Shredded:An Extreme Risk Novel

Chapter 4





Ophelia


I shrug out of the hospital gown, trying to ignore how freaking cold it is in the stupid clinic. How freaking cold it is everywhere in this godforsaken city. It’s like no one in Park City knows what heat is or something. Or maybe it’s just that my blood is too thin from all those years of living in a place where the average temperature is eighty degrees and the average humidity level is about a thousand percent.

Either way, I’m freezing. I reach for my turtleneck, slide it on, then follow it with my jeans, sweater, jacket, and scarf. None of the layers seem to help, though. I’m still one degree away from having my teeth chatter and my fingers turn blue.

There’s a knock on the door and I turn to see the nurse from earlier standing there. She’s got that I’m-so-happy-I-must-be-on-really-good-drugs smile on her face that so many of the people in this town seem to wear all the time. “The X-rays all turned out, Ophelia. You’re free to go.”

Thank God. I slide my feet into the thick socks and Uggs I just spent too much of my first paycheck on, then snatch my purse out of the visitor’s chair. This place gives me the creeps.

The nurse’s eyes widen at my full-out charge for the door, and she quickly steps aside to avoid getting run over. Smart woman. I have no intention of stopping until I’m out of this damn place—even the snow outside looks good in comparison.

To be fair, there’s nothing wrong with the clinic per se. Just the memories that being here brings up. But if the X-rays show what the doctor thinks they will—that the screws from the last surgery are healing exactly as they should be—then I won’t have to come back here for a long time. That’s something, anyway.

“The doctor will call you later today or tomorrow to let you know the results of the X-rays,” the nurse calls after me.

I lift my hand in a wave to let her know I heard her, but I don’t stop. The ball of nerves that’s been inside me since I got off the bus this morning has grown to epic proportions. I’m nauseous and dizzy and desperate to escape, as much from my past as from this damn clinic.

I take a wrong turn, end up racing down a long hallway. I make another turn when I get to the end of the hallway, and then another one, all the time getting a little more frantic, a little more freaked out. I feel stupid, weak, ridiculous, but I swear if I don’t get out of here I’m going to lose it completely.

The sign at the end of the corridor says the exit is to the right, so I make another turn and end up plowing full speed into what feels like a brick wall.

I stumble and probably would have fallen—like a complete idiot—except the brick wall reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Hey there. You okay?”

If possible, my stomach gets even tighter. I know that voice. I look up from a chest encased in a tight black T-shirt into blue eyes that somehow manage to look both wicked and concerned. “What are you doing here?” I demand, the words popping out of my mouth before I can think better of them.

Z isn’t offended, though. He just gives me that yes-I-can-get-you-to-drop-your-panties-with-just-a-look grin of his even as he makes sure that I’m steady. When it becomes obvious that I am—or at least as steady as I’m going to get—he pulls his hands away. But not before rubbing his fingers gently up and down my arms.

There are three thick layers of fabric between his hands and my skin, and yet I swear I can feel the heat of his touch. It’s crazy, but it’s true. My arms still burn where he was touching me. I try to shrug it off, to pretend I don’t feel it, but I never have been very good at lying. Even to myself.

Z points at his forehead, and the stark white bandage that covers the left corner of it. “Hazard of being a snowboarder.”

Something about his voice and demeanor—soothing, solid, sexy—settles me. The panic recedes, and my brain cells start firing again, not a moment too soon.

“What? Having to wear really ugly Band-Aids? Or having to catch girls who all but throw themselves at you?”

He laughs. “A little bit of both, actually.”

“Yeah, I bet.” I take a deep breath and a step back. Then regret both. The breath because he smells really good—like pine and cinnamon and, randomly, oranges—and the step back because now I’m far enough away for his eyes to skim over me. Which they do. Not in a rude way, like he’s trying to get a look at my body, but in a hey-what-brings-you-to-a-medical-clinic kind of way. And since that’s the last thing I want to talk about, I find myself tensing up all over again as I wait for the inevitable questions.

In the end, he doesn’t ask them, though. Instead, he points down the hall to a red-and-white Exit sign. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

The fact that he reads me so easily has me bristling. “How do you know I’m looking for anything?”

“Believe me, I know the look. You’re as desperate to get out of here as I am.”

I can’t stand that he can see through me that easily, especially when I pride myself on my ability to hide my emotions. “Maybe I was just looking for the bathroom,” I tell him, annoyed.

His indigo eyes narrow suspiciously. “Were you?”

“No.” I don’t know why I admit it. At least not until he smiles and the damn thing lights up his whole perfect face. For the first time, I actually get why the women line up to throw themselves at him. The knowledge only makes me more wary, and I take a second step back.


“So,” he says, brows raised. “Are you ready to blow this pop stand?”

I start to turn him down, to make something up to get away from him, but the fact of the matter is that I’m breaking out in a sweat despite the cold. If I don’t get out of this clinic soon, they’re going to have to carry me out—after medicating me into a drug-induced stupor. “More than ready,” I finally admit.

