Page 116 of The Boy I Loved
He was stuck just like me.
“I won’t.” I tugged my arm free and hurried for the elevator.
My stomach was a ball of knots as I slipped inside and jammed my finger into the button. Maybe Rodney had misheard. Maybe it didn’t involve Hazel at all. I tried my best to reassure myself that it could be a big misunderstanding, but then I remembered how shaken up Rodney had been. It took a lot to rattle him, which meant that whatever hehadheard must have been a lot.
Once the elevator came to a stop, I wasted no time rushing toward Clay’s office. As expected, the door was closed. Voices echoed from within, Clay’s baritone loud enough to shake the walls.
“I’ve given you a lot of fucking leeway, Tristan. But this time, you’ve gone too far.” Even I flinched, my hand hovering over the door handle.
Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, I willed myself to man the fuckup. For years, I’d done my best to stay in Clay’s good graces. I’d been beaten, forced to do unforgettable things, blackmailed, threatened, and more. That was how Clay kept me in check. But when it came to Hazel or Alice…
I couldn’t keep sitting by and letting bad shit happen to the people I cared about.
With that thought in mind, I pushed down on the handle, wincing when the door clicked open. The sound was like a gunshot in silence, but it was unlikely they’d even heard me with all the yelling. Blowing out another nervous breath, I pushed the door open wider and slipped inside before closing it gently behind me.
Clay wasn’t behind his desk like he usually was. Instead, he was looming over Tristan, who seemed completely unbothered by my uncle’s outburst.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, glancing between them warily.
They both turned their attention to me, their expressions unreadable. Clay was the first to speak. “No. It’s not fucking okay,” he snarled, glaring at Tristan. “This dumb fuck tattooed one of our most important girls.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, not quite understanding. “I’m confused…” I trailed off. “We have a few tatted girls here?—”
“No, no, no,” Clay muttered, swiping his hands through his disheveled hair. “Let me clarify. He tattooed hisnameon her. She’s practically useless now. I mean, what man wants to fuck a bitch who has another man’s name across her body?”
I glanced over at Tristan, Rodney’s words bouncing around my skull. He tattooed Hazel. That was where she came into this. I thought back to my time with her over the weekend and how she seemed to be in pain. She kept rubbing her stomach. As if Tristan could see the realization sparking through my brain, his lips curved up into a taunting smirk. But he didn’t understand. This went beyond fighting over her. It went beyond claiming ownership over her.
“What did you do?” I whispered, fear slithering through my gut.
Tristan rolled his eyes as if I were the one being dramatic. “I did what I had to. You might be okay with other guys fucking her and seeing her naked, but I’m not. I knew if I tatted my name on her, she wouldn’t be able to do her porn shoot.”
What he was saying made sense, but he still didn’t seem to realize what the fuck he’d just done.
Clay rounded his desk and plopped down into his leather chair. He swiped his whiskey glass off the surface and downed it, peering up at the ceiling like he was praying to a god who would have condemned him to eternal Hell by now.
“Hazel Montgomery is useless to me now,” Clay announced, his voice much calmer than it had been. “You know what we do to useless bitches around here?” He arched an eyebrow, his gaze settling on Tristan.
Tristan straightened in his seat, the wheels in his mind beginning to turn. As if it all hit him at once, the color drained from his face.
“They die,” Clay continued, pouring himself another glass. “Her execution will be tomorrow evening.”
As soon aswe’d been dismissed by Clay, I turned on Tristan, hitting him hard with a right hook. His head snapped to the side, blood coating his lower lip. I’d been wanting to fuck his shit up ever since he fucked Hazel that first time. Still, it brought me no satisfaction. She was going to die because of him.
“I should kill you,” I seethed.
Tristan’s eyes hardened, a cold foam sliding over his irises. He took a threatening step toward me, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “She was doomed to die anyway. You should know that better than anyone.”
Rage licked up my spine, trickling through my veins until I felt its familiar warmth. If anyone deserved to die, it was him. It was his fault Hazel was as fucked in the head as she was. It was his fault she was being sent to her death tomorrow, and it was his fault that his child had to grow up without a mother—assuming he even allowed the infant to live.
“That’s it, then?” I countered, not sure what I was hoping for.
He shrugged in response, swiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “That’s it.”
How could I have forgotten? Tristan only gave a shit about himself. A small part of me hoped he actually felt something for her—that this wasn’t just another one of his twisted games. Clearly, that had been wishful thinking. The only thing his heart did was pump just enough blood to keep him alive.
He was a disgusting leech, draining the life from people left and right. His child would be better off.Everyonewould be better off.
Turning on my heels, I stormed toward the elevator, knowing that if I didn’t put space between us now, I was liable to murder him.
