Page 64 of Crush
Identical to Savannah’s and Malcolm’s spreadsheet in every way, save for a new column.
“You are the true mascot for corporal punishment, little pretty.”
The top of my head plonks against the wood in surprise. I can’t see Thorne from my vantage point, but I don’t have to, to know I’m caught red-handed.
Carefully, I put the spreadsheet back in its hiding place and shut the drawer. Then slowly, I draw up.
Thorne regards me with a suspiciously benign expression as he stands at the door, watching my rise with calculated boredom. There is slight swelling under his left eye and a cut on his lip, but otherwise, he’s come out of the fight with little injury.
Shit, I hope Zeke’s okay.
“I can explain,” I say lamely once I come to a stand.
“I’m sure I’ll be wildly entertained.”
He steps in and shuts the door.
Then locks it.
27
Ember
“What have you done to Zeke?”
It’s the first question I think to ask.
Thorne’s eyes blaze. I swear the blackness takes over the white when he looks at me. “You break into my home, insult me, bring the one guy I can’t stand, flaunt him in my goddamn face, and now you want to know if he’s survived my wrath? Tell me…” Thorne steps closer, and I’ve never been more thankful for a giant piece of wood between us. “Are you this dense on purpose, or is it an after-effect of your complete stupidity in spreading your legs for that prick?”
“First off, you don’t like anyone, so it comes as no surprise you hate Zeke, too.” I fold my arms over my chest. “And you made it very clear how you feel about me, so why should you care who I bring to your party?”
“Uninvited. Unwanted. Un-fucking-believable,” he retorts. “Why am I so focused on you when you’re nothing but a slu—”
“Don’t say it.”
He angles his head at my unexpected vitriol.
“I don’t deserve to be called a whore or a slut. Call me anything else you want, but don’t call me that.”
“Bastard. Illegitimate. Unloved. A redundant Weatherby. We already have a pathetic excuse for that moniker.” With each insult, he shifts closer, his father’s desk nothing but a buoy he can push to the side at any time.
He stings like a scorpion, and he means to. I work my jaw, desperate to maintain my ground. “Keep going, asshole.”
“What’s it feel like when your real father doesn’t give a shit about you, and the family you thought you belonged to so willingly gave you back?” He laughs low in his throat, shaking his head, but his eyes burn. “If it were my daughter, damn the consequences. I would’ve fought like hell to keep you, yet what did good old Barb and Gary Beckett do? Begged for their own futures to be spared at the cost of yours. Malcolm doesn’t want you to do anything but grow dust in his house like every other artifact he’s collected over the years.”
“No.” I wrap my arms tighter around my chest. “You don’t know shit about my life, and you haven’t cared to learn, so don’t start now.”
“Get the fuck out of my father’s office.”
Thorne spits it out so suddenly, I jerk back.
“You don’t belong at Winthorpe, you aren’t welcome in Raven’s Bluff, and you sure as fuck don’t have the privilege of going through my family’s things. Get. Out.”
“Your family?” I relax my arms and scoff. “You call what you have a family unit? Your stepmother is nothing but a bet that was won, your father considers you a sad mistake for a son, and your only claim to fame is that you rule over high school. You’re nothing but a ruthless bully with a miserable future ahead. I’m not intimidated by you. I feel sorry for you.”
I didn’t mean to say it. Oh, God, I regret it as soon as it leaves my mouth. I know what mentioning his father does to him. I’m so aware of his vulnerability and vowed never to use it against him … but it’s too late.
Lightning flashes through the side window, casting Thorne’s face in a metallic death mask of his own making. In another streak of white, Thorne leaps over the desk. My head knocks against the bookshelf as his hand closes on my throat.