“What’s the consequence?” I ask, and Zayd picks up a handful of pennies from the fountain, sorting through them and looking at the years before he tosses them all back in, and then goes for his wallet. Of course the rich dickhead doesn’t have pennies on him, so he gives us each a quarter to throw.

“The consequence is that the no long-range weapons clause is removed. Like, Creed climbed behind the wheel of a car and raced on a track for that. He almost flipped it and died.” Zayd looks back at me, and then squeezes his quarter, tossing it into the water with a splash. I wonder if his wish has something to do with me? “The Harpies and the Company, they can’t use guns or crossbows or anything like that on you. At all. Trust me, if they could you’d probably already be dead. Lizzie could’ve fucked us by telling you that.”

Shit.

So she really was mean girling me, wasn’t she?

On another note … guns and crossbows?! What the actual fuck?

“And Tristan?” I ask trying to stay calm here. Zayd smiles softly.

“He wasn’t supposed to sleep with you, not until we graduated. I think Lizzie was trying to give herself a fighting chance she never had. Tristan’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you, the very first day of first fucking year.”

“Bullshit,” I snort and Zayd lifts his head up to look at me, brows raised.

“Is it? Because he told me when he saw you, that he felt like his entire life was being rearranged inside his chest. I think it’s why he hated you so much, to combat the other emotions.” I say nothing, but my throat feels tight again, and I’m fighting back those strange tears at the corners of my eyes.

“And the consequence for him?”

Zayd nods at my quarter.

“Make a wish,” he tells me, so I clasp the quarter tight in my palm, and then drop it into the water. I’d tell you my wish, but if I did, it might not come true, and it’s so impossibly impossible that I don’t dare risk any chance I might have at it. “Tristan’s punishment is that he has to … sleep with Lizzie.”

When Zayd trails off, his voice distant and tinny, I know what’s coming.

“No.”

“Marnye, I know this is killing him, but he has to do it. He has to. If he doesn’t follow through on the bet, then Lizzie could tell Harper she broke hers. Imagine that, Harper du Pont with a gun or a crossbow. Marnye, this is life and death.”

“No.” I stand up, the breeze ruffling the pink dress I put on this morning. It’s Zayd’s day, according to my calendar, but I have to find Tristan.

“The only person he’s ever slept with that he cares about is you. It’s just sex, and I’d do the same thing if I had to, to save you.”

Lizzie pretended to be on our side, got in on the bets at the Infinity Club, and then purposely broke an agreement and threw it in my face. No. She can’t have Tristan. I’ll … I’d rather take my chances with a rifle.

I turn and start running, Zayd right behind me. He grabs me around the waist with his inked arms and lifts me off my feet.

“Marnye, stop. This has to be done. It has to.” I elbow him in the stomach and he grunts. Even though it’s not that hard of a hit, he releases me because I’m struggling too hard, and I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. I hit the door to Tower Three, and then slam my fist against the button for the elevator, eyes brimming with tears.

It could be happening right now. He could be inside of her. He could …

He’s mine.

That thought cuts through the rest of my thoughts like an arrow, and I stand there hyperventilating while the elevator takes its sweet ass fucking time.

“Are you okay?” Miranda asks, appearing by my side. I think she can tell by my face that I’m most definitely not.

“No.”

I’m panting now, and I can’t seem to force my mouth to form words. Zayd turns to Miranda to explain instead.

“Infinity Club stuff …” He trails off as Miranda plants her hands on her hips. He sighs in frustration, but we both know how persuasive Miranda can be. “Tristan has to fuck Lizzie because of a bet.”

“What?!” Miranda roars, and then she’s scrambling into the elevator with us as soon as the doors open. “What do you mean Tristan has to fuck Lizzie?”

“It’s that or Marnye fucking dies,” Zayd yells, and I can tell he’s getting frustrated. “It’s just … sex.”

“How can you say that after you’ve been with Marnye? Could you fuck another girl right now? Could you?” Miranda hits him, but Zayd just puts his hands up like a shield and lets her do it. “I knew I should’ve made her my girlfriend and kicked all the rest of you into the depths of hell. I knew it. You’re monsters, you’re all monsters.”

