Wrath - 4 (16 page)

“You real y want to know?” he asked, loudly enough that the woman across the aisle looked up from her book in alarm. He whirled around to look at Harper, who resisted the urge to sink back into her own seat and turn her face away from his expression and what it meant.

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes,
I real y do.” Though she wasn’t sure it was true. “Tel me. Why can’t we just get past this?”

“Because it’s not what you did!” he yel ed, as if he’d been holding the words in for weeks and they had final y battled their way out. They were al looking at her now: the old woman across the aisle, the mother with two squirming kids who kept shooting her a sympathetic smile, the preteen girls two rows ahead who couldn’t even be bothered to disguise their eager eavesdropping. Harper knew exactly how pathetic she must look, but she forced herself not to care what a train ful of tourists thought of her. Today only one person’s opinion mattered.

It’s not what you did
. Then … what?

“It’s who you
are,
Harper,” he said, more quietly. This was how a doctor’s face must look when he’s tel ing someone the patient died, Harper realized. Adam was pronouncing their relationship. Time of death, 6:09.

“I don’t get it,” she said, but that was just another lie. After al , hadn’t she already been treated to this little speech? Hadn’t she already been informed of what a horrible, irredeemable piece of trash Harper Grace had become?

“Look, with Kane, what he did? It was shitty, but … no big surprise. I knew better than to trust him. But you?” Adam sighed. “I always trusted you. Out of everyone, you were the only one …”

“That’s what I’m saying, Ad,” Harper begged. “It’s different between the two of us. You can’t let one screwup ruin everything.”

“It’s not just about that,” Adam said. “It doesn’t matter if I forgive you. I can’t be with someone like you. Or be around someone like you. Not someone who’d do what you did.”

“Someone like me?” Harper cried. “Someone who’s been your best friend since you were eight years old?”

He shook his head.

“You’re not that person. I thought you were, but … something’s different.You’re …”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“
What?
Just say it.”

“Wrong. Okay? Something in you, it’s like … it’s gone bad. Rotted.”

Harper just looked at him, her eyes watering, her hair fal ing down over her face. Surely he would look at her and see that she
was
stil the same person, that however much of a bitch she could be, it didn’t define her. She’d done the wrong thing, she conceded that—but it didn’t mean there was nothing right left in her. It wasn’t fair for him to think that. It wasn’t right for him to say it.

And when he saw how he’d hurt her …

But he did look at her, and his face didn’t soften; in fact, his mouth tightened into a hard, firm line. And then he turned away and settled back into his seat.

“I told you that you wouldn’t want to hear it,” he said, and his voice was casual, almost sneering, as if he couldn’t hear her col apsed onto the seat behind him, choking back her sobs. But of course he heard; he just didn’t care.

“Want some?”

Beth shuddered. She’d come out here hoping to be alone. No one used the playground this time of night, and she figured there’d be no one to see her huddled under a tree, her knees tucked up to her chest and her eyes fil ed with tears. Fleeing from Powel , she’d needed to go somewhere safe, and for Beth, the playground felt like home. Al the more reason to be displeased when some stoner in a weathered leather jacket and torn black jeans slumped down beside her, waving a joint in her face. (At least, Beth assumed that’s what it was—

she’d never seen one in real life, not this close.)

She shook her head and laid it back down on her knees, hoping that if she closed her eyes and ignored him, maybe he would slink away.

“I just figured, you know, your eyes are going to be al red, anyway,” the guy explained. “So, might as wel take advantage of it.” She didn’t say anything.

“Pot joke,” he said. “Not funny, I guess.” He paused, and she could hear him inhale deeply. “Look, you sure you don’t want any? You look like you could use …” Beth looked up then, and faced him with a fierce expression, silently daring him to finish the sentence. That’s al she needed to hear right now, some burnout tel ing her that she was an uptight “Miss Priss” who could use a little fun in her life. She didn’t know whether he was trying to insult her or pick her up, but either way, she wasn’t in the mood.

“A break,” he concluded, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Bad day, huh? Me too.”

“I’m sorry, I real y don’t want to be rude, but I don’t even know you, and—”

“Reed,” he said, raising the joint as if to toast her. “Rhymes with weed.”

She rol ed her eyes.

“Another joke,” he added. “Stil not funny?”

It suddenly occurred to Beth that she was alone on a deserted playground with this guy—anything could happen. But whether it was his amiable expression or her exhaustion, she didn’t feel threatened, just worn out. “Like I was saying, I came here to be alone, and I’m sure you’re a nice guy and al , but—”

“I’m not trying to pick you up,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Too much trouble.” He leaned back against the tree, staring up at the sky. “Girls. Women. Whatever you cal yourselves. I’m out.”

“Uh, congratulations?”

“Damn right.” Reed closed his eyes and took another hit.

“So what do you want, then?”

“World peace? A Fender Stratocaster?” he grinned. “How ‘bout a warm breeze and a good buzz?”

“What do you want from
me
?” Beth clarified, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused. “If you’re not trying to pick me up, what are you doing?”

“You were crying,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“And?”

“And I wanted to make you stop. Which you did.”

“Oh.” Beth blushed, feeling a little sil y for having assumed some dark ulterior motive.

“But if you want to be alone …”

She realized that was the last thing she wanted. “No, stay—I mean, you can. If you want.”

Reed shrugged. “Whatever.” Raising his eyebrows, he tipped the joint toward her again. She waved him away. Not that tuning out didn’t seem like a pretty good idea right about now, but it wouldn’t solve anything. And it’s not like Reed looked particularly cheerful himself.

“I’m Beth,” she blurted, blushing again. He hadn’t asked for her name, probably didn’t even care.

