The Player

Prologue

Sutton

Tearing the mold off bread so I have something to eat.

A black eye on the first day of school. Two dollars to my name.

Rock bottom looks different every time, but it's never looked like an empty bottle of Jim Beam until tonight. My daddy told me I wasn't better than him, and I told him to go fuck himself. He punched me in the stomach, and I told him again. And again. And again, until I spit blood onto the worn gray carpet of our single-wide.

Always had more pride than sense, which I guess is how I ended up on top of a hollowed-out building. I'm surrounded by the biggest goddamn block party without a single drop to drink. Only Harper St. Claire could have turned the razing of a prized old building into a celebration.

Half the city showed up for the big demolition. They're dancing on the bones of that long-abandoned library, praying for a fresh harvest like it's a sacrifice.

Christopher and Harper, they're the gods in this ritual.

They're the ones we pray to.

A sound makes me tense. This may be a hollowed-out fucking building, but it's my hollowed-out fucking building. Some of the veneer that lets me wear a suit and smile and pretend I'm in control of myself has broken down. It crumbled along with the library when the wrecking ball crashed into it. There's only the feral part of me now, and my back's against the wall. I'm ready for a fight.

The rusted metal stairs creak and whine at someone's weight.

My skin ripples with awareness. I can almost imagine the hair on my back rising up like some kind of wild animal. I'm two seconds away from baring my teeth. You don't come near someone bleeding, even if the pain is only on the inside. Really fucking poetic, watching the two people I'm in love with end up with each other. Even from ten stories high I can see the way her eyes shine when she looks at him.

And I can see the way his body tightens when he looks at her.

A head appears over the rim of the building, blocking my view. The girl is hallowed by the spotlights on the street, her hair almost shimmering from the force of the light behind her. Or maybe it only looks that way because I'm wasted. "This roof's taken," I say, my voice hard. "Now fuck off."

She does not fuck off.

Instead I'm treated to the sight of backlit breasts and a slender silhouette as she climbs onto the roof. I made a chair out of an old radiator. Front row seats to heartbreak. Maybe she's one of Harper's friends from prep school. It might be a good time for her, watching me pant over what I can't have. She stretches her legs out in front of her, settling in beside me, using her warmth like a weapon against my numbness. "You excited about the park?" she says, her tone challenging.

"Hardly."

"It's going to revitalize the west side of Tanglewood." A spitfire, this girl. Her sarcasm so sharp I can feel it against my throat like a blade. "All the sad little poor people can finally see what a flower looks like. They'll have art and plants and magic, so who cares that they don't have food?"

Not a friend from prep school. Maybe she's some kind of do-gooder in Tanglewood, an activist, a volunteer, working with the poor. "Why are you at the groundbreaking for a park you don't want?"

"I could ask you the same question." She holds up my bottle to the sliver of orange sunset. It gleams empty. "How long have you been up here, anyway?"

I climbed those shaky metal stairs to the roof before the first crush of steel against concrete. The crowd gasped when the dust cleared, their eyes on the two-story painting revealed on the building behind. I was too busy watching the only two people I've ever loved share a private kiss on the scaffolding that serves as their temporary stage. And then drinking, drinking, drinking. I'm not sure I could make it back down the stairs without breaking my neck, so I'm trapped here.

How long have you been up here, anyway? "It feels like a goddamn lifetime."

Her gaze follows mine. A woman throws her arms around a man's neck. He leans down to whisper in her ear. They could have been any couple in love. "Which one?" she says, her voice soft.

"Which one what?"

"Which one broke your heart?"

I couldn't describe the sledgehammer I'd taken to the brain when I met Christopher in a dimly lit private club. Too dark to be called lust or even love. Competitive and all-consuming. I couldn't describe the desire that slammed through me when I met his stepsister.

There was no way I could choose between them, but it had not been a choice. They wanted each other. Electricity crackled in the air whenever they were in the same room.

Well, I could be happy for them.