“I just want to see her live through graduation,” Zayd whispers as the door opens, and I race over to Tristan’s apartment, slamming my fists on the door.

I’m fully aware it’s been weeks since that day in the hallway, that the deed might already be done.

But … it feels urgent somehow.

After several minutes of pounding, the door finally opens and there he is, standing there in his full black uniform and glaring down at me with gray eyes.

“What is it now, Working Girl? I’m busy.” I go to push past him, and he stops me by slamming his palm into the doorjamb. That’s when I know it’s bad, that he’s got something to hide. “Get out of here, Marnye.” Tristan looks up to see Zayd standing there and hisses under his breath. “You were supposed to keep her away from here today. Are you too stupid for even that simple of a task?”

I duck low and look past Tristan, only to see Lizzie standing there in a blue bathrobe.

No. No, I’m too late.

I shove Tristan out of the way and storm into the apartment, moving up to Lizzie and seriously considering slapping her in her stupid surprised face. No violence, Marnye. No violence.

“I said no bullying at my school, and what you did to me, that was an act of bullying.”

“You deserved to know—”

“Bullshit!” I scream, and she cringes. She really is weak, after all, Lizzie Walton is. “Bullshit.”

“Marnye, get out of here and go on a date with Zayd or something,” Tristan says, coming to pause beside me. I can’t look at him. I can’t. I just can’t.

“You told me about the bet, so that’d you have leverage against Tristan. Just admit it. You can’t stand that you lost.” Lizzie looks away and closes her amber eyes. Her hair looks tousled, and she seems to be naked under the robe. Did I come too late? Is it already over?

“Marnye, we should go,” Zayd says, but I ignore him, too.

“Did you … already sleep together?” Miranda asks, pointing between Tristan and Lizzie. She sounds almost too upset about it. Like I get her being on my side, but there’s something more to it. “Did you guys just finish fucking?”

“It’s for the best, Marnye,” Tristan says, but his face is so blank. I can see it even with that cruel mask of his in place. He’s shutting down.

“Did. You. Fuck. Her?” I whisper, hating that he won’t answer me. Why won’t he fucking answer me?

Windsor, Zack, and Creed burst in the door a moment later, and Tristan swears under his breath, turning away and running his fingers through his dark hair.

“Bloody hell,” Wind murmurs when he sees me, and my whole body tightens up. He knew. Zayd knew. They all knew. They did a nice job hiding it from me, too.

“Tristan, look at me,” I say, but when he does, his expression is written in anger.

“I fucked Lizzie,” he says, voice cold.

“You’re lying,” I say, and then louder. “You’re lying.”

“I wanted to do it, too. You think I’d ever be happy with a charity case like you?”

Wow.

He’s really putting it on hard, this bullshit act. But he forgets that I saw right through him in the bathroom, and even more so when we fell asleep in each other’s arms that night.

I’m not buying it.

I walk up to him and put my hands on his chest.

“You think lying to protect me will work? It won’t. I don’t want your lies as a shield against the bad things. I only want you.” I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss his mouth hard. I kiss him as possessively as any of the other boys have ever kissed me. When Tristan starts to shake and his hands come up to touch my arms of their own accord, I know I’ve caught him red-handed. I pull back slightly and look him in the eyes. “Did you fuck her?” I repeat.

Tristan stares at me, emotions warring in his gray eyes.

“Not yet,” he whispers finally, and I feel this huge surge of relief as I throw my arms around his neck.

I know then an undeniable truth: I will not be able to give up Tristan Vanderbilt at the end of the year.

I don’t know exactly what that means overall, only that I can’t not have him.

I can’t.

“But I have to, Marnye. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even stick my dick in some pathetic waste of life who can’t take a hint. I’m done with you, Lizzie. Done. I was done with you the first moment I laid eyes on Marnye.”

“Stop,” I whisper, putting my hand over his lips—lips that belong, undeniably, to me—and turning to glance over my shoulder. Lizzie is sobbing now, sinking to the floor in her robe and then just sitting there, all alone while the rest of us look on.