Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Jean couldn’t deny it; all he could do was stare at Zane in mute defiance.
Zane got the answer he needed in Jean’s silence, and he hit Jean hard enough to take him off his feet. The backliners’ bench broke Jean’s fall, and the pain that lanced through his already injured chest was enough to turn his stomach inside-out. Jean gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet. It was almost impossible to hear Zane through the new cotton in his skull, but the hatred in Zane’s voice helped his words carry:
“You destroyed everything I fought for. I wish I never met you.”
“I am not the one who inked him!” Jean shoved Zane and asked, “What was I supposed to do, argue with Riko? Rip the pen out of his hands when he tried to put it to Neil’s face? Tell me!”
The look on Zane’s face was answer enough. The Ravens didn’t know how to deny Riko anything. He was the centerpiece of their world, the venomous heart that bound the team together. January had carved indelible caverns into Zane’s soul but had done nothing to dim his unwavering, unquestioning loyalty. Zane had screwed up, and he’d paid the price owed. The unhinged cruelty of his punishment didn’t matter because it still balanced out in Zane’s desperate, broken calculations.
“You of all people know how much the King hated me,” Jean said. Zane tried waving him off and turning away, but Jean caught hold of his shirt and held on for dear life. “You don’t honestly believe I could have talked him into elevating a disobedient shit-stain to the perfect Court on my own. You knew it had nothing to do with me, but you betrayed me anyway.”
“Fuck alive.” Zane pried his hands off and pushed him away. “Get over it.”
Get over it, because that was the Raven way. Cruelty was integral to the Nest; violence was necessary to ensure everyone stayed in line and performed to their best abilities. Aggression and talent determined the pecking order, and the only way to survive Evermore was to understand and believe that everything they suffered served a purpose.
But January was different; it would always be personal. The insinuation that Jean could ever forgive or forget had him seeing red, and he swung at Zane with everything he had. They were so close he couldn’t miss. Zane crashed into the lockers behind him, and Jean followed to grab his shirt collar in both hands. Zane pressed a thumb to the blood at the corner of his mouth, unimpressed by Jean’s anger even as Jean twisted hard enough to cut off his air.
“Tell me why.” It didn’t matter; it couldn’t matter. Nothing Zane said could fix what had shattered between them. But it didn’t stop him from trying again. “Tell me why. You were the only person left I—” Jean choked on his words and had to try again. “I trusted you.”
For a moment the man staring at him was achingly familiar. A half-second later he was the stranger January made of him. Zane dug cruel fingers into Jean’s wrists, forcing him to let go, and shoved Jean out of his space again. But his hand was still on the knife in Jean’s back, and Zane couldn’t resist giving it one last ugly twist: “You should be thanking me for setting you up. Couple years without any ass? You must have been about to burst. I did you a favor.”
Jean’s fist went back again when a new voice from the doorway piped up with an uncertain, “Jean?”
USC had four coaches, three assistants, and twenty-nine Trojans, but somehow the one person to walk in on them was Lucas fucking Johnson. Zane went still as stone to stare at him, and Lucas sent a bewildered look between them. Jean put an arm out, knowing there was next to nothing he could do if Zane wanted to kill Lucas but needing to try anyway.
“Get out,” he said, right as Zane launched himself at Lucas. Jean had to use his entire body to knock Zane off-course, but his shoes slid on the polished floor as Zane tried to surge past him. He wouldn’t be able to hold him for long, but he dug in his feet as best he could and tried again: “Out, get out, get out.”
Zane lost valuable seconds throwing his punch at Jean instead, and Lucas bolted from the locker room at full speed. Jean spit blood off to one side and fixed Zane with a deadly look. “That’s Lucas, not Grayson. He’s Grayson’s younger brother. Leave him alone.”
“Not Grayson.” Zane rubbed his arms; his sharp and terrible laugh sent a noticeable shudder along his shoulders. He checked his knuckles, maybe looking for Grayson’s blood. He’d beat Grayson halfway to death in January because there was no chance in hell Grayson would let himself get mounted if he had any fight left in him. Jean had thought the bruises on Zane’s hands would never fade. They had, eventually, but the festering wound in Zane’s mind couldn’t. “Not Grayson, because Grayson killed himself. Who could have seen that coming?”