Pretty Reckless (All Saints High 1)

Now I’m interested to know just how deep Gus thrust himself into my life without my knowledge. Because if he’s playing Addy and messed around with my sister, who knows what else he touched without permission?

Not Daria, for his fucking sake.

“Aw.” Gus tosses his clipboard to the ground, adjusting his ball cap backward because apparently, he just doesn’t look douchey enough. “Someone’s being a bad sport.”

“Spit it out,” I snarl.

“I just wanted to talk.” He lifts his hands in surrender.

“I have nothing to say to you, other than your team sucks, but actions speak louder than words, so I’ll just remind you of that on the field next week.”

“About that.” Gus taps his mouth with his finger, making a show of it. “I see your little girlfriend didn’t bring you up to speed on our latest convo.”

I rub my jaw.

“Adriana tries to forget you exist. She hates you like the rest of us.”

“Nah. The one you actually give a shit about.”

Daria.

My jaw clenches, and I’m ready to fuck his face up if he so much as breathes in her direction. She’s going through enough—partly because of my miserable ass—and doesn’t need him on her case.

“Leave her out of our beef, or you’ll have a much bigger problem than getting your ass kicked next Friday.” My voice turns to steel, and any traces of the booze leave my system. I’m wide-awake and sober now.

“Too late, lover boy. I got my hands on her journal. Fascinating shit.” He whistles, fanning his face. “This thing’ll blow up the school when it comes out. Spanked and humiliated by her principal in his office like in a bad porn flick, dicked by you in a forest, and basically shitting all over your sister’s and her mom’s dreams. Daria’s been good at being a bad girl these past four years.”

Principal Prichard spanked her? The words burn on my skin, and all I see is red. He touched her. No, worse—he hurt her. Under my fucking watch.

Anger clogs up my veins and settles in my stomach. I am on the verge of detonating under the bleachers all over Gus.

Taking a step toward him, I wrap my fingers around his throat. I can choke him to death in cold blood right now and not even regret it tomorrow morning. The thought scares me because it is real. I was livid when I found out he was messing around with my sister, but apparently, the two parts Via and Daria split me in aren’t that even after all. Daria’s chunk is bigger. I care about her more.

“If this shit comes out…”

Gus tries to swallow without success, producing a sound that’s between a cackle and a gag. My hold on his meaty neck is so firm, I can see his blue veins popping out from between my fingers. His eyes turn red as his blood vessels begin to burst.

“What do you think is going to happen if you fuck me up, Scully? That’s right. Whoever keeps the journal for me is going to print it out and give it to anyone who’s willing to read it. And trust me—people’ll line up for your girlfriend’s shit.”

“What do you want?” Spit flies out of my mouth. I’m losing it. I’m losing her. The air begins to pulse, and the world is a living thing, swaying and swinging, trying to trip me.

“Lose the game, bro. I told her the only way she is getting this bitch back without any repercussions is if your ass lets us win. Everyone knows you’ve been approached by all the big ones. Just take a step aside and let others have a piece of the pie.”

“I still have my teammates. They’re the ones who deserve the pie,” I grit out.

Not everyone has been contacted yet with potential scholarship offers. Kannon hasn’t. Camilo has scouts eyeing him but has yet to receive a concrete offer. Neither has Nelson. By throwing the game, I’m throwing their futures, too.

Not to mention Coach Higgins.

Not to mention my goddamn morals.

“They don’t have your back, so I don’t see why you should have theirs.” Gus pushes my chest, and I realize I’ve released my hold on him without even meaning to. The red marks on his neck are going to be purple tomorrow morning.

“Don’t talk to me in riddles. If you have something to say—say it.”

He picks up the clipboard and slaps the plastic above him three times. I hear people standing up and circling the bleachers, and less than a minute later, I am standing in front of his entire football squad, sans Knight Cole. His posse is here, arms folded, chests puffed, ready to bring Gus’s point home.

“Throw the game.” Gus jerks his chin up. “Save your princess. She’d do the same for you.”

I stare at him through a mist of rage that’s blinding me.