That's what a good man would do. A gentleman, and I've worked so fucking hard to pretend that's what I am. Until the liquor stripped my skin away. Until this girl sat beside me, asking which one broke my heart. She watches me with clear eyes, her gaze impossibly wise. What does she see?

"Both of them."

A sympathetic sound that feels like a stroke to my cock.

She doesn't look shocked that I fell for a man, even though it shocked the hell out of me. I questioned my sexuality, fought with it-lost myself to it. Wanting Harper did not diminish wanting Christopher.

There's something worldly in that dark gaze. Any other day I would find out what.

Tonight, I don't care. She isn't a person with wants and dreams and needs of her own. I'm going to use her body the same way they used mine. I'm going to take what they took from me.

"Your name," I say, though it doesn't really matter.

"Ashleigh." She sounds uncertain for the first time tonight, her name drawn out into two parts. Ash, like the soot in a fireplace. And leigh, leigh, leigh. She's beautiful, and I'm wasted.

"Come here, Ashleigh." Except I don't give her a chance to come here. She might use it to leave, to disappear down that metal staircase where I can't follow.

My hand wraps behind her neck, pulling her close. My lips are harsh against hers, hungry and hard. I want to punish her for the emptiness inside me, except when she makes a little sound of fright, it fills me up with something else. Pleasure like black velvet, the kind of darkness I want to stroke my fingers over, back and forth, to feel the fibers pull against me.

Her shuddery breaths are like water, and I drink and drink. My tongue slides against hers. It's a graphic act, this kiss. More obscene than actual sex could be. More invasive as I push her head back and explore her mouth, not waiting for permission, not leaving any place untouched.

I must taste like whiskey, but she doesn't pull away.

I'm the one who breaks the kiss, panting hard. Liquid dark eyes stare up at me.

Surprise. More than that. There's outright shock in her expression. Is she younger than I thought? More innocent than anyone I ever met? I should ask her about sex, but those aren't the words that come out of my mouth. "Have you ever been in love, Ashleigh?"

A slow shake of her head. "No," she whispers.

"Good. That's good."

"I can pretend."

"What?"

"For a hundred dollars."

There's a drum in my head, pounding, pounding, telling me I've got something wrong. Really wrong. "A hundred dollars," I repeat, wishing my veins weren't running hot with liquor.

"For an hour. I know how much that suit costs. You can afford it."

I pull back, moving careful so I don't tip over. "What are you talking about?"

A cool breeze skates over us, and she shivers. I want to comfort her, but that's not what this is about. A fast fuck on an abandoned rooftop while the sounds of a massive block party bounce off the buildings around us. And a hundred dollars, apparently. Jesus. I was about to fuck a prostitute.

What's worse is that I still want to do it. More, because I know she'll let me do anything.

For a price.

I fumble for my wallet, and she tenses. Maybe it's her first time selling that sweet little body? Except that worldliness in her eyes. it's not the first time. My cock is rock hard in my slacks. I pull out the wad of cash that's inside and press it into her hand without saying a word. A few hundred, I think. "Take it."

I want to use this girl, but I'm not going to use her like this.

She scoots herself back, only an inch. There's shame on her face. And hurt, like maybe this rejection matters even though I gave her money.

"I should go," she says, not quite meeting my eyes.

"This roof's taken," I remind her, gently this time.

I don't tell her to fuck off again, but she gets the message. She scrambles to the edge of the roof and throws her leg over without looking back, taking the money with her. I watch the shadow of her ass in the moonlight, the same way a predator might watch its prey scamper off on a hot Sahara day. Sometimes it's too much trouble to catch something to eat, sometimes survival is more trouble than it's worth. I could have had her for a hundred dollars.

A faint scratch of metal against concrete, and then she's gone.

Back into the seething mass of partygoers, the ocean of joy that I can't join. I'm stuck on this island, and for maybe the first time, I'm glad of it. What I wanted with her wasn't good or clean. It wasn't kind.

The scaffolding where Harper and Christopher had stood is empty. The people around it...