“Are you gonna call me?” Alicia-Lucia tugged on my shirt. Hope glittered in her eyes.

I gave her a slow once-over. She looked good, but not as good as she thought. Then again, she was eager to please, so probably not the worst lay.

I’d warned her.

She’d refused to listen.

And I wasn’t a good guy.

“Leave your number on Trent’s phone.” I turned on my heel and left.

In the hallway, people made way for me, gluing their backs to the wall, smiling and raising their red Solo cups to me, groveling like I was the fucking pope. And to them—I was. This was my kingdom. People loved my type of evil. That was the thing about California, and that’s why I would never leave. I loved everything other people hated about it. The liars, the pretenders, the masks, and the plastic. I loved how people cared about what was in your pocket and not in your fucking chest. I loved that they were impressed by expensive cars and cheap wit. Hell, I even loved the earthquakes and bullshit vegetable shakes.

These people who I hated were my home. This place—my playground.

Murmurs rose from every corner of the hallway. I didn’t usually grace these people with my presence, but when I did, they knew why. Shit was going to go down tonight. Excitement filled the air.

“Fell in Love With a Girl” by The White Stripes pounded against the dark walls.

I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Just stared ahead as I sliced through the throng until I reached the storage cellar under the kitchen. I closed the door behind me. It was quiet, dark, like me. I pressed my back against the door, squeezed my eyes shut, and took a deep breath of the damp air.

Damn, that shit Dean brought in was strong. I was only half-lying when I said the stuff was bad.

I walked deeper into the room, mentally slamming the door on the rest of the world. On Daryl Ryker. Josephine. And even on people who were only half-villains, like Emilia and my dad. My fingers brushed the weapons on the wall I had collected over the years. I fingered my crowbar, dagger, baseball bat, and leather whip. It occurred to me that one day, hopefully soon, I could give up this collection, which I had never used but owned because it made me feel safer. Mainly, having this shit meant Daryl didn’t mess with me anymore.

I was looking for a physical, slow-building fight. I was looking for explosive pain coming out of nowhere. In short, I was looking for trouble.

When I climbed back upstairs to the outdoor pool, empty-handed, I stood over the edge. The moonlight lit my reflection against the clear water. The pool was full of people in swim trunks and designer bikinis. My eyes roamed the place, searching for Dean. He was the guy I wanted to fight. To break his smug boy-next-door face. But I knew he was out with Help, and besides, rules were rules. Even I couldn’t bend them. The minute I stepped out there with my sleeves rolled up to my shoulders, I invited whoever wanted to fight me to step forward. But I couldn’t ask anyone specifically. They had to volunteer. That was the dangerous game we played at All Saints High to burn time: Defy.

Defy was fair.

Defy was brutal.

Most of all, Defy dulled the pain and provided a great explanation for my marred skin.

I wasn’t surprised when I heard the thump of Trent’s cast behind me. He knew how fucked up I was and wanted to save the night.

“Tell Dean to dump her ass or I will,” he said from behind my back.

I shook my head, sneering. “He can do whatever the fuck he wants. If he wants to bang that hillbilly, it’s his funeral.”

“Vicious,” Trent warned.

I turned around and sized him up. His smooth mocha skin shone under the full moon, and I hated him for his ability to enjoy the opposite sex with such carelessness. Fucking random chicks was growing old too fast. And I wasn’t even eighteen yet.

“This shit with this chick is gonna drag everyone down a very dark path.” He took off his shirt, exposing his huge, ripped torso. He was a bulky bastard.

As always, I kept my shirt on. People eyed us avidly, but I’d never cared about these assholes. They wanted to fill their meaningless existence with something to talk about. I was only too happy to give it to them.

I coiled my fist, cocking my head sideways. “Aw, you care about me. I’m fucking touched, T-Rex.” I clutched the left side of my black tee above my heart, mocking him with a fake smile.

Georgia and her airhead crew were watching us intently, waiting for the monster in me to pounce on one of my best friends. I marched past Trent, my shoulder brushing his, trudging toward the tennis court where we fought on most weekends. It was big, secluded, and spacious enough for the crowd to take seats on one side of our makeshift octagon.

