Hardcore: Volume 2 by Staci Hart Page A

“I don’t know. Like she’d lost it.”
    I let out a breath, but it didn’t vent the pressure in my chest.  
    “I didn’t know if she was going to walk away. She just stood there, staring down at you.” Erin paused. “I was ready to take her down if she touched you again, but she just left the loft — didn’t say a single word.”
    “Something is different.”
    “I know.”
    “I’ve never been afraid of her before, not really, but that look on her face … ”
    Erin took a deep breath. “Cory, this is not okay. She can’t do this.”
    “The Rothko is worth too much, Erin. I don’t think she’s going to give up.”
    Erin was quiet, but I could almost hear her thinking.
    Another wave of nausea rolled over me, and I squeezed my eyes shut as my skin prickled with sweat. “Water?”
    She reached behind her for the nightstand. “Yeah, here.”
    I took the glass with shaking hands and tilted my face, trying to bring it to my lips without spilling it. The cold water was crisp, and I gulped it greedily. I rested the glass on my stomach and relaxed back onto my pillow with a sigh.
    “How bad do you think the concussion is?” Erin asked.
    “I’ve had worse.” My head thumped, and I closed my eyes. “I think I want to try to sleep.”
    “Okay. Take this.” Erin dropped ibuprofen into my waiting palm, and I popped them into my mouth, chasing them with a sip of water. “I’m going to go clean up. I’ll be back to wake you up every two hours, so don’t bitch. I’ll call Sam too and tell him we won’t be in for a few days, okay?”
    “‘Kay,” I answered, my eyes already closing.
    She paused in the doorway for a long moment. “We’ll get everything sorted out. I promise.”
    But I found no comfort in her words as I drifted into the dark arms of sleep.

    It was afternoon when I finally woke for good, still stiff and aching. My headache had quieted to a dull thud, and I reached for the glass of water, emptying it in a chain of thick swallows.
    I lay back in bed, eyes on the exposed pipes over my bed. Jade had played the ultimate card, the only card she had on me. There was no way I could refuse, and she knew it. I wouldn’t sacrifice Jill’s life for anything or anyone. As much as I wanted to believe that Jade wouldn’t hurt Jill, I wouldn’t take a chance. Not with so much at stake. Not after seeing Jade snap. She had crossed the line and wouldn’t go back. She would squeeze until it was over. But she didn’t need everyone. Only me. It was all on me.
    The defeat and resolve were crushing, but I wasn’t angry or sad. I was empty.
    Only a few hours earlier, I’d had hope. I had fight. But Jade erased it with a word. Any ideas I’d manufactured about my future had been shattered.  
    Maybe it was for the better. I could never be good for someone else. I wasn’t even good for myself.
    I made an attempt to sit up very, very slowly, certain I was going to vomit, but once I was upright, the nausea passed. All that was left was my exhaustion. I slipped my hand into my hair to touch the back of my aching head, running my fingers over the knot where it had connected with concrete.
    Jade’s words rang in my ears. Give me a reason. Just one. My jaw clenched. I wouldn’t give her that reason she wanted so badly.  
    I shifted to place my feet on the cold floor, taking a moment to steel myself. When I stood, it was slowly, uncertain whether or not I was going to drop, but the only imposing remnants of the concussion were in my shaky knees as I made my way across the room to my dresser. I peeled off my jeans with one hand, hanging onto my dresser with the other, then shed my shirt, leaving the clothes in a pile at my feet. Black leggings and a tank were the maximum I could manage, and once I was dressed, I shuffled toward the kitchen, following the voices of my friends.
    Morgan, Cher, and Erin went quiet, pity and anger written all over their faces. I smiled half-heartedly and sat down next to Cher.