Page 45 of The Pawn

And he erupts in rage. Throwing himself out of the both, he wipes his arms across the tabletop and sends countless glass bottles crashing to the ground. She backs up, obviously frightened, shards of glass at her feet. Her voice gets high-pitched and tremulous. She tries to escape, but he blocks the exit.

Face twisted in rage, he throws more bottles to the ground. All of them shatter, one by one. A pair of what looks like security guards appear in the doorway, hovering behind them, but they do nothing to intervene as Blake grabs the edge of the table and flips it over. The whole thing crashes to the ground, the sound so loud it blows out the shitty microphone taping the whole thing.

Then he just... stops.

Standing in the middle of the shattered glass in his dress shoes, clothing crumble, blood dripping down his arm—somehow he cut himself—he stares at the girl, his breathing deep and rapid.

He looks up at the camera.

And there's nothing in his eyes but despair.

The guards step forward, grab each of his arms, and escort him out. Shaking, the girl flees the room, stepping across broken glass to escape.

Then the tape goes black.

I watch it again. Then again, and one more time. Though I come no closer to understanding anything they're saying—and curse my public high school for barely teaching me even a word of Spanish, much less anything else—I understand the emotions. There's rage and fear, anger and disappointment, but more than anything it's the despair that gets me.

Right at the end, after throwing the table to the ground, Blake says something. A small, quiet word, barely audible. I listen to his voice over and over again, stare into his eyes as he glances up into the camera.

It feels like he's looking at me.

What's even more frightening is, it feels like the darkness in him is speaking to the fire in me. Because while I don't understand what's going on or what he's saying, there's one thing I do understand, and that's rage. I know what it feels like to be so angry you're willing to ruin everything and hurt anyone, including yourself. Afterwards, all you're left with is an empty feeling inside and an unending sense of despair.

Blake Lee may have cold eyes, but there's something underneath him that's willing to destroy it all to get what he wants.

I'm going to show the world that side of him.

We'll see what they feel about the son of Jake Garrison once they see the darkness that lurks beneath his empty eyes.

* * *

By Monday morning, the whole campus is buzzing with news of the video. I practically spring out of bed, beating Chrissy to breakfast for the first time, more pep in my step than terrible-tasting coffee could ever give me.

There's something to be said about the stimulating effects of getting revenge.

Other girls are talking about the video as I get in line to grab my morning bacon and muffin. They're curious about the girl, why he was mad, what they were both saying, and why it's all coming out now. The video has already made a splash on the internet in Korea; it's a trending topic there, and netizens are outraged about the cover up of Blake's actions. At least, that's what I can gather based on my browser's auto translate feature.

It doesn't look good for Blake. If he came to Connecticut to stay out of Hollywood's lights and away from Seoul's scrutiny, he just got a taste of something else, something my brother experienced. Now he knows what it's like to be infamous—and hated—online.

"Brenna!" Chrissy joins me at my little breakfast table, Tricia not far behind, both of them still wearing pajamas. "Did you see that video of Blake Lee going full psycho on some poor waitress? It's all anyone can talk about."

I try to look coy. "What video?"

It's delicious to have her explain it to me. She shows me the video on her phone—it's already been uploaded to dozens of places outside Legacies—and sends Tricia through the line to grab her food.

"The last I saw, a bunch of people who are fluent in both Korean and English have been trying to translate what they're saying. Apparently they're arguing about some boy—people think he had some kind of crush or relationship with this girl, and she cheated on him. She keeps begging him not to be jealous."

Chrissy looks like she's eating up every bit of this. "I can't believe pristine and privileged Hollywood boy Blake Lee is getting canceled before he even managed to get famous. It's been a long time coming if you ask me."

"What do you mean?" I ask around my strip of bacon as Tricia joins us, two plates of pastries, coffee, and orange juice juggled in her hands.

"Blake has always had anger problems. He hides it well now, but in middle school..." She shudders instead of finishing her sentences, the meaning clear. "His parents were always having to pay people off to keep him from getting suspended or expelled. He did all these heinous things: cut a girl's hair off, mouthed off at the teachers, punched the wall, that kind of stuff. He didn't really calm down until Holly and Cole got together."

I frown at her. "What do you mean?"

"He did it all for Cole," she explains, crumbling her pastry into little bite-sized pieces. "Everything Blake Lee does is for Cole. I don't get it, but he's utterly devoted to the asshat. Then he got together with Holly, and now Blake acts... different." She shrugs. "I guess there's no time for the two of them to get into machinations now that Cole's getting it on the regular."

Tricia wrinkles her nose. "Can we talk about something other than the incestuous foursome? I want to keep my food down, and after what they did to Reggie over the weekend, I don't want to think about them."

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