I sneered, shaking my head. “Trevor, your girlfriend is your issue.”

Not that she was his girlfriend anymore—I’d heard about the break-up—but I liked thinking of her as his. It would make all of this so much sweeter.

“But that’s not true, is it?” he replied. “Because when I was a teenager I realized it wasn’t just her. It was you, too.”

I glared ahead.

“You wanted her,” he insisted, “and you hated that I was always around, and you definitely hated that she was meant for me. You couldn’t be my brother, because I had the one thing you wanted,” he paused and then continued, “And I hated you, because the one thing I had, wanted you instead.”

My heart started drumming harder.

“So when did it start?” he asked, his tone causal while my stomach knotted. “When we were kids? When her body filled out, and you saw how fucking hot she was? Or maybe…it was when I told you last year how her cunt was the tightest thing I’d ever felt?”

I squeezed the phone in my hand.

“No matter what…” he taunted, “I’ll always have that on you.”

I curled my fist, every bone in my hand aching.

“So now that you got her to Delcour,” he went on, “finally all to yourself, and you do to her whatever it is you have planned, remember that I will get her back, and it will be me who puts a ring on her finger and keeps her forever.”

“You think that hurts me?” I bit out.

“It won’t be you I’m trying to hurt,” he threw back. “If that slut spreads her legs for you, I will make sure marrying me will be the nightmare of her life.”

Three Years Ago

TREVOR HADN’T SPOKEN TO ME since he’d brought me home from the catacombs. He’d been an asshole in the car, too, and the only reason I’d left with him was because I was afraid he’d tell my mom.

Or worse. Tell Mrs. Crist and get Michael into trouble.

Michael. I still felt the heat on the hand he’d held today. I stood in the Crist kitchen, dishing spoonfuls of food onto a plate, playing over the afternoon in my head. Had he really meant all those things he’d said today? What would’ve happened if Trevor hadn’t come in?

I blew out a long breath, heat stirring low in my belly. What was going to happen now? Would he finish what he’d started?

The Vengeful One by Disturbed echoed through the house, probably coming from the indoor basketball court where I knew Will, Damon, Kai, and Michael were all goofing off, playing ball. It was already dark, and soon, they’d be heading out for the night.

I heard my phone vibrate, and I glanced at it laying on the counter, seeing Mom on the screen.

“Hey,” I answered, wrapping tin foil around a plate of food Mrs. Crist insisted I take to my mother when I ate here.

“Hey, sweetie,” she chirped, trying to sound energetic. I knew she was anything but, however, she tried to put up a good front for me. Between the tranquilizers that kept her numb and the fact that she almost never left the house, I knew the guilt that weighed on her was starting to exceed the depression.

“I’ll be home soon,” I told her, nodding a thanks to Mrs. Haynes, the Crists’ cook and setting the plate down on the counter as I left the kitchen. “Are you up for a movie tonight? We could re-watch Thor again. I know you like his hammer.”

“Rika!”

I snorted, walking into the dining room and seeing the table already set for dinner. “Well, then pick a new movie to download,” I suggested. “We still haven’t eaten over here yet, but as soon as we’re done I’ll change my clothes and head back home. I’m bringing you a plate.”

Even though I knew she’d barely eat any of it. Her appetite barely existed anymore.

Trevor had dropped me off at home earlier this afternoon, but after I’d checked on my mom, I’d trailed back down the road to the Crists for dinner. My mother was always welcome, of course, but it was only me who ever joined them. No one wanted me eating alone, so my mom, out of guilt, allowed me to have meals here for some conversation and laughter. The Crists could give me what she couldn’t.

Or what she refused to give me.

Over time, though, my need to be here became stronger. More than just for dinner or to play video games with Trevor growing up.

It was for the distant sound of a basketball thumping against a floor somewhere in the house or the way my body would hum and every hair would stand on end when he walked into a room. I just liked being here if he was here, despite Trevor’s growing possessiveness.

I heard my mother sigh as I walked up to the mirror hanging on the wall.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You don’t need to bring a plate tonight. Go out with your friends. Please.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but then the dull beat of the music in the house suddenly died, and I jerked my head to the doorway of the dining room, hearing voices and laughter coming from somewhere in the house, getting closer.

I glanced in the mirror, fixing the collar of my school uniform, making sure my scar was mostly hidden.

“I don’t want to go out,” I said, heading to the table and sitting down.

“I want you to go out.”

Leaning over the table, I grabbed a roll and put it on my plate before the boys took them all. “Mom—” I started to argue.

But she cut me off. “No,” she said, sounding unusually stern. “It’s Friday night. Go have some fun. I’ll be fine.”