Page 76 of Savage Elites

Her gaze darted from Leopold to Prakash. She lowered her head and whispered, “Don’t you think I know that? Unlike you, I don’t have nothing to lose.”

“But—”

“Stop it!” Bianca stamped her foot. “Stop thinking you’re better than everyone here because you’ve had a better life.”

I reared back, nearly bumping into the kings. “Orphaned at seventeen, and you think that’s good?”

“I’d sell my soul to be in your position.” She waved the envelope of cash over my chest. “Even with those monstrous things!”

“You’ve said enough,” snarled Prakash.

“Finish your point,” said Sebastian.

Bianca raised her chin and leveled me with a determined glower. “He wants you to sign a prepared statement that says you won’t slander him or me.”

I shook my head. “No amount of money will make me deny what I saw.” She opened her mouth to protest, and I said, “And no, I’m not doing it to be vindictive. Your father needs to be stopped before he attacks some other girl.”

“Don’t you have a younger sister at home?” Leopold’s voice was soft.

Her bottom lip trembled, and her shoulders shook with rage. She darted around us and stormed out of the stairwell and into the hallway.

I tried to follow, but Prakash held onto my shoulder. “Nothing you say will sway her. Bianca has to come to this decision herself.”

“But—”

“She’s more likely to refuse your help just to frustrate you,” added Leopold. “Give her some time and don’t even think about dropping the police investigation because you feel bad about her situation.”

My posture slumped. They were probably right. I hated Bianca with every ounce of vitriol in my liver, but I despised her father even more.

* * *

After classes, I returned to my room to find Bianca’s thick envelope on my bed. I stood in the middle of my room and surveyed its contents. If she broke in to leave her father’s blood money, what else had she done?

Corrine’s diary lay on my desk, next to my laptop and propped against the wall stood two photos Aunt Hortense took of the five of us painting the outside wall of the house.

A pang of sadness twisted in my chest. That was the month after we had moved out of London, and the light behind Ashley’s eyes had started to dim. If I had known we’d only had four more years together, I might not have spent more time doing things with Mom and Dad and less time studying.

Tearing my gaze away from the photo, I walked to the bed, picked up the envelope, and stuffed it in my bag. “I don’t want it.”

Someone knocked on the door. “Willow?”

“Huh?” it sounded like Sebastian.

“Can I come in?”

“Go on.”

He opened the door and slipped into my room. “I don’t think I explained myself very well.”

I placed my bag on the bed and folded my arms. “What do you mean?”

“I know how that statement I gave the police sounded.”

My heart thudded so hard, I twitched. Logic told me that people grow and move on from their thirteen-year-old selves, but the pattern of behavior he had depicted in the statement mirrored precisely how we had gotten together. The main difference was that he’d brought a friend along for the seduction, and my resistance had been as flimsy as tissue paper.

Even though he would deny it, I had to ask, “Am I just a challenge to—”

“No.” He crossed the room and placed a finger on my lips. “What we have is real. We might have Grease and other things in common, but isn’t that the basis of all friendships?”