Dean, he just liked the idea of her. Pure and innocent, with her sweet Southern accent, pretty dimples, and boho style.

But I knew her best.

I was in the weight room when Dean and I had our second conversation about her. It had been weeks since I’d planted my fist in his face, but my fingers still itched whenever he was close. This time we were in gym—an advanced weight-training class only open to seniors. We had to bench press together because we were both late and all the other machines were taken. I was spotting him while he pressed a set at one eighty. He was lifting more than his usual, and I could’ve sworn he looked a little juiced up.

He grunted like a beast with every push of the weights. My fingers floated below the bar, in case his body failed him. I wondered if he knew Help wasn’t the type of girl who was into veiny, muscled-bound knuckleheads.

“So you’re taking her to a spa,” I said. Straight to the point. I didn’t have time for fucking chitchat.

He rolled his eyes, his face sweaty and red, and let out a sigh. “It’s her birthday. Would you rather I ignored it?”

“I’d rather you break up with her,” I answered flatly, my stare blank. There was no point in sugarcoating this shit. He knew I hated their relationship. And despite them being together for months, I knew it wasn’t love. I saw the way she looked at him. She liked him, but there was no fire.

Her eyes burned for me. Only for me.

“Be reasonable,” Dean muttered. He wasn’t so focused on lifting anymore. He still looked red, but his arms shook now, and I felt the strain of the weight and our conversation affecting his body.

I shoved my hands inside the pockets of my light gray sweatpants. “It’s not in my nature to be reasonable. Break this shit off, Dean. You’re going to college in New York. She’s staying here. Do it now, before…” I trailed off.

Before you take her fucking virginity. It had nothing to do with me wanting to mark her first. I mean, I did. Of course I wanted that. But I would’ve taken Help even if she’d slept with every single guy at All Saints High. It was her I was worried about. I knew she would regret it.

Okay, fine. I wasn’t worried about her. I was worried about me.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I was on the fast track to losing my mind. Her pussy seemed to own me, and I hadn’t even tasted it yet. All I knew was that I wanted it for myself. Too bad it was attached to that annoying little fool.

“Before what?” He grunted, and his arms shook harder. “Before I sleep with her? How the fuck do you know I already haven’t?”

His hands turned white, but his snicker grated on my nerves, sending a rush of annoyance down my spine. He tried to press the bar all the way up and put it back in the handles. Sweat dotted his forehead. He was losing the battle.

That’s why we needed people to spot us.

Only I wasn’t spotting for him anymore.

Instead, I grabbed the bar and pressed it down toward his throat ever so gently. His eyes widened.

“I wouldn’t mess with me, Cole,” I warned in a low voice. My gaze was lazy, but my jaw was tense. I couldn’t help it. “They call me Vicious for a reason.”

“I’m going to school wherever she does, fucktard. I’ll stay here with her if I have to. She’s mine.”

I pressed harder. What the fuck was he talking about, staying here? He couldn’t stay here. But then I wasn’t in a position to make him leave either, was I?

“Liar,” I said, fuming. Goddamn Dean. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Cole.”

“You watch and see.” His neck was purpling, but it did nothing to calm me down.

I pressed harder and he gagged. People were starting to notice. I didn’t care. I glared at him in warning. “Dean…”

Everybody stopped what they were doing to look at us. Everybody. I saw Jaime and Trent from the corner of my eye, pushing their way to us, and knew I was running out of time.

“Vicious…” Dean dared, smiling up at me.

When Jaime finally got to us, I turned around and walked away, leaving Dean lying there with the bar against his throat. Someone else could help him out.

I was so done with this fucker.

So done.

He took her virginity.

He enjoyed it.

I bet she did, too.

It was during their spa weekend when she turned eighteen. Leave it to Emilia to lose her virginity less than a day before she legally could. There were candles and chocolate and all kinds of fancy shit that meant nothing to her. I heard all the details because I basically forced Jaime to tell me after it happened. Dean told Trent and Jaime on the fucking phone, like a chick, making them swear not to tell me.

But while Dean was BFFs with Rexroth, Jaime was my closest friend.

When I threatened to tell his mother—Principal Followhill—that he was bumping uglies with our Lit teacher unless he spilled, he’d started singing like a fucking canary.

That’s when I made the executive decision that Help could no longer live in Todos Santos. She had to disappear and stay the fuck away from everything and everyone I knew.

I wasn’t stupid. I realized that I was preventing her from being around her sister and her parents. Her boyfriend. I was banishing her from everything she knew.

From a comfortable future.

From money and opportunity.

From family Christmases and blue-eyed kids with Dean, who was oh-so-fucking enchanted with her.

From love.

I was ruining her life.

Because. I. Was. Jealous.

Jealousy was a weakness I didn’t need and wasn’t proud of. But I had to conquer it before it conquered me. That’s why, the day they returned from their little spa vacation, I was already waiting for her in her room. I sat on her bed with my elbows on my knees and tried to ignore the fact everything smelled like her. A weird, heady combination of cinnamon, milky butter, and a singular sweetness that only belonged to her. I wanted it out of my nose, out of my estate, and out of my fucking life.

Yes, she’d driven me mad.

She gasped when she walked into her room and found me there. She didn’t know that I knew everything. That she’d fucked one of my best friends. Emilia didn’t look any different, but she felt different.

She felt out of reach, now more than ever.

“Pink suits you,” she remarked in a dry tone, nodding toward the pink flowery linens on her bed. “Who let you in, Vic, and what the hell are you doing in my room?”