“No, please stop it, Jeremy. It was never like that.”
“How would I know? Everything you said and did could be part of his careful scheme. Were you always with him, and he told you to use me for his greater plan? Did he teach you how to open your legs for me?”
She raises her hand and slaps me across the face, tears sliding down her cheeks. I could almost believe they’re real.
Almost.
Despite the crying and the sniffling, she raises her chin. “I won’t allow you to disrespect me like that.”
I clutch her hands, then slam her against the nearest wall. “Disrespect? What the fuck do you know about that word when you’ve been using me all along?”
“I wasn’t…” More tears, more sniffles. “I don’t know what I have to do so you’ll believe me, but I promise that I cut ties with Lan after that fire.”
“Obviously. All the times I saw you with him after, even now, clearly testify to that fact.”
“Jeremy…” Her voice softens, becoming gentle. “You need to let go of your illogical fixation that something is going on between me and Landon. There never was and never will be. I…I love you. Not him. You.”
A muscle tics in my jaw. “Is that what he also taught you to tell me?”
“No! What is wrong with you?” She cries harder. “I just told you that I love you and you still think this is a game?”
I wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze. “I should’ve ended it the first time you called me by his name. I should’ve either fucking killed you or him.”
Her face reddens as she convulses against me, unable to free herself, and I can tell I’m going to snuff the life out of her.
That in a minute, she’ll be dead.
She chose him, not me.
What the fuck is wrong with me? When did I become an animal in every sense of the word?
How could I inflict such pain on her just because I’m being cut open by the truth I refused to see all this time?
Still, my demons thrash and revolt, demanding retribution. They screech and claw. They scream and chant.
She chose him, not me.
She chose him, not me.
She. Chose. Him.
I release her with a jerk, and just like that, my demons quiet down and all the fight leaves my limbs. My obsession bleeds out until it’s floundering in its own blood on the ground.
Cecily remains in place, breathing harshly, crying, sniffling, her eyes look so hurt, so scared, I want to stab myself.
“Run,” I whisper. “This time, don’t let me find you.”
“Jeremy…”
“Run!” I roar.
She flinches, looks at me as if I were a manifestation of her nightmares, her eyes blurred out with tears, then she turns around and runs.
This time, I don’t follow.
This time, I do what I should’ve done that first time.
I let her go.
39
JEREMY
I sit in the control room of the mansion, nursing a bottle of alcohol and staring at the security footage of the initiation that changed everything.
Or, more accurately, I watch the sequence of when Cecily ran off the property on repeat. She probably thought she was out of the cameras’ range, because she removed her wig and mask as she sprinted away.
The scene is oddly reminiscent of earlier, when she finally managed to slip through my fingers.
Like sand.
This was probably how it was supposed to be long before she barged into my space.
The first time I actually ‘met’ Cecily was at the fight club when Annika decided it was a good idea to sneak in with her new friends. That was exactly one night before the initiation.
I throw my head back as images from that first meeting flow to consciousness.
Nikolai is bored.
It’s downright unsettling whenever he’s bored. He spirals into a vicious cycle of self-sabotage, over-the-top violence, and destructive paths.
For that reason, it’s imperative to keep him on a leash, which is why I’m at the fight club.
Noise and excited energy hover in the packed building. Crowds mingle, chatter, and place bets on who will come out as the winner tonight.
I pay no attention to the whole scene. It’d be ideal if I could grab Nikolai by the back of the neck and leave, but something tells me my unhinged friend would be opposed to the idea.
Killian walks beside me, his nonchalant mood matching mine. We don’t have to push through the people since most of them automatically scatter upon seeing us. A reputation like ours precedes us whenever we go.
He comes to a slow halt, and a rare gleam sneaks into his otherwise grim eyes as he stares ahead. If I didn’t know Kill lacked emotions, I’d say he appears spellbound.
He nods at me and then ahead. I follow his line of vision and find a group of girls. I narrow my eyes upon seeing a very familiar person in her signature purple dress. Annika.
Who is definitely not supposed to be here.
I side-eye Kill, ready to have his balls on a platter if my sister is the subject of his attention. However, I find him snapping pictures of the one on the far right. Landon’s sister, Glyndon. I know her name because I did a background check on the Elites’ leader, also known as a slimy fuck.
In fact, I know everyone in that group of girls ever since Annika decided to move in with them.
The loud blonde is Ava Nash and the silver-haired one is Cecily Knight.
They all come from prestigious families in the UK and Dad agreed to let Annika live with them. I still don’t.
I stroll toward them silently, Killian in tow. Once we’re near them, I hear Annika saying, “You…you’re right. Jer can’t do anything to me.”
“Sure about that, Anoushka?” I whisper from behind and she goes still.
“Oh, hi, Jer.” She speaks in a high-pitched awkward tone. “I didn’t really mean to come here. I was just taking a tour with my new friends.”
My attention doesn’t waver from her, and I raise a brow. “Taking a tour in a place you’re not supposed to be?”
“I was just—”
“Leaving. Now.”
“Hey.” The silver-haired one steps in front of my sister with a raised chin.
Not only does she look me in the eye, but she also glares down her nose at me, completely disregarding the height difference or the fact that I could squash her petite body in a fraction of a second if I chose to.
But the insolence doesn’t stop there, because she says, “She can decide whether to leave or stay on her own because oh, I think we’re at an age where women don’t get told what to do.”
The audacity of this little fucking minx.
Though my expression doesn’t change, I stare at her through a different lens.
Despite her bizarre silver hair, Cecily is a beautiful girl. High cheekbones, petite nose and lips, almond-shaped green eyes, pale skin that would look exquisite with marks, and a body that’s begging to be fucked.
If I’d run into her under different circumstances, I would have fucked her while grabbing onto that white hair and trailing my knife over her flesh. I would’ve bloodied her the fuck up while she writhed and screamed.
The keyword being if.