Page 41 of The Good Girl

“Well, today’s been a bust,” I say with a groan, standing. “I’m gonna head home.”

“What about last period?” Atlas asks, as if he cares—which he doesn’t. School isn't a priority for any of us.

“What about it?” We laugh, and it’s moments like this that remind me I’m not alone in The Society, we’re all part of this organization, this way of life, and not all of it is dark and filled with greed. Just most of it.

* * *

My father is home when I pull up to the house. Dumping my bag in the hallway, I head into the kitchen to find him making grilled cheese sandwiches, wearing jeans and a polo shirt instead of his usual suit.

“Where’s the housekeeper?” I ask as I sit at the breakfast counter.

He doesn’t look at me as he plates me up one of his sandwiches and slides it across unexpectedly. “I’ve given them the afternoon off. Why’re you home early?”

I take a bite, gooey cheesy filling my mouth. “I didn’t want to stay for French lessons. Waste of my time.”

“I’m sure Elena would disagree, French is the language of love after all.” He watches me as he speaks, eyes narrowed, and I know he’s trying to calculate my reaction. I bite my tongue, not saying a word as he baits me.

“I must say, she has grown up to be rather lovely.” He sits at the breakfast bar opposite me. “A woman in charge, there’s something very sexy about that. Smart, beautiful, and not afraid to get on top. She has it all.”

He has a faraway look in his eye, and I know he’s thinking about my fiancée.

I scoff. “You like your women cold and with rigor mortis, so I guess that rules Lena out.”

His mouth twists into a sinister smile. “That can be easily remedied. After I’ve had my fun, of course.”

Dropping the remainder of my sandwich back onto my plate, I hiss, “You wouldn’t dare.”

He laughs cruelly, and I have never hated my father more. “Stop assuming you know what I would dare to do.”

“She is mine.”

Biting into his own sandwich, he chews slowly. “Nothing is yours. Do you understand what The Society is? It’s seeing something you want, and having the power and the guts to take it, regardless of the repercussions. Consequences are nothing when you have the wealth to back you up.”

“If you lay a finger on her…” I threaten, but he just smiles. If he wants to underestimate me, then that’s his decision. But I would protect Elena with my life, and I would give her everything she ever wanted, including every last pound of flesh from my body if she wanted. There was no line I wouldn’t cross for her.

He takes another bite and another smug, leisurely chew. “My fingers, my mouth, my cock, my knife. What are you going to do about it, Tristan?”

I stand, unable to look at his face any longer. Confidence was his weakness, that and pretty dead girls.

“You’ll help me cover it up, just like you did with your mother.” His voice is full of surety, as if he knows me better than I know myself when in fact he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

“I will kill you,” I promise quietly. I had always known that it would eventually come down to this: me or him. I just assumed I’d have finished school first.

He chuckles and finishes off his last bite. “We both know you don’t have it in you. You’re too much like your mother.”

My mother. The ultimate bait between us. My father liked to remind me that I was an accomplice in covering up her murder every time he felt like he was losing control over me. But he didn’t realize that she also fueled my need to be rid of him. And now he wanted to harm Elena? Once more, I warn him. “Stay away from Lena.”

“You don’t scare me, boy,” he calls after me as I leave and head to the dance studio.

* * *

I let myself into my apartment and make a mental note to have all of my paintings and tools moved here this weekend. I don’t want to stay in the Radcliffe mansion for much longer, especially not if Elena was going to be with me. I look around the empty space and add furniture to the list of things I need before I move here, two chairs and a mattress on the floor weren’t going to cut it anymore. Grabbing a can of soda from my bag and lighting up a cigarette, I slouch into the chair by the window and wait, there is no way that Elena won’t dance today, even if it is a Monday. Things were moving too fast for her, and she’d need a way to process, she’d need an outlet where she could control the tempo.

Waiting as the daylight faded into dusk and eventually into night, I zone out. I can’t keep letting her run away, especially not now my father had his eye on her. She needed me to protect her. To push her. To make her see how fucking incredible she was. The stupid masquerade ball was in a few days, and Lena would be paraded around like a prized cow with her violin before the entire town.

A light flicks on, filling the studio with brightness, and my chest tightens as I see Lena strip off down to a sports bra and a pair of yoga pants before pulling her ballet shoes on. I can tell they’re the ones without the blocks from this distance by the way her posture is more relaxed, but I also know from experience that this means she’ll be pushing herself harder. I watch as she stretches and warms up, the way she spends time carefully bending and pushing herself lets me know that tonight will be intense.

I’m proved right as she begins to spin, doing delicate chaîné turns across the studio before moving into pirouettes. I don’t know what music she’s listening to as she suddenly starts to move like she’s in a K-pop music video, poppin’ and locking her body before dropping to her knees and doing positions on the floor like a hip-hop dancer. All I know is that she’s burning so fucking bright when she’s like this, all that passion lighting her up from the inside as she sweats and moves every muscle.

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