Marcus #2
“Lance’s immune system was as much of a drama queen as he was.
Once again, he developed resistance to Patient X’s blood when he was around twenty, so they took a risk and did a marrow transplant, which worked.
Can you imagine the pain Patient X was in?
He was merely thirteen at the time. But no one asked about the nameless, faceless person who was made for Leo’s and Lance’s highness.
” That bitterness returns to her voice. “You know, everyone in the Osborn household was celebrating when the operation was a success. We threw a party, and the whole estate was lit with fireworks, but no one mentioned the thirteen-year-old kid who made it happen. Isn’t that ironic? ”
“I suppose.”
“Well, Lance sure got his karma a couple of months ago when he suddenly developed an autoimmune disease that killed him within a week. As for Leo, he received transfusions his entire life. He was so sick all the time and had severe relapses, so Patient X needed to undergo full bone marrow transfusions occasionally. Do you know how painful that is for a child?”
“I can only imagine.”
“All his childhood, Patient X’s body went through severe trauma after severe trauma. As if he were a guinea pig.” She purses her lips, then smiles tightly. “Oh well, at fifteen, Leo suffered from transplant toxicity and developed a secondary cancer that killed him.”
“What happened to Patient X?”
“What do you think Dad would do to his lab rat?”
“Since Leo died at fifteen, Lance would’ve been twenty-one at the time. And even though he’d already had the marrow transplant, with his body’s history of delayed rejection, he’d still have a risk. So Dad would’ve kept Patient X under surveillance in case Lance needed his blood in the future.”
She snaps her fingers. “Bingo. Unfortunately for Dad, X died in a house fire shortly after Leo’s death. Rumor has it, ‘his doctor parents,’ who he believed to be his real parents, felt sorry for him and let him die.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” A strange look clouds her eyes. “At least he was no longer in pain.”
“And you got less competition.”
“I suppose,” she says with a smile, but it’s forced. “Do you know why X was used and died?”
“Because Dad is a piece of shit?”
“Well, there’s that. But he also lacked power.”
“He was a kid who spent his childhood strapped to a hospital bed. Where could he have come up with power?”
“He should’ve found a way.” She pats my arm. “Don’t be another X, Marcus.”
She walks to the door, the sound of her heels echoing in the silence before she stops. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Congrats on the game last night. I know you have that sadistic streak like all of us, but don’t give our boys at the Vipers a hard time, all right?”
She winks, and I narrow my eyes, which makes her laugh in that knowing way.
There’s no way she’s aware of my little game with Preston. Though calling it a game feels off.
What is it anyway?
After that night in the locker room, I’m not so fucking sure. Is it a game if I felt like bursting out of my skin just because I was touching him?
Because he allowed me to touch him.
I could tell he was uncomfortable at first, but he gradually fell into it and let me coax him into accepting my touch.
Until he backhanded me, that is.
I tap my thumb against my middle finger as I leave the arena, my muscles bunching up.
No, I shouldn’t correlate that backhanding with Dad’s rejections throughout my childhood, but tell that to my brain.
I scroll through my exchange with Preston, but there’s nothing new. Radio silence.
Well, I haven’t texted him either, but I have a reason. What’s his?
Pretending nothing happened. Preston’s favorite hobby, which comes right after pissing people off for sport.
Doesn’t matter anyway, because there’ll be another game next week, and after his performance last night—yes, I watched a replay—he’ll believe in the ritual and come crawling back to me. I’ve already got him hook, line, and sinker.
So why does it still bother me that he’s ignoring me?
Go figure.
Apparently, I don’t need to wait until next week, because that same night, Dahlia invited me to a club in the heart of Graystone Ridge.
What am I if not the nicest gentleman?
I mean, not quite. Dahlia asked if I wanted to participate in some drama, and I agreed.
Said drama includes making her current fling, Davenport, jealous. And what’s the best way to do that? Bring her sort of ex—me—into a literal den of vipers.
This is where the Vipers team comes to party, according to Dahlia, and I can’t miss the chance to see it for myself.
Stir things up a little.
Find out if I can provoke Preston somehow.
With her arm around mine, we walk into the club that’s vibrating with bass.
Their expensive perfumes clog my nostrils as red and yellow-green lights cut through the air like lasers.
It smells of drugs and mindlessness. Corruption and shallowness, like this entire town.
Everything here reeks of cruelty beyond imagination. Every single one of these people, like Dad, would’ve authorized Patient X just to protect their stature and empires.
And yet here I am, right in their midst.
I stare down at Dahlia, who’s pressed to my side, wearing a tight green dress that’s meant to be noticed. She’s pretty, with tanned olive-toned skin and curves in all the right places.
And she comes from Stantonville, so she’s part of my world instead of this pretentious shithole. And yet…she stirs nothing in me sexually.
None of them do now.
I seem to have grown an addiction to a certain emotionally stunted prince with golden hair.
Releasing a breath, I lean down to whisper in her ear, “Is it just me, or do you now make more of an effort to look so fucking hot?”
“Should’ve kept me when you had me instead of trying to share me with your friends.”
I laugh as we head to the bar that’s lit by a purple neon glow and crowded with people shouting their orders.
And that’s when I see him.
Across from us in the VIP lounge above, almost the entire Vipers team is there. Some are dancing, but many of them are gathered by the glass barrier, scowling at me.
But they don’t matter.
The one who does is Preston. He’s also standing there, but his expression is unreadable as he takes a sip of his drink.