and years down the line, no matter what, and he’d still have that old wound to hang over my head, to use against me.
And if it means keeping me away from his sister, he will.
I’m rendered speechless for so long that the sharp burn of anger begins fading from his eyes. It’s replaced with something cold, but wary. “Dude, look—”
I cut him off. “Do you think I care about this juvenile Devil bullshit? Do you? Do you really think for one second I’m in this for the legacy and prestige of being pinned by some rich cocksuckers as worthy?” My nostrils flare and I meet him over the bench. “No, we were supposed to be doing this so that, next year, some high and mighty asshole doesn’t get put in the position to tell Vandy that what she wants doesn’t matter.” My nostrils flare, voice low and hard. “If you’re that asshole, then what the fuck am I doing here?”
He’s watching me, face gone shuttered, but I’m ripping off my shirt. I never change with the guys, too ashamed of my scars to let them become something whispered about between jocks. I don’t even fucking care anymore.
Vandy isn’t the only one who’s been marked for life, and I might have been the one driving, but Emory wanted me to do it.
I turn to my locker, shoving my shirt inside, and I know he’s staring at my scars. After a suspended moment, I hear some of the other guys go quiet, too. It makes my stomach roll painfully, but I thrust my arms into my gym shirt and yank it harshly over my head like it’s not making me sick to be seen like this.
When I slam my locker, turning around, Emory’s back on his side of the bench, pulling a roll of tape from his locker.
We don’t speak to each other for the rest of the day.
I’ve never been so tired as I am walking across campus toward the tower. It’s early evening, which means there are a lot of people around. Kids are walking to and from the dorms for dinner. Homecoming week begins Monday, which adds a new dynamic to the climate. The cheerleaders spent the afternoon painting giant banners for the game and are just now walking to their cars. Coach Morris wants a blow-out and he kept us late, running a million fucking suicide sprints. Vandy could probably out-run me at the moment. With a quick glance around, I duck into the tower when no one is looking and head up the stairs.
I made a decision during practice. I’m not going to give Afton the mark or let her give one to me. I can’t do it. There’s no other girl I want to be with. I won’t hold it against Vandy if she’s marked by Tyson and I’ll try not to kick his ass.
Try.
No promises.
Shit. This is a clusterfuck and there’s only one person to blame. Emory.
If he’d just let things be and trust his sister to make her own decisions, maybe he’d see that she’s not an idiot. She’s not him. God, the fucking irony of him believing he can make better decisions for anyone, let alone someone as strong-willed as his sister. Regardless, I’m going to have to reject Afton, which will probably cost me my spot in the group. Hers too, unless he’ll give her another Devil on account of me bailing on it.
It sucks, because despite what I’d said to Emory, I have grown to like the club. Everyone is pretty cool. The rites are stupid and childish, shit you’d expect a fifteen-year-old to get up to. But at fifteen, I was locked away, forced to become another subordinate in Mountain Point’s faceless, unfeeling mass. I never got to do shit like this. So yeah, I won’t lie. It was sort of fun, too.
But most of all, it brought me and V together. I know leaving the group won’t change that, which is why I’m willing to accept the consequences. Whatever we’ve got, it’s bigger than the Devils. She’s the only part of this I can’t do without.
I make my way up the spiral staircase, somewhere I haven’t been in years. As I approach the landing, I glance up and see the beam that holds the bell and eye the notches. Despite what I’d told Vandy, I know that beam has my name on it. Three notches. Kind of pitiful, but I’d barely been a Devil for more than a blink.