Page 73 of Blood Money

While I brushed my teeth, I felt tempted to eat some of the toothpaste—just to see if it would make me feel a little better. In the shower, the coconut-scented shampoo suddenly started smelling like a delicious fruit basket.

By the time I change into my clothes for the day—a pair of ripped skinny jeans with patterned leggings underneath and a warm black knitted jumper—I’m brimming with equal parts hopelessness and anger.

You’re doing this to spite Alexander.

Yes, but my stomach doesn’t seem to care anymore. This is the longest I’ve gone without food. Even when my father made the housekeepers withhold meals from me as punishment, Dolores always snuck me snacks to hold me over.

The housekeepers here don’t even look me in the face when I try to talk to them.

Did Alexander give them instructions too, like the guards by the door?

The thought of him having some sort of meeting to have these people treat me like a prisoner makes me want to stab him again. If only I had stabbed him a little harder that night. He would still probably be in the hospital right now, and I wouldn’t be having this problem.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door.

Are the heavens giving me the perfect opportunity on a silver platter?

Alexander has been avoiding me ever since I discovered he was holding me hostage here. I fell asleep last night before he came back into the apartment, I think. I had been sitting by my door, waiting to hear his open so I could confront him.

Now, he must be here to try to convince me to eat again.

He won’t see this coming. I’m going to make him regret not taking the knife with him.

There’s a knock on the door again.

I swipe the knife from underneath my pillow, unsheath it and bound toward the door. Going for his chest won’t work again, and I’m a bit too short to get it into the side of his neck. I’ll have to go for his abdomen—the side of it.

One good wound there and he should be out of commission for weeks.

Perfect.

I unlock the door, then grip the handle and take a deep breath.

You can do this, Alize.

I swing the door open and lunge forward.

“Fuck!” a voice that’snot Alexander’sexclaims.

I thought I was quick, but the person moves quicker, catching my wrist and shoving me to the side. I can’t stop my momentum, and the change in direction sends me reeling. I fall to the floor on my knees and the blade clatters from my hand.

“Are you alright, Alize?” I look up quickly.

It isn’t Alexander.

It’s Vance.

Oh shit.

He’s extending a hand to me, his pale blue eyes tinged with concern. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him. He looked good on the field that day when we went to watch his game, and I saw him in passing on the trip, but up close like this, it’s completely different.

Vance is about as tall as Alexander is.

But where Alexander is fair-haired and brooding, he has dark, cropped hair and the kind of face that makes you feel like you’ve got his whole attention. Instead of a svelte body, he’s muscular. He’s got a tan from being out in the sun so much, and colorful tattoos peek out from underneath the sleeve of his jumper.

There’s a playful lopsided smile on his pale pink lips.

I need to tell Nya that I fucking understand. He’s not my type, but if he was, I can see how this would turn my brain into mush and make me so upset that I don’t want to talk about him.

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