Page 17 of The Good Girl

She pushes me away, and I want to flinch at the spite lacing in her words. “She’s nothing. She’ll never accept you and you’ll come back, Tristan. You always do.”

I watch as she storms out of the common room, slamming the door behind her, making the glass rattle and drawing the attention of the jocks playing pool in the corner.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Atlas questions as he throws himself over the back of the sofa and down next to me. He was a playboy, used to the dramas of the girls in this school. He also knew how to worm his way back into their panties and make them forgive him, it was a special skill he had. I figured that his good looks, long dark hair and lavender eyes, with a football player body and heavily tattooed arms, probably had something to do with that. Humans are shallow creatures after all, and teenage girls are just begging for attention from the bad boy.

“Nope, she’s heading down to the fields to find Clay and probably snort some coke off his dick.” I grab my phone and see two emails from Reid, the first asking about another painting and the second is regarding a commission. I fire off a quick reply, since adding a few more zeros to my bank account couldn’t hurt, especially not when I was trying to create some distance from my father.

Running his hand through his shoulder-length hair, Atlas makes a spitting noise before rolling his eyes. “God, I can’t stand that fucker.”

Even though Clayton was one of us, he kept to himself mostly. He attended only the compulsory meetings and his father never forced the issue since Clay was usually high and of no use to anyone. It’s better to avoid the embarrassing situation totally, rather than to create one by dragging him there. I’d never had any issues with Clay and hung out with him now and again, since he was a bit of a dealer and I hung around with the stoners.

“If it helps, I don’t think he can stand himself either. It’s why he’s always off his face but I’m not his therapist, so I’m not touching that shit.” He was a ‘lost soul’, as my mother would have called him, but unfortunately for him, this was a dog-eat-dog world and I didn’t have the time or the inclination to be anyone’s savior. “Where’s Hunt?”

Atlas shrugs and I give him a pointed look before he kicks me with his shiny oxfords. “Oh, so Clayton gets a free-pass from you interfering but I don’t? Back it up, Radcliffe.”

I’m forced to hold back the wide grin I can feel threatening to split my face. Touchy subject, and I know better than to prod the grumpy bear. “I was thinking of seeing if Noah was free and taking the bikes down by the lake on the weekend. You in?”

Noah Grimaldi was another one of The Society children, he’d just graduated from college and was back in Silvercrest to work with his mother, who was an antique dealer and fine art specialist. College was usually expected of us, depending which line of work we planned to go into. I knew I would be expected to attend and gain a business degree, while Atlas would not, his talents were more physical, so he’d be doing something more practical when we graduated. The nearest college was over in Newtown, and like Silvercrest, was Society controlled. After all, what better way to recruit young, brilliant minds and wealthy candidates than an Ivy League school? The Society wanted power and influence, and they were prepared to play the long game to achieve it.

“Why the fuck not?” Atlas waves to some girls passing by, who call his name, before sitting up and leaning in a little closer to me. “If Hunter stops pouting, I’m sure we can even fit in a game or two of Prince’s Poker.”

Prince’s Poker was a game we played down at the lake cabin, and it was just like normal poker only with serious stakes. The buy-in was never cash, but instead something that could be traded or bartered for, and with a school full of rich, privileged kids with influential parents, it was always interesting to see what was on the table. The added element was the Prince card, which granted one wish and was added to the stakes in the final round of the game. It was an opportunity to ask for something crazy or extravagant, and also the reason many wanted a seat at our table.

“Put the word out,” I reply, wondering who would be joining us and whether I could convince Lena to play. Hell, it would solve so many problems if I could just trick her into accepting me but then I wouldn’t earn her trust. “We need some fresh meat at the table, I’m sick of playing with the same filthy rich assholes.”

Chapter Fifteen

Elena

We park up a narrow backstreet in Greenville, about ten minutes away from the bookstore I want to visit, but nowhere near the shops Tabitha and Attie claimed to be desperate to visit, making my Spidey senses tingle. “Okay, fess up. Why are we really in Greenville?”

Tabitha looks sheepish as we clamber out of the car, but it’s Attie who avoids my gaze completely. “What do you mean?”

Shaking my head, I cross my arms and give her the most disapproving glare I can muster. “There’s a reason you’re taking me to the bookstore first, and it isn’t out of the goodness of your heart, Attie.”

“It was Tabitha’s idea.” She shoves Tabitha forward with a squeak and mock hides behind her. Tickling Tabitha’s sides, the two girls wrestle for a few moments before one of them finally cracks.

“Tattoos!” Tabitha half howls through the tears. “We’re here to get matching tattoos.”

My mouth drops open. “What?!”

Attie smiles, tucking a wild dark curl behind her ear. “Atlas hooked us up with this artist who does the most beautiful pieces, he’s only here for a few weeks, visiting from the UK.”

My mind flashes to the ink my cousin has covering his biceps and chest. Of course he had a friend who could ‘hook us up’, The Society was a playground for the rich and the law meant very little to those with money.

“We thought we could all get something matching,” Tabitha finishes with a shrug. She rests her blonde head against Athena’s dark one, their differences striking when they were side by side ganging up on me, like some sort of yin-yang symbol as the two of them watch me in anticipation.

“What?” I’m unable to think, to form a sentence as the reality sinks in, and they both link an arm through mine and we begin moving towards the bookstore. They actually wanted me to get something drawn on my skin permanently. As in forever. And needles. My father would kill me.

“You’ve already said that, Els, find a new word,” Attie says playfully as she nudges me.

“I don’t want a tattoo.” I stumble over the words. I was the captain of the cheerleading squad for Christ’s sake, not some biker or badass. I was…a good girl. I didn’t do this sort of thing.

Tabitha chuckles as she begins to skip, jostling me. “Yes, you do.”

“No. I’m pretty sure I don’t.” My voice is firmer now as I try to put the brakes on this, even though I can feel my feet slipping on a downward slope as I’m unable to find purchase. That’s why my cousins were dangerous. They, like my mother, lured me into a strange sense of security before I realized I was stuck—it’s how they worked. Manipulation was a game we learned young, and we were taught to play it well.

“Mmmhmmm. It was your idea.” Tabi’s voice hums, and I’m so lost right now, feeling out of my depth that it takes me a few minutes to realize they’ve already dragged me inside the store. Usually the soft smell of paper and new books is enough to calm me, but it’s like my heart refuses to settle in my chest.

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