Reed shifted away from the tree, lying flat on his back with his arms splayed out to his sides. A slow smile broke across his face. “Beth Manning. Yeah, I know.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaia hissed as soon as Powel picked up the phone.

“Right now? Grading papers and trying not to vomit over the sad state of secondary education in this country.”

“Don’t be cute. I assume you were there.” She hoped her voice wasn’t betraying how much this pervy stalking routine was freaking her out. So she focused on her anger—it gave her clarity.

“
Cute
is not something I aspire to be at the moment. Enlightened might be a better goal to strive for. Care to fil me in on what’s got you so hot and bothered?”

“I got your text message, Jack—and so did he, just like you intended.”

“He? He who?” He sounded so genuinely clueless that Kaia was certain it was an act; nothing about Powel had ever been genuine.

“Drop it.You know I was with Reed. I know you saw me with him. You probably fol owed me there.” Kaia could almost see it—his figure, waiting in the dark, coldly weighing his options, delighting in his view. She shivered.

“Are you actual y admitting that you were with someone else?” Now his tone shifted from innocence to outrage. “And I’m supposed to feel
guilty
because my intimate message somehow fel into the wrong hands? Seems like the only guilty party here,
mon amour,
is you.”

“I’m supposed to believe it was just a coincidence?” Kaia laughed bitterly. “Right. Just leave me alone, okay? This is it. We’re done.”

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make,” Powel said, his voice low and steady. “Only one thing is done here, and it’s your little dal iance with the Sawyer boy. I warned you before to keep your hands off.”

“Or what?” Kaia struggled to keep her voice as calm as his. “You’l keep fol owing me around until I realize you’re the only man for me?”

“Oh, Kaia.” Powel sighed, and took on a patronizing tone that suggested he was delivering wisdom from on high to a sil y little girl. “Stalking is a coward’s game. Hiding in bushes. Peering in windows.” He laughed humorlessly. “Now does that real y sound like me? No, when I want something, I take it.”

“Not everything’s yours to have,” she snapped.

“Not everything, true. But you are.”

“You’re pathetic,” she spit out.

“Now, now, that’s not very nice. And as I’ve already suggested, you should be rather nice to me. Or do you
want
to fail your senior year? Get thrown out of school? Let’s remember who’s in charge here.”

Enough
.

“I am,” Kaia snapped. “You know what wil happen if I go to the administration and tel them how you’ve been forcing yourself on poor little me.”

“Your word against mine,” he said simply. “And once I’m through with you, your word wil be worthless.”

“Your word against mine and
Beth’s
” she reminded him. “Or have you forgotten I know about that little misstep?”

“Beth’s been taken care of,” he said shortly. “I think you’l find she won’t be much interested in joining forces with your little campaign. It’s over, Kaia. No more leverage. But I’m a bighearted man. If you’re ready to apologize and come back to me—”

“Dream on.”

“Have it your way,” he said agreeably. “But I think you’l change your mind soon enough.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Kaia.” He chuckled again. “You know, I once suggested that you stick to playing with boys your own age. Looks like you should have taken my advice.”

“Get out.”

The girl rol ed over and snuggled up against him, her blond hair brushing against his lips. Kane spit it out, pushed her away.

“I said, get out.” He climbed out of the bed and began gathering up her clothes, then packed them into a bal and threw them at her.

“It’s so early,” the girl whispered sleepily, burrowing deeper into the covers. “Come back to bed.”

It was early, just past sunrise.
Time to take the trash out,
Kane thought, but chose not to say. If she wouldn’t leave, he would. He couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. That silky blond hair and those cornflower blue eyes had looked so appetizing the night before. Now they just looked … like Beth.

He slammed a fist against the wal . Damn it. Her again. He’d driven her out of his mind and now, here she was—or a pale imitation of her—in his bed.

“I’m going out,” Kane growled, pul ing on a T-shirt and pair of sneakers. “Be gone when I get back.”

“Kane,” the girl whimpered, “what did I do?”

Let’s see,
thought Kane.
You went home with some guy you met at a party, before he even knew your name. You were insipid and sloppy drunk. You were easy
.

But that wasn’t real y it, was it? He made two fists, digging his nails into the fleshy heel of his hand to force the thought away.

You weren’t Beth
.

He despised himself for his weakness. It was a part of himself he hated, and he’d thought he’d rooted it out years ago.

Beth was like poison to his system, corroding its works. This had to stop.

He didn’t want her forgiveness.

He didn’t want her back.

He wanted her gone.

Gone. But not forgotten.

The card was unsigned.

When the doorbel had woken her just after sunrise, Kaia had hoped it would be Reed. And when she’d opened the door to a delivery man with a long, white box of flowers, she’d hoped it would be a gift from Reed. Maybe he’d decided to cal a truce and forgive her.

Hope springs eternal.

Twelve long-stemmed roses.

Each one dyed an inky black.

And that card.

Gone. But not forgotten.

She hadn’t dropped the box in horror—she’d hurled it away from her. Roses painted the color of death flew through the room, their black petals fluttering through the air like locusts.

It would have been bad enough if she’d been absolutely sure it was Powel .

But she wasn’t—and that was worse. Reed and Powel both thought she’d betrayed them; one of them was too cowardly to face her, and too obsessed to walk away.

It wasn’t fear that made her hands tremble or her heart slam in her chest, she told herself. It wasn’t fear that made her pace across the room, unable to sit down or stay stil , made her check and double-check that she’d locked the door.

It was anger.

No one did this to Kaia Sel ers.

No one had power over her like this. Kaia was the one with the power—nothing happened unless she wanted it to happen.