safra, I simply can’t. A shiver runs through my body; it’s not windy out, yet the cold lingers with the lack of sun. I like practicing while it’s still dark out, enjoying the colors displayed in the sky when the sun finally rises. Through clenched teeth, I let out a huff of breath, trying to push my body harder, making warm blood continue to cycle through as the icy grass crunches beneath my cleats, dribbling and tapping the ball between my feet.
Once I make it to the end of the field, I turn instead of doing the same movement. I kick the ball, running behind it, and pivot before launching it towards the goal. The ball smashes against the top corner of the net. My feet move in the direction of the ball, heart beating frantically in my chest, my mind drifting back to the night at the warehouse. The look on Thiago’s face during the drive back to the dorm.Could he have been jealous? What other reason would he have to stop me?I shake away the thought before dropping to the cold ground and planking. Lifting my body off the ground, my arms holding my weight until my core burns and my muscles twitch. It doesn't matter what I try to do; my thoughts go to the ones I try to forget. The same memories that keep me tossing and turning all night. Especially today, February 2nd, the day of my sperm donor's birth. I hate that it affects me, that deep inside I’m still that little boy wanting love. Maybe that’s why I dislike Thiago so much. I’m borderline obsessed.
We are a reflection. He has a family. I don’t.
He has power. I have none.
My arms shake, recalling the nights I would stay awake, cowering in the corner, listening to my father as he cursed the woman who abandoned us.
Abandonedme.
I’m so unlovable that not only was I given a neglectful parent, but also one who refused to stick around. The one who carried me within her, felt me, and still had the balls to leave me behind with someone who hates her. And I’m the constant reminder of it. I didn’t know which one was worse. My breath comes in short and uneven gasps, clouds forming with each exhale.
Blood surges through my ears, and the veins in my arms bulge, as I continue to hold.
Lifting slightly, to shift from one side to another, helping the burn spread more, the cold from the frosty turf bites into my palms. A welcome refresher, dropping my body into the cool soil, turning on my back, and looking up at the sky.