“Give me your worst, Rexroth,” I growled, trying to calm myself down. Trying to remind myself that Trent and Jaime were right. Dean and Help were just a fling. They’d be broken up by the end of the month. He was going to dump her—hopefully with her virginity still intact—hurt and angry and looking for a rebound. She’d be fragile, insecure, and vindictive.

And that’s when I was going to strike.

That’s when I was going to show her she was nothing more than my property.

“Come on, T. Move your injured ass to the tennis court. Just try not to bleed all over my fucking grass after we’re done.”

The Present

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, SCHMUCK!” I shouted as I waited on the corner outside of the trendy office building on the Upper East Side.

The muddy stain on my bib-waisted sailor dress, the one with the tiny smiley faces, widened, spreading quickly. I held my cell between my ear and my shoulder, swallowing a frustrated scream. I was puddle-soaked, hungry, tired, and desperate for the walk signal to turn green. On top of everything, I was already late for my shift at McCoy’s.

The roar of honking traffic on a Friday night filled my ears. The problem with jaywalking in New York City was that the drivers were New Yorkers too, so they didn’t mind running you over if it came to that.

Or soaking your clothes, for that matter.

“What the hell, Millie?” Rosie coughed into my ear on the other end of the line. She sounded like an asthmatic dog. My sister hadn’t left her bed all day.

I would’ve been jealous had I not known why.

“A taxi driver just splashed me on purpose,” I explained.

“Calm your tits,” she soothed in her own, special way, and I heard her shifting in bed, groaning. “Tell me what they said again.”

The signal turned green. The animal kingdom that was New York’s pedestrians almost ran me over as we all rushed to the other side of the street, ducking our heads under the scaffolding above us. My feet screamed with pain in high heels as I rushed past food vendors and men in pea coats, praying I’d get there before the staff meal in the kitchen was over and I missed my chance to grab something to eat.

“They said that, while they were happy that I was taking an interest in the advertising industry, I was paid to make coffee and file stuff, not to make suggestions in creative meetings and share my ideas with the design teams at lunchtime. They said I was overqualified to be a PA, but that they didn’t have any art-intern positions to fill. They’re also trying to ‘trim the fat’ to stay economically lean. Apparently, I’m just that—fat.” I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, as I’d never been skinnier in my life—and not by choice. “So they fired me.”

I blew out air, forming a white cloud. New York winters were so cold, they made you wish you could show up at work wearing the quilt you’d rolled yourself up in the night before. We should’ve moved back to the South. It still would be far enough from California. Not to mention the rent was way cheaper.

“So you’ve only got your job at McCoy’s left?” It was Rosie’s turn to sigh, and her lungs made a funny noise. Worry colored her voice.

I couldn’t blame her. I was supporting both of us for now. I didn’t make much as a PA, but dang, I’d needed the two jobs. With Rosie’s meds, we weren’t making ends meet as it was.

“Don’t worry,” I said as I sprinted down the busy street. “This is New York. There are job opportunities everywhere. You literally don’t know where the next job will come from. I can easily find something else.” Like hell I will. “Listen, I gotta go if I don’t want to lose my night job, too. I’m already three minutes late. Love you. Bye.”

I hung up and stopped at another crosswalk, fidgeting. There was a thick layer of people ahead of me waiting to cross the street. I couldn’t lose my job at McCoy’s, the Midtown bar I worked at. I couldn’t. I glanced sideways, my gaze halting on the long, dark alley sandwiched between two huge buildings. A shortcut. It’s not worth it, a little voice inside me said.

I was late.

And I just got fired from my day job.

And Rosie was sick again.

And there was rent to pay.

Screw it, I’ll be fast.

I ran, my spine vibrating every time my high heels hit the pavement. The cold wind slapped my cheeks, the sting like a whip lash. I ran so fast it took me a few seconds to absorb the fact that someone had yanked me back by the courier bag slung over my shoulder. I fell flat on my ass. The ground was wet and cold, and I’d landed on my tailbone.

I didn’t care. I didn’t even have time to be shocked or get angry. I clutched my bag close to my chest and looked up at the offender. He was just a kid. A teenager, to be exact, with a face dotted with popped pimples. Tall and lanky and in all probability as hungry as I was. But it was my bag. My stuff. New York was a concrete jungle. I knew that sometimes, in order to survive, you had to be mean. Meaner than those who were mean to you.