Jaded (Jaded #1)(110)

“I’ll tell you something,” I murmured. “You’re right. I’m not like other girls.”

He preened. He was insane.

“I don’t give a shit about proper etiquette, about being nice, or about people liking me.”

“That’s why you’re the one,” he murmured.

His insanity knew no boundaries.

“Is it?”

“You reign supreme over everyone. You hold power over everyone.”

Are you kidding me? “Do I?” I asked, dryly.

“You do.” And he smiled, brilliantly, at me.

“You’re wrong,” I replied, coolly. “I’m at the top because I settle for nothing less—and you—you settled for where you ended at. You’re a loser. A social deficit.

You’re the one who chose that place. You chose your life—not your godforsaken bullies.

They’re just doing their jobs. They’re being bullies because it’s what they were taught.

But you—you chose this. You. Chose. It!”

“She whimpered,” he whispered and smiled.

“So will you,” I returned swiftly.

The smile was wiped clean. “She was so tight when I went inside of her.”

I smiled, “I can shoot you up the ass if you’d like.”

He stopped—he just…stopped.

“You’ve got nothing that’ll unhinge me,” I tsk, tsked. “That’s a lesson learned the hard way, isn’t it? I don’t scare and when I do—you get this instead.”

Logan screamed in that moment.

Marcus raised his knife and prepared to lunge..

There’s my reason…

And my finger pulled the trigger.

His body slammed to the ground.

Logan’s scream cut off.

And I stood there, silent, with the gun in hand.

He’d given me the reason that I prayed for.

Logan stood behind me, near the base of the stairs, and I turned to see her hand clasped to her silent mouth. Her eyes were wide and panicked. She looked like she was about to faint.

I wiped the gun and let it drop beside Marcus’ body.

“You just…,” she chortled. She didn’t make sense in her shocked state.

“That’s what I do,” I murmured and glanced back to his soulless eyes. “It’s why he picked me.”

“But…”

I sighed and grasped her arm lightly, “Come on. The paramedics are coming.”

They did, but they were accompanied by the police.

I left Logan standing in the hallway and went upstairs.

Bryce had lifted Corrigan to the couch where he was applying pressure to the stab wound. The blood covered his body now and I stopped in the doorway, grateful of what I’d done.

“Hey…,” Bryce greeted, hoarse and exhausted.

“You watched…” I gestured towards the monitors.

“Yeah. I erased it all until the last second where he lunged. It’s self-defense.

They’ll take that and leave it,” he said grimly.

I moved to his side and sat down, wearily.

Bryce grinned, sadly, and brushed a thumb across my cheek to tuck back a loose tendril. I felt the trace of blood that was left instead of his loving touch, but I didn’t care.

I turned and gazed at Corrigan.

“He’s so pale,” I murmured.

“He’ll pull through. He woke up a little while ago.”

“He did?”

“He’s fighting.” Bryce bent and kissed my forehead. “That’s what we do.”

EPILOGUE

Miss Connors exclaimed brightly, “So!”

I cringed against the harsh sound and sunlight that filtered through her office windows. I curled into a ball on her chair and rolled my eyes in annoyed resignation.

“Sheldon!”

“What?” I cried out, annoyed. “I graduated yesterday. I’m hung over. Sue me.”

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“You’re supposed to be my counselor. What happened to all the sympathy and condolences?”

“The ‘sympathy and condolences’ went out the window when you used a certain expletive with me that pertains to intercourse.” Miss Connors smiled tightly. She twirled her finger in the air and exclaimed, “So you can ‘screw off’ when you ask for that.”

I grinned, “That wasn’t what I said.”

Miss Connors sighed, folded her arms, and asked, “So how’s it going with your parents?”

“What parents?”

“You know—the dad that’s still out of the country? The mom that’s suddenly trying to be a mother with all this media attention? Those parents.”

Oh. I shrugged. “They’re fine.”

“They’re a disappointment,” Stephanie said for me because I couldn’t. Two months of therapy and my counselor finally realized that I couldn’t ever say those words, but I liked hearing them. Hell, I needed to hear them.

I shrugged again.

And she sighed. She shifted and sat on her hands, prim and proper, and fast studiously, “You know, Sheldon, you have a right to feel anger at your parents.”

“What for?” I asked.