“Me too.” Z puts his hand on my lower back, starts to guide me toward the door. I shrug him off, shoot him a glare, but he just grins. “I had to try.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

We push the door open and walk into the waiting room. Before I can do more than take one step forward, we’re surrounded.

“What did the doctor say?” Cam demands, poking at Z’s forehead. He winces but other than that tolerates her concern.

“Tell me you don’t have a concussion, man. You’ll be out for weeks.” Ash looks miserable at the very idea.

“I’m good,” Z answers. “Just a little bump.”

“A little bump? You were knocked out for three or four minutes!”

“I’m fine, Cam.” He reaches out and pats her head. “I swear.”

“Excellent! X Games invites are going out soon, and with the Olympic trials next month, it would totally suck if you were grounded,” Luc tells him, then glances at me curiously. “What are you doing here, Ophelia?”

“I had a doctor’s appointment. Z was just showing me the way out.” I pull out my cell phone, glance at the time. I’ve got fifteen minutes before the next bus leaves for the resort, which means I need to move it if I want to get to the bus stop in time. “Thanks,” I tell him before heading toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Hey, wait!” Luc says, jogging after me.

I don’t stop until I hit the sliding glass doors at the front of the clinic. The second I step outside, the tension leaves me in a rush. I take a few gulps of air before turning to look at Luc, who is watching me curiously.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Where are you rushing off to?”

“Back to the lodge. I’ve got things to do.”

“Are you working today?”

I pause for a moment, consider my answer. But since I haven’t gotten any better at lying in the last five minutes, I opt for the truth. “No.”

“Awesome. Then you can come with us. Since Z’s okay, we’re going to catch a late lunch and a movie.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” he says. “Just come on. It’ll be fun.”

I know I should say no, but I haven’t been to a movie in months. Haven’t done anything fun in months, if I’m being honest. And Z’s friends seem nice enough, even if he is a total hound.

“What movie?” I ask as I study him through narrowed eyes.

He names a thriller I’ve been dying to see, and my resistance drops another notch. Still, I’m no pushover. “What’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?” He’s wearing a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth expression.

I cross my arms over my chest, refuse to give an inch. “You know exactly what I mean.”

It’s his turn to study me. Finally he says, “I don’t care what he says. Z took a pretty hard hit today. If we don’t distract him, he’ll be right back on the half-pipe, and honestly, I don’t think he’s up for it.”

“What do I have to do with that?”

“He’s interested in you. If you come along, he won’t be in any hurry to rush off and try to kill himself again.”

His words are light, but there’s an underlying grimness to them that tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. “So I’m bait?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He grins engagingly, and despite myself, I’m suckered in.

“Fine, I’ll go. Only because I want to see the movie. Not because I want to spend time with Z.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m serious. I’m not going to f*ck him to keep him off the slopes, so if that’s what you’re thinking—”

“It’s not. I swear. In fact, I’m pretty much counting on you not f*cking him. I—”

“Hey, are you two about done with your secret little exchange?” Z asks as he walks up to us, followed closely by Cam and Ash.

“No secrets,” Luc tells him. “I was just convincing Ophelia to eat and catch the movie with us.”

Z’s brows nearly touch his hairline as he turns to me. “Oh, yeah?”

I like that he’s surprised, though I have no idea why. “Yeah.”

He stares at me for long seconds, those cool blue eyes of his so intense that it takes every ounce of willpower I have to hold his gaze. But if I learned anything in the years I spent hanging on the streets, it’s that guys like this don’t respect girls who back down. So I don’t. Instead, I lift my chin and wait for him to speak first.

I expect a sexual innuendo, maybe an advance. Instead, when he finally does speak, all he says is, “Cool.” Then he brushes past me and heads for the parking lot without a backward glance.

I watch him go.

So much for fending off advances. Looks like he got the message yesterday after all. I breathe a sigh of relief—or at least that’s what I tell myself it is—as I follow him and the others to the car.



I’m in the bathroom at the movie theater washing my hands after eating entirely too much popcorn when Cam walks in, the restroom door bouncing against the wall as she pushes through it.

“Hey,” I say, smiling at her in the mirror.

She doesn’t smile back.

In fact, she ignores me completely—just as she ignores the stalls lining the back wall of the bathroom. Instead, she walks to the sink next to mine and starts washing her hands just as I turn to dry mine.

Silence echoes off the cool tile walls, and though it makes me uncomfortable, I’m not going to be the one to break it. I already tried that—both in here and at the table where she spent most of the evening playing I-can’t-see-or-hear-Ophelia—and I’m done. Sure, it’d be nice to have a friend here in Siberia, and last night I thought that she might be that friend, but hey, whatever. No skin off my nose if she wants to pull that whole I’m-a-bitch-who-hates-you-for-no-reason routine. She’s not the first to throw it at me and probably won’t be the last.

