***
The crunching gravel outside my window alerts me of Jace’s arrival. I swipe my phone screen to check the time. It’s 2:00 a.m. Rubbing my eyes, I kick my legs over the edge of my bed. I’ll never get any sleep if I don’t get this off my chest. Every time I close my eyes, I can't get his face out of my mind. His eyes roiled with lust and hate, but something peeking beneath their piercing gaze offers more questions than answers: jealousy.
The back door creaks open as I pad out into the hall. Jace steps quietly into his room. I’m not looking for confrontation or a fight. I’m merely searching for answers, yet my stomach tightens as I stand on the other side of his door. Jace is unpredictable. I could be walking toward the guillotine if his mood is wrong. With my heart in my throat, I knock.
Tingles sweep down my spine when the door swings open. In the time it took me to get from my room to his, he managed to take off his shirt and swap his jeans for a pair of nylon shorts. “What do you want?”
The last remnants of tonight’s buzz still swim in my veins. I shuffle from foot to foot, smothering the fire slowly brewing deep within. “Can we talk?”
He lifts his arm and leans on the doorframe. “About what?”
I blow out a heavy breath. “Can I come in, or do you want to come out?”
Without giving a verbal answer, he pushes the door open and steps farther into his room. I take it as an invitation.
“What was that tonight?”
A low growl rattles in his chest before rippling up in the form of words. “What was what?”
My knees tremble in his presence. I’ve never been great at conflict, but things can’t continue the way they’re going. I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest, shielding my heart from I’m not sure what. “Are you on drugs?”
The question catches him off guard. For a split second, he stands quiet, his lashes flapping over crystal-blue eyes. “What are you? A narc?”
I square my shoulders. “That guy Robbie. He said you’re taking HGH to win fights. Is it true?”
A band of laughter snaps between us. “Are you fuckin’ serious?” He steps toward me, cocking his head, his eyes narrowed. “Not that it’s any of your business, princess, but no. I don’t need ’roids to beat pansies like Robbie. But if you’re interested in illegal pharmaceuticals, maybe you should talk to your dipshit boyfriend.”
He turns his back to me, but I’m not finished. It’s been weeks, and nothing has changed. I’m tired of being afraid and tiptoeing around him. It’s time to lay it all out and let the chips land where they may. “Troy told me about your history. You were friends once.”
When he whips in my direction, his razor-sharp gaze slices clear through me. “I was never friends with that piece of shit.”
“He said you robbed him.”
A look of amusement crosses his face. "Robbed him? What the fuck could that rich bitch have to offer me? I don't need shit from him, and I sure as hell don't need your accusations." He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. "For your information, princess, he was the one stealin’ shit from his folks. I was just the scapegoat."
"Is that true?"
A dash of hurt streaks through the anger clouding his gaze. "What's it matter to you? You fuckin’ rich people stick together, and you’re all the same. You think your money gives you the right to do and say whatever the hell you want with no fault for your actions while the rest of us pay the consequences.”
“You don’t even know me. How dare you make a snap judgment based on how I was born? I would never do that to you.”
"Bullshit, Ellie. You did, and you know it. Did you see the shit you wore the first fucking day? You had wealth written across your forehead and couldn’t fucking wait to show it off. Now you’re cattin’ around with that shit-for-brains daddy’s boy, lettin’ him fill your head with lies while you eat ’em all up with your silver spoon.”
"You know what you are? A hypocrite. You judging me because I came from money is the same thing as them judging you because you don’t. You’re no better than anyone else, Jace."
I’ve seen the ugly side of wealth—I lived through it—but I never considered myself one of those airhead socialites who define themselves by what they have. I’m a good person, and I’m not going to stand here and allow myself to be stereotyped as one of those heartless few with money to throw around.
“You’re so fuckin’ blind.”
I throw my arms open. “Oh yeah? Then open my eyes.”
He invades my space. The riot in my chest only grows louder the closer he gets. He grasps my shoulders and pushes my back against the wall. Heat falls off his body in waves, his breath beating against my lips in violent whisps. “Mark my words: Troy’s a predator, Ellie. Don’t be his prey.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” My voice comes out as a wavering whisper. I press my palms to the wall to keep from sliding down and puddling at Jace’s feet.
The smell of smoke wafts around him, but my eyes fixate on the burning flame in his steely gaze. A messed-up mix of hate and rage, lust and longing that makes me shiver. “It’s your funeral,” he growls, his mouth so close I could rise to my toes and taste it if I wanted to.
“You know what I think?” I press my lips together to steady the tremble before continuing. “Your anger is a mask. You’re just as bad as Troy, except instead of using money to get what you want, you use fear.”