Page 165 of A Little Crush
“He did pay us back,” Ford interjects.
I glare around Jagger’s torso. “But it wasmymoney?—”
“Semantics,” Ford decides.
“It’s not—” My mouth bunches, and I fist my hands at my sides, weighing my options. The problem is, there aren’t any. “None of you are going to help me, are you.” It isn’t a question, and they don’t bother to answer it. Nope. The same annoying silence reverberates through my skull, giving me a migraine. “You guys are all assholes,” I mutter. “I’m leaving.”
As I start to move past Jagger, he grabs my wrist, preventing my escape. “What’s your name?”
“Where’s my money?”
He shakes his head. “Not how this works.”
“If you’re not going to play my game, then I’m not going to play yours.”
Something flashes in his gaze as he runs a thumb along the inside of my wrist. “Look around,” he murmurs. “Everything’s a game here.”
“Which is why I’m leaving.”
With his free hand, Jagger pulls out a one-hundred-dollar bill and waves it an inch from my nose. “Name.”
I stare at the crisp bill as every single meal it could buy flashes before my eyes. “No.” His brow lifts. It’s like the two-letter word is foreign to him. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that the entire reason I’m here is to get my money back, yet here he is, waving some right in front of my nose, and I turned him down. “That’s not my money,” I explain. “It’s yours.”
He shows me another two crisp bills, adding them to the first. Three hundred dollars. Three. Hundred. Dollars. And for what? My name? That’s it?
Or is it?
It always starts with little things. The slope is slippery, and if I’ve learned anything from my dad and my mom, it’s this: All it takes is one concession. One. And you’re trapped forever.
Staring at the money, I whisper, “I’m not playing your game.”
“Everyone plays.” He bends closer. So close I can almost forget we aren’t the only two people in this room. “It just depends on their price.”
Their price.
As if I can be bought.
Seems my dad isn’t the only asshole I’m dealing with today. And I’m so freaking tired of rolling over and taking everyone’s bullshit. Having to react instead of just…be. Before I have even a millisecond to consider the consequences, my knee moves on instinct, connecting with Jagger’s crotch.
His grasp on my wrist disappears, and he cups his balls, doubling over in pain as a low, muffled groan escapes him. “Fuuuuck.”
Taking full advantage, I dart around him, only for a pair of strong arms to wrap around my torso and keep me in place.
“Big mistake, sweetheart,” a low voice growls.
I amsoscrewed.
