Damaged (Boys of Winter #2) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,14
flicking toward Carver before focusing heavily on the dickhead across the table. I slowly walk around, the tension building with every step I take. He watches me carefully, realizing before I’ve even got to him just how badly he’s fucked up. I may be the one on trial here, but I’m still his fucking leader.
I walk right up to the back of his chair and lean around him. “What’s your name?” I question, fixing him with a deadly stare.
He swallows before narrowing his gaze, assuming I’m just some punk kid who he can toss around and make a fool of. “Matthew Montgomery.”
“Well, Matthew,” I say with a sickly-sweet smile. “Do I need to muzzle you or will you shut the fuck up so I can tell you assholes what the hell went down last night? It’s quite a simple task, but if you can’t manage, let me know now so I can pull your balls out through your throat.”
Matthew’s jaw clenches, but I keep the smile plastered across my face, knowing damn well that when it comes time to vote, this bastard won’t be on my side. He leans back in his seat and I watch the humiliation wash over his face. Then just to add salt to the injury, I wink and blow him a kiss before slowly walking back to my seat, knowing damn well that he won’t be an issue for the rest of the trial.
“Okay,” I announce to the table as I take my seat. “Does anybody else have any issues with my storytelling abilities or am I free to continue with my rundown of the night?”
“Just get on with it,” Preston Scardoni says. “I have things to do today.”
As much as I hate the guy, I ignore the sharp tone in his voice and pick up where I left off. “Royston Carver interrupted my dance with Hunter King, and the first thing he told me was to plaster a smile over my face to express a united front for the people watching. Naturally, I wasn’t fond of his demands and tried to leave but he held me tight enough to leave bruises on my arms, refusing to let me walk away.”
Carver’s stare tightens. “Prove it.”
I raise a brow and do just that, knowing damn well that Carver is familiar with every little mark, freckle, and scar on my body, even though he’s never touched me in the way he truly wants to. Without skipping a beat, I stand and turn so that he can see the thick purple lines of Royston’s fingers that dug into my skin last night.
Shocked gasps come from the right-hand side of the table while scoffs and disbelief come from the other. Anger flashes over Carver’s features, and a second later, it’s gone, replaced with the same irritating mask he wore when I first walked in here. “That could have been from anything,” Preston Scardoni insists. “You’re a reckless, violent teen. You have absolutely no proof that those marks came from Royston.”
God, I’ve never wanted to throat punch someone more in my life.
“I agree,” another man says from beside him. “While Royston certainly was a piece of work, that’s not sufficient evidence to claim that he deserved to give up his life.”
“Elodie never claimed that was why she killed Royston,” Earnest throws back across the table. “She was simply recapping her story.”
“Exactly,” Preston scoffs. “It’s nothing more than a story. How are we to ever believe a word this girl says?”
“Because it’s the truth,” I demand. “And you damn well know it.”
Preston growls, slamming his hand on the table, much louder than Tobias had earlier. “I know of nothing,” he roars. “I had nothing to do with Royston’s misdemeanors.”
“So, you agree then? Royston is guilty of misdemeanors?”
His eyes widen. “What? No …”
“Just what I thought.”
“That’s enough of your twisted mind games,” Carver says. “My father wasn’t guilty of anything.”
I scoff, shaking my head at him, unable to believe the level he’ll go just to get at me. “Don’t make me destroy you, Carver,” I beg of him. “You’ve told me enough about this world and the families within it to bring you down, and I’d really prefer not to do that to you, but if you keep pushing me, I’ll be left with no fucking choice.”
Carver’s stare tightens. While the boys haven’t told me specific things about this world, they’ve given me enough breadcrumbs to be capable of putting the pieces together. And if it’s my freedom on the line, he