ChapterTwenty-One
Alex
Whispers of Irene Brie’s death float through the hallway while I make my way to fencing practice. Mixed in—as only would be proper for teenagers—are the details for the Halloween party happening over the weekend at Brittany’s chateau near the lake. Everyone has an invitation.
Well, everyone who matters, anyway. That seems to be me these days.
Losing my father muddied my reputation until Soren publicly announced a false engagement. What were once dirty stares are now curious inquiries, girls switching between admiration and jealousy as I wander past them. I don’t really care what they think. Whether they like me now is completely irrelevant. I’m too hellbent on achieving vengeance.
Practice feels mechanical. I’m paired with Soren, his fingers barely hesitating to touch my arms or shoulders to reposition me in the fencing strip. I ignore the ache in my belly for him—he’s given me nothing worth clinging to. With Tomas and Lev, it makes sense, both of them granting me a hiding place away from the world that was worth inhabiting for a while.
But Soren? He can literally go fuck himself. And I have no issue relaying my disdain for him in the form of sheer indifference.
If he can dish it, then so can I.
After practice, I follow Coach Neill into her private office, avoiding the locker room even though I’m eager for a hot shower.
“She was so young,” I say in a low voice after shutting the door behind us. “Irene was literally about to turn eighteen. And the kid before her…” I fade off as I shake my head. “This is bad, Coach.”
“I agree, Alex. I don’t think such unexpected deaths bode well for anyone.”
I frown while clutching my fencing helmet to my chest. “I don’t think they were accidents at all.”
She aims her worried expression at me. “I couldn’t agree more. You need to stay strong, Alex. If you can figure out where the skeletons are buried, it might protect you.”
“But how?”
“You’re a teenager. Aren’t you used to snooping around?”
I roll my eyes while she snickers, trying not to smile. But I can’t help it. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve worn for at least twenty-four hours. It feels good to have a grin on my lips.
“Come on, Rocky,” she teases. “Let’s work on your punches again.”
Ten minutes later, the two of us are bouncing around a makeshift boxing ring we’ve marked with blue tape in the gym. Coach Neill raises her fists and peers menacingly over her gloves, telling me to pretend she’s Parker.
“That’s a bad idea,” I tell her as my blood boils. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
“You’re not going to lose yourself,” she assures. “You’re going to harness the anger he makes you feel.”
I shake my head while crouching into a better position. “I won’t be able to stop.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Coach. Of course.”
She grins over her gloves. “Then hit me.”
We shuffle in a wide circle while sizing each other up, our sneakers squeaking on the tile floor. Just as she lunges forward to land a punch into my side, I block her jab and nail her shoulder, knocking her off balance. Her recovery time is quick, showing me that she’s not holding back—and encouraging me to do the same thing.
“What does Parker say to you?” she asks while dodging one of my punches. “Doesn’t he call you a bitch?”
“Shut up.”
She uses both her gloves to punch mine, egging me on. A few jeers circle my brain from the yacht party and then Parker’s voice takes over the mess of phrases, invading me with a primal urge to make it stop. Coach Neill isn’t talking anymore, but her punches are becoming more aggressive, setting me on edge.
The moment her glove makes contact with my jaw is when I lose myself. Red blots my vision as I go into wild haymaker mode, grunting with each punch. When my vision returns, Coach Neill is using the wall to hold herself up while holding her forehead with her right glove. Blood trickles from her nose.
“Fuck, sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean—”