Fucking worm.
But yes. Because I was born into “elite society,” I’ll be expected to marry someone of my parents’ choosing. In my case, my father’s choice. My mother’s been gone since I was a teenager. That I don’t already have a betrothed is considered permissive—many others in our circle already have planned marriages, joining families for either more power and riches or to maintain the power and riches they have.
My free hand moves across my chest, attempting to remove the invisible weight that seems to have grown several sizes in the space of a few heartbeats, threatening to crush me. Since it can’t be removed, I down the rest of the scotch I’d been nursing as I wait for Father to bail me out of that one. But he doesn’t, leaving me afloat in the uncomfortable silence, an invisible clock ticking to the sound of my heartbeat until we reach the moment any answer would become awkward.
Kline is a major financial donor for the North Point Firehawks. Conversations with him need to be treated with care. All I can do in this situation is lead him on and hope my father doesn’t have any real plans of marrying me off to him. I’d rather tell him to go fuck himself.
Fluttering my lashes enough that it’s obvious, I smile. “They’re the attributes of anobedienthusband.”
I force the words out, but breathing’s hard as I fight against the weight, now blocking oxygen from getting in.
Smile, Ryan. Just keep fucking smiling.
“Really? Well then, I’ll expect to see more of you this season, Ryan.”
He leaves, and I turn, glaring at my father. “What was that all about?” I hiss.
An amused smile spreads across his lips. “It’s good for you to remember there are worse prisons than the one I have you in.”
At least he knows it’s a prison. One thing I’ll give him is that he lets you know where you stand, and I like not having to wonder. But he’s too good at knowing which buttons to press, and it’s a real threat. If I fall out of line, he’d place me with another elite family, like the Klines, who don’t allow their spouses out of the house without them.
According to rumors.
I clutch my chest again. “I … I need air. Please.”
He considers me, and he must finally realize that I’m on the verge of passing out. “Go on then. Don’t be long.”
Shoving my glass into his fist, I beeline for the tall double doors that lead out to the courtyard. My designer shoes slap over stone, a sheet of it so big, it’s almost like I’m on the ice. Only, unlike when I’m gliding over tranquil planes of frozen water, I can’t make sense of anything tonight. I can feel every toe in my skates, but these fucking dress shoes are wrong on my feet, and I’m sure the ground is going to disappear on my next step …
I halt, frozen, spinning my head in the direction I came from. I’m a long way from the courtyard, somewhere wooded. I must have been running for a while. It’s all tall trees and dirt in the place I’ve come to. But I’m not completely shrouded in darkness. There are lanterns strung along the overhanging branches, and the full moon taunts my ass from where she sits, nestled in twilight.
Bending over, palms planted on my thighs, I pull cool air into my lungs, catching my breath—along with a deep voice off in the distance.
“Give me my damn money, you fucking snake.” My heart rails against my rib cage in the sudden silence. Who the fuck isthat? “You’re going to regret that, Clarence. One day, I’m going to rip your tongue out with my bare hands and shove it down your throat.”
Oh, God. The shiver running through me right now. His voice is pure decadence.
There’s a bone-deep growl and then silence. An owl calls in the distance.
Since I don’t hear the other person, it must have been a phone call. I should run. The last thing I need is to go toe-to-toe with someone who’s clearly a psychopath but facing him is less daunting than forcing myself to head back to my gilded prison.
At least out here, I’m free.
There are loud footsteps, each one heavy with anger and purpose. He comes into view from behind the tree, my athlete’s vision able to make him out from afar. Holy shit, that’s Tate VanCourt. He’s the coach for one of our rival teams the Shadowridge Scorpions.
Has he always been that big, though? Like, he could be a real-life werewolf at his size. How does he fit into that suit? I don’t think it likes him very much with the way it’s bursting at the seams. His black hair is long on top, short on the sides, and he has thick brows shaped like majestic eagle wings, pinched together in the center as he analyzes me.
“How much did you hear?” he demands, getting close.
I stand taller as he approaches; my feet unable to detach themselves from the ground. I’m still not as tall as he is. How is that possible? I’m just over six feet tall. I’m usually one of the bigger things in a room, but not if he’s in it, I guess.
Danger bleeds off the man, and even that doesn’t deter me.
“Enough,” I say. “I heard enough.”
“You snot-nosed little shit.”
Little?I’m a lot of things; little isn’t one of them.
