It’s shocking, the level of privilege these people have, and they don’t even know it.
“I came back here, so I could get back at you for what you did to me,” I add, and then I just give in and relax against Zack. Even if his dick is digging into my back, I don’t care. He’s clearly not doing it on purpose. “So please stop asking me that question. It’s ignorant and asinine, and it’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“Marnye,” Zayd says, ruffling up his pale blue hair with inked fingers. He glances up at Creed and Tristan before turning back to me. “There’s so … fucking much. I don’t even know where to start or how to tell you without breaking all sorts of Club rules, but …”
“The girls have a bet,” Tristan says, very matter-of-factly. He tucks his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, and gives a tight, unhappy little smile. “They want to see if they can do what Zack and Lizzie couldn’t.” My heart stops beating for a whole minute there, I swear. It’s like it’s been replaced with a cube of ice.
“They didn’t act like they were trying to get me to kill myself: they acted like they wanted to kill me with their bare hands.” Tristan exhales, but it’s Creed who answers, his eyes sliding from me to Miranda and back to me again.
“Well, that’s definitely the bet. The Infinity Club is all about those with power changing the world with the flick of a single finger. If the girls can’t get you—an average commoner—to kill yourself or leave the school, then clearly they aren’t ready to step into the shoes of their respective family businesses.” Creed sounds like he’s discussing the weather, not a disgustingly corrupt and secret billionaire Club with no morals, and an even dumber name. “That’s the gist of it, anyway.”
“Fantastic,” I say, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. But then suspicion starts to creep in. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Despite what you might think,” Tristan snaps at me, “we never wanted you to die.” He turns on his heel and heads for the door, slamming it behind him.
“You should just leave before you get hurt,” Zayd says, pauses, and then adds, “again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I snap, glancing over and catching Windsor’s gaze. He winks at me with his pretty hazel eyes.
“There’s not a single club member who doesn’t have the resources to bury you, Marnye,” Creed drawls, leaning back against my wardrobe. “Face it: you’re outnumbered, outranked, and can be out bought at any moment.”
“Not necessarily,” Windsor purrs, standing up and heading for the door. He opens it wide and holds out a hand, indicating to the two remaining Idol boys that it’s time to leave. Reluctantly, they both do. I watch them go, feeling my heart pound like crazy in my chest. This is nuts; this is absolute insanity, I think. I’d heard high school was hell … but I didn’t expect this. “With me by her side, Marnye won’t have to worry about silly things like money.”
Zayd and Creed both glance back in surprise, but Windsor’s already slamming the door in their faces.
Guess they’re surprised I bagged a prince as a friend.
Guess I’m lucky he’s a revenge-crazed bully of bullies.
Lucky freaking me.There’s a definite shift in dynamics after the drowning. Creed has stopped flirting with Ileana, and I rarely see Tristan and Harper in the same room. She is, however, still wearing her ring, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about William Vanderbilt and the crack of his palm against his son’s face. No matter what, Tristan won’t dump Harper. Not unless … I get Lizzie involved.
I put that plan aside for now. I can’t pair Tristan up with Lizzie until after I win my end of the year bet with Harper. There’s no way I can compete with Lizzie Walton for Tristan’s affections, so I’m not even going to try. Instead, I focus on casually working myself into situations where I know the boys will be present. They’re as standoffish and weird as they’ve been all year … at first.
But the more I try, the easier things get.
We’re nowhere near the level of ease and companionship that we had before, but I’m making progress. Of course, from my end, we’ll never have that sort of connection again. Zack, on the other hand, is truly remorseful. Or at least, he’s convinced me that he is. I’m pretty sure the Idol boys are still not sorry about what they did to me.
“I still don’t get why they told me,” I tell Miranda as she flips through a yaoi manga—a boy on boy Japanese comic book. The drawings are, um, very explicit, and the funny thing is, she’s even more into it than Andrew is. When she showed it to him, he wrinkled his nose, shrugged and said, “I think those are more … aimed at women?” And then disappeared into the depths of the library.
