Poor, stupid, beaten Derek—still sporting his black eye and split lip, still grinning like an idiot because he thought Phei was his savior, still completely oblivious to the trap closing around him.
"Derek," Phei called, his voice warm and friendly through the microphone—the kind of warm that came right before the knife. "You're with me, right? Buddy?"
The auditorium went quiet.
Derek's grin froze.
Everyone was looking at him now. Two thousand pairs of eyes, waiting to see how the former member of the Unholy Trinity would respond to being publicly claimed by the boy his friends had tormented for a decade.
Phei watched the calculation happen in real-time.
Derek thinking: He promised to help me. He has dirt on Brett and Anderson. He's my only way out.
Derek thinking: If I say no, I'm alone. If I say yes, I'm on his team.
Derek thinking: He called me buddy. In front of everyone. That means something, right?