I toss the paper towel into the trash basket and head for the exit without saying another word to her. But just as my hand closes around the door handle, she says, “You’re nothing to him. You know that, right?”

For a second I think about just continuing to walk. But if I do, this thing is going to grow by epic proportions. She’ll think I am interested in Z, which will just lead to more drama. And if there’s one thing I do not need more of in my life, it’s drama. The last year has given me more than enough of it, thank you very much.

“Why should I care?” I finally say, turning around to face her. “He’s nothing to me.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard that before.”

“I’m sure you have. But that doesn’t make it any less true coming from me. I’m not interested in Z.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure. He’s not exactly my type.”


Cam laughs at that. “If there’s one thing hanging around with Z has proven to me through the years, it’s that he’s every woman’s type.”

“Even yours?”

She stiffens, looks away. “No. Not mine. We’re just friends.”

“You sure about that?” I deliberately echo the question she had just posed to me.

“Yeah. Pretty sure. He’s not my type, either.” This time when she looks at me, her scowl has been replaced by a genuine smile. “I think I might actually be starting to like you.”

I raise my brows at her. “Is that such a shock?”

“Actually, it kind of is.” She reaches over and pulls the door open. “I spend so much time hanging out with guys—between those idiots out there and my four brothers—I barely remember how to act when I’m with another girl.”

“Yeah, well, not glaring at her like you want to rip her head off is usually a good start.”

She laughs as she follows me through the door. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good.”

We’re almost to the lobby where the guys are waiting when Cam grabs my arm. I turn to look at her questioningly, and for the first time since I met her she looks uncertain. “I don’t normally rat out my friends, but I figure you should know. Z made a bet with Luc that he could f*ck you before the end of next week.”

At first I think she’s joking, but the expression on her face is totally serious. “He made a bet?” I ask, completely blindsided, though I don’t know why. Z is exactly the kind of guy to do something like that. And yet I’m still surprised and disgusted and maybe even … hurt?

Ugh. Now I’m just being stupid. I can’t stand the idea that I can be hurt by such a douche bag—can’t stand the idea that I can be hurt at all, if I’m honest—so I push even the thought of it to the very back of my mind. Instead, I concentrate on the sheer ridiculousness of what Cam is telling me.

“I know, I know. It makes him sound like a total tool—”

“Oh, just a little,” I tell her sarcastically.

“Believe me, I’m not defending him. Or Luc. But there are a lot of reasons Z is the way he is. Still, I figured you deserved to know. He can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

“Really? I haven’t seen that at all.”

Cam laughs, a full-bodied, I-can’t-believe-you-said-that-but-I’m-so-glad-you-did kind of laugh, and somehow I find myself laughing with her, despite the fact that Z is an even bigger creep than I thought.

“So, what did he bet?” I ask when we finally calm down.

I’m thinking twenty bucks or dinner or even just bragging rights, so I’m totally taken aback when Cam answers, “His favorite snowboard.”

For a second I don’t even know what to say, what to feel. What kind of people are these that they can so casually bet away something that costs six, seven, even eight hundred dollars? I didn’t grow up on the streets or anything, but we always struggled at the end of the month. And where I come from, seven or eight hundred dollars is a lot of money. Throwing that away just because of pride or whatever the hell made him make that bet seems absurd. Not to mention arrogant as hell.

“Wow,” I say eventually. “He must be pretty confident that he’s going to get to f*ck me.”

For a second Cam looks pained, like she wants to say something else, something more. But then she just shrugs. “He’s got reason to be. I don’t think he meant any harm by it, but I still thought you had the right to know.”

I’ve got a million retorts on the tip of my tongue, but Cam is Z’s friend. She’s loyal to him. And she’s already stretched that loyalty by telling me about the bet in the first place. No need to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already does.

“It’s no big deal,” I force myself to tell her. “But thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it.”

She searches my face for a few seconds, and I make sure I’ve got my mask firmly in place. Good thing I’ve had a lot of practice using it over the last year, because it seems to fool her.

But before she can say anything else, the guys spot us and walk on over. “Ready for ice cream?” Luc asks, casually draping an arm around Cam’s shoulder.

She leans into him with a grin. “Are you buying?”

“I am,” Z answers. “I figure I owe you since I kept you all waiting around that damn clinic for hours this afternoon.”

“You didn’t keep me waiting,” I tell him.

He grins at me. “Yeah, but you’re new to Park City. You can consider it a welcome-to-Utah present.”

More like an I-want-to-f*ck-you present. As if. I haven’t slept with anyone since Remi and I’m sure as hell not about to start with some punk-ass snowboarder who thinks he’s God’s gift. I eye him up and down. “Funny, you don’t look like the Welcome Wagon.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ash says on a laugh. “Trust me on that one.”

“Yeah,” Luc adds. “Z’s got a whole lot of welcome in him.”

“So I hear,” I answer with a smirk.

Cam chokes on her own spit, then glares at me as Luc pounds on her back. But I just smile benignly. After all, two can play Z’s game, and it’s about time he knows it.