“I have to go,” I say. “I really don’t want to see the rest of the football team today.” I turn to the truck, but his voice stops me, the quiet rumble of it raw with concern.
“You’re not fighting anymore.”
“You kinda broke my hand.” I lift my fist, and the silver rings glint in the sun. For a moment, neither of us speak. Royal stares at my knuckles, swallowing so hard I can see his Adam’s apple bob.
The wordDOLLis spelled out over my knuckles, just like Preston’s tats spell the word over his fingers. He had the weapon custom made to fit my hand exactly, and because he’d spare no expense, he had them set a diamond into the center of theO.To a normal person, they just look like gaudy rings, but a thug like Royal probably knows what they really are. I’m okay with that. With him knowing I’m armed, but that I won’t fight him.
“He’s the one who sent those videos, isn’t he?” Royal asks at last, his gaze rising to meet mine. There’s something so raw in his eyes it makes my dead heart throb once inside me, like it might come back to life.
I don’t want that part of me to live again. At some point, I caught on to what Preston was doing with those videos, or at least suspected. I don’t remember when. But seeing Royal in the flesh and knowing he’s watched them is different than some abstract, detached theory in the back of my mind. I should feel shame, but the ability to feel that emotion hasn’t returned. All I feel is belligerent spite. I’m glad he sent them to Royal. I hope they made him sick.
“Look, whatever you want, just take it,” I say again. “You want to talk, talk. You want to fuck me, I’ll lay down on the back seat and you can fuck me in the ass or whatever sick thing you want to do that you think can still hurt me. It won’t. Don’t you get that? It doesn’t matter, Royal. Whatever you do to me, I don’t care. If you want to kill me, here are my wrists. Fucking slit them. I won’t fight. I don’t care.”
Royal takes a quick step forward, and I instinctively cringe, my body betraying me, though my mind flatlined that night in the swamp and there have only been a few blips since.
“I want you to fucking fight,” Royal growls.
“Why, is that what gets you off?” I ask. “Oh, wait, never mind. Nothing gets you off now that I’m not around, right? Is that why you’re here?”
“No,” he snaps, frustration etched into his every beautiful feature. “What the fuck, Harper. I’m not here to fuck you.”
“You can see where a girl could be confused,” I say. “Seeing as how all of last year, you told me that was my sole purpose in life.”
Even if I’m willing to give him everything, my body is on high alert, ready for him to make a move. I see his fingers twitch, but instead of reaching to hurt me, he rakes them roughly through his hair again.
“Would you—” He stops and takes a ragged breath. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Why?” I ask incredulously. “To gloat? There’s no need for that. You won. A resounding victory, in fact. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind. You annihilated the competition. Gloating is small even for you, Royal.”
The bell chimes, and my body stiffens.
“Be at the Slaughterpen on Sunday night,” he says. “I have something for you.”
I just stare at him in disbelief. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?”
“Just be there.”
“Why?” I demand, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
“It’s just for a fight,” he says. “I promise.”
I can hardly keep myself from hysterical laughter. “There are no fights on Sundays,” I point out. “And a promise from you means less than nothing to me.”
“It should.”
I snort. “Oh, and also, I don’t answer to you anymore, Royal.”
His jaw tightens, and he glances at the students starting to meander out of the building. When he turns back, his eyes are no longer filled with pleading and vulnerability, the real Royal. They’ve hardened into resolve.
“Then get used to seeing me around,” he says.
Before I can answer, he turns and strides to the Rover and climbs inside, swinging it around the Escalade and toward the front of the lot. The realization that he must be picking up his brothers slams into my chest, and my heart lurches into my throat. I scramble up into truck, not wanting to see them. I know I will as soon as I’m admitted back to school, but I’m not ready. Maybe I’ll never be ready. Maybe this was a huge mistake.
I roar out of the lot, not looking back, not wanting to catch a glimpse of them or for them to catch one of me. My hands are shaking. This time, I watch the mirrors constantly, my heart ricocheting around my ribcage every time I glance back and am sure that I’ll see the Rover looming.
But this time, he doesn’t follow.
nineteen