Page 95 of The Boy I Loved
Tristan shoved himself to his feet, a snarl curling his upper lip. “You could have any other girl doing your dirty work,” he accused, anger radiating from him.
Clay waved a dismissive hand in his direction, but there was a slight twitch of his lips that told me he was enjoying this. “Careful, Tristan. Your heart is showing.”
“What heart?” He scowled. The muscle along the edge of his jaw thrummed violently.
Vincent snorted. “He’s just mad you’re trying to take away his favorite toy. With Emerson and Nia indisposed, he’s going to be really bored if Hazel is suddenly too busy or sore for him.”
Clay rolled his eyes. “Since when does it matter if they’re too sore?”
“They feel better when they’re wet,” Tristan countered, unable to hide the rising hostility from his tone.
The guys continued to go back and forth for the next fifteen minutes until Clay had enough and finally dismissed us. My head spun as I shoved through the door, venturing out into the hall. Mason grumbled something about needing a drink and a tight pussy before departing, taking the elevator to the lounge with Vincent trailing behind him. Nicholas hung back a few moments later, his eyes glazed over like he was lost in thought.
Things used to be much simpler with us. Hell, we all used to be close. There was a time when I had a lot of fun with Mason, Vincent, and Nicholas. We used to go to parties together, talk aboutgirls, hit up the football games, and do stupid shit. They were all twisted in their own right, but every now and then, I’d see a glimpse of the old them. Well … except for Vincent. He’d always been hard and unreadable.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Nicholas finally said. “I’ll catch y’all later.”
I nodded, my throat tight with anxiety as I watched him leave. As soon as he slipped into the elevator, I whirled on Tristan, fisting the front of his shirt. A grunt of surprise left him as I shoved him against the wall, my chest heaving in tune with my frantic breathing.
“What kind of fucked up game are you playing at?” I demanded.
Tristan’s nostrils flared, his light blue eyes blazing with animosity. I didn’t understand what anyone saw in him. He didn’t look like much. He was lean with sharp facial features and light stubble decorating the edges of his jaw. His eyes were rimmed red from the number of substances he’d pumped into his bloodstream, and he was constantly on edge.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, testing my goddamn patience.
I’d kept my mouth shut. I’d stayed out of the way, doing whatever it took to keep Hazel out of the limelight. But then Tristan had to come in and fuck it all up. He made her wear clothes now, wouldn’t let anyone else touch her, and spoke up to Clay, knowing how volatile my uncle was when questioned. He also got her a room in the lounge and allowed her to bring a friend. I’d been downplaying it this entire time, but one thing I knew about Tristan Grant was that nothing was ever coincidental. Either he was doing this to draw Clay’s attention to Hazel more viscerally, or he was developing feelings for her and didn’t even realize it. Hell, maybe his obsession was so bad this time, it had consumed him entirely.
“I’m seconds away from bashing your goddamn face in,” Isnarled. “I’m not in the mood to be fucked with. What is your damn obsession with Hazel?”
Tristan’s lips twitched, revealing just how unhinged and out of reality this bastard truly was. “You don’t scare me, Dominic. In fact, I’m fairly certain we’d be equally matched in a one-on-one fight.”
I seriously doubted that. I’d been sober for months. Tristan couldn’t stop shooting dope if it would save his life.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I hissed, shoving him harder against the wall.
Finally, he rolled his eyes, but the defiance was still there, sparkling beneath the surface. Part of me wanted to punch him just for fucking Hazel in the first place, but I was already walking a fine line.
“She interests me,” he said simply.
“She’s mine,” I growled possessively. “She’s been mine and she’s still mine.”
Tristan arched an eyebrow, unfazed by my little outburst. In fact, he was as cocky as always. If he thought for one moment that Hazel was into him more than she was me, he was delusional. Hazel hated him. She was only doing what she needed to in order to survive.
When he didn’t respond, I continued, tightening my grip on the front of his shirt. “You’ll only get her killed. Just like you did to Nia and just like you did with Emerson, and all the girls before that.” Anger surged through my chest, spreading throughout the rest of my body. “You said so yourself. You think women are only good for one thing, and once a shinier toy emerges, you dispose of the old ones.”
“So?” he countered, almost sounding bored. “They were of no use to me anymore. I give Hazel more perks because she’s more special. But that doesn’t mean I won’t kill her when the time comes.”
That was what I was afraid of. It sounded insane to my own earsthat I’d rather him have genuine feelings for her, because at least then, he wouldn’t want to hurt her. But as expected, it wasn’t the case. Tristan Grant couldn’t feel. He didn’t love, and he definitely wouldn’t change his ways or his beliefs for a woman. They were mere objects to him.
A breath rushed from my lungs, and I dropped my arms. “If you kill her, your life will be next,” I warned, stepping away from him.
He smirked in response. “May the best man win.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HAZEL
“I miss Lauren,”Stacy mumbled around a bite of mashed potatoes. We were seated in the dining hall, but we had separate mealtimes from the girls in the basement and were rewarded with decent food.
