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“Is everything a joke to you, Camille?” he growls.
“I don’t find stalking very funny,” I say, glaring right back at him.
“I wasn’t following you,” Schultz says. “I was tailing your buddy Nero.”
“I didn’t even see him there,” I lie.
“Did you see his new girlfriend?” Schultz asks, his voice a soft hiss.
Now my throat is clenched up so tight I can barely breathe. I feel that same rush of bitter jealousy, remembering how beautiful Nero and Bella looked, standing side by side. She is the type of girl he should date, if he actually wanted to date someone. Rich. Gorgeous. Well-connected.
I’m a fucking nobody. An embarrassment. Can you imagine Nero introducing me to his family? He’d never do it. My dad vacuumed out Enzo Gallo’s car for god’s sake. You might as well date your maid’s daughter.
“Are you talking about Bella?” I rasp.
“Of course. Who else?”
“I didn’t know they were dating. Good for them.”
My lie is incredibly pathetic. Schultz shakes his head in wonder at how stupid I sound.
“I hear they’ve had some kind of on-off thing since high school,” Schultz says, staring right into my eyes. “I bet she’s a hellcat in the sack. Girls with daddy issues always are . . .”
“I told you,” I whisper. “I’m not friends with any of these people . . .”
“Right.” Schultz nods slowly. “You’re just a loner. A loser. Is that right, Camille?”
God, I fucking hate him. He’s still pressing that wad of paper towel against my skull, digging his thumb into the cut. Deliberately trying to hurt me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m guessing you’re in the same boat. Seeing as we went to the same school, and I never even heard your name before.”
I see a muscle jump in his jaw. Oh, he didn’t like that. Schultz can dish it out, but he can’t take it.
“You look like the sporty type,” I say. “Let me guess—you made the freshman team, but not varsity . . . never got that letterman’s jacket . . .”
“No,” Schultz says quietly. “I never did. But I’ve gotten plenty of awards since then. Locking up the scum of Chicago. The fucking rats that feed on the filth of this city.”
I push his hand away, standing up from the bench.
“You know,” I tell him. “Not everybody chooses to be a rat. Some of us just happened to be born in the gutter.”
Schultz stands up too. He can’t bear me being taller than him. He has to look down on me.
“Spare me your sob story, Camille,” he says. “You make choices every day. The same as everybody else.”
“Do you actually see a hero when you look in the mirror?” I ask him.
“I like what I see just fine,” he replies. “I know you’re close to Nero. It’s no coincidence you two are always in the same place at the same time. You stick to him, and you report back to me. No more fucking around, Camille. This is your last warning.”
He puts his hands in his pockets, lifting the edge of his stupid tropical shirt. I see the gleam of a gun tucked in his waistband. A silent threat, aimed right at me.
“Don’t come here again,” I tell him.
“Don’t make me come back,” he spits. “This place fucking stinks.”
He turns around and stalks away.
I sink back down on the bench, my legs giving way beneath me.
