Page 1 of Wicked Savage Cruel
ONE
Allie
“Alejandra, you’re going to be late for school.” Janessa calls out using my full name. I sigh and choose to ignore her. She won’t think anything of it. She’s done her job and informed me of the time, as I’m sure my father instructed her to do.My father. Thinking of Gerald Ulrich as anything aside from an absolute and total stranger just feels …weird.
I worry my bottom lip and stare at my reflection in the floor-length mirror, bracing myself for what will be my first day at a new school, in a new town, with a new family. Because clearly, my life wasn’t hard enough.
Tears prick my eyes but I blink hard to clear them.Come on, Allie. Hold it together.I refuse to allow myself to cry. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not again.
If I do, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, I take in my appearance. I look okay, I guess. Except the girl staring back at me is nothing like the Alejandra Ramirez I’ve been the past seventeen years. She looks preppier. Richer. Honestly, the girl staring back at me looks like a stuck-up bitch.
I look nothing like me. I’m wearing a pair of white skinny jeans that are all but painted onto my body and a soft pink floral top. It has sheer flowing sleeves and exposes a thin strip of my tanned midriff. It’s beyond feminine. If my best friend Julio could see me now, he’d probably keel over laughing. This is not my look.
Not that anyone here cares.
Back home, I would have gone to school in ripped jeans, a vintage band tee with an oversized hoodie, and a pair of black K-Swiss sneakers. White if I felt like being fancy that day. It would have been okay to toss my hair into a messy bun and wear my gold hoop earrings with winged eyeliner and little else as far as makeup was concerned. Hell, most days I didn’t bother with even the eyeliner. I’d always been a bit of a tomboy. I was still a tomboy.
Though looking at me now, you’d never know it.
But last week when I met my bio-dad, he took one look at me in his polished gray suit and disgust quickly curled his upper lip. Being a tomboy was unacceptable. I needed to look the part, as Janessa—his personal assistant—had reminded me on, so far, three separate occasions in the same number of days. I am Gerald Ulrich’s daughter, not somecholafrom the wrong side of town. Gerald is a prominent member of his community. Gerald is a businessman. Gerald has a flashy car and money and probably only carries black credit cards in his wallet.
His daughter needs to hold herself to certainstandards.
Bring on the eye roll and insert an insane amount of sarcasm here.
Until a week ago, I’d been his estranged and forgotten daughter.
Not anymore.
Not since my mom died.
I rub at the ache in my chest.Why did you hide all of this from me, Mom? There had to be a reason.
You’d think given everything I’d been through, the guy would cut me some slack. He’d … I don’t know, try and get to know me.
I huff out a breath and try to squelch the flicker of hurt inside my chest. Mom can’t answer my questions. She's dead and I'm here.
Emotion clogs my throat.
Dammit.I refuse to let grief wash over me again. I shouldn’t care if I'm not good enough for the guy. I'm here. That means something, right? I mean, he technically fought to get me here.
He could have left me back in Richland. I could have spent the remainder of my senior year as a foster kid. Though, if I'm being entirely honest with myself, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have preferred that. At least then I’d be in my hometown. I’d have Julio and Gabe and Felix—my friends—people who actually care about me.
But minors don’t get a say in these kinds of things.
If Mom were here, she’d tell me to be strong. To be brave. She should be here. But she isn’t, so I need to be brave on my own.
Alrighty then. I can do that.
There's no other alternative.
Janessa had provided my first-day-of-school outfit, along with the rest of my new wardrobe, since mine had been destroyed in the fire. Technically, it isn’t really the first day of school. I transferred to Sun Valley High near the end of the first trimester, but it would bemyfirst day at this particular school.
Yay.
I hate the outfit. The wardrobe. The makeup and perfumes. But when I hinted that it isn’t really my style, she’d scowled as if I’d offended her and then proceeded to remind me that I need to let go of my past.
