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“Yes, fuck is right.”
She nods, tugging off her apron and throwing it on the bar. Running around to me, she snatches a bottle, and we hurry out of the bar.
Jesse.
Shit. I don’t even have time to tell him I won’t be coming back. Maybe I could leave a note under the parlor door. No, I can’t risk it.
We catch a taxi to the flat, and as soon as we get inside, we start pulling out our bags. I rush into the bathroom, scooping up all my toiletries, and then walk into the closet, pulling down the little safe I keep my money in, throwing it into my bag. After I’m sure all my shit is gathered, I go out to meet Tatum.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, wheeling her suitcase. “Yes, yup, shit.”
I glance down at my suitcase and then back to Tatum. “It was Bishop. How did he find my number?”
“Mads, I’ve already told you. “They own the school and their level of pull that they have on people is mysterious, to say the least.”
“I guess they still want to kill me.”
“Kill you?” she asks, shocked.
Shaking my head, I wipe my frown with a smile, nudging my head toward the door. “I guess it’s time for Bristol.”
THE GLASS SLIDING DOORS OPEN out onto a chillier atmosphere than what was in New Zealand. It’s almost December, so I guess we chose a cooler time to come to this side of the country, as opposed to New Zealand, where it’s summer in December. Not that we had a choice or anything. Tatum comes up beside me, her teeth jittering. “Jesus, let’s choose a warmer place next time.”
I smile at her, waving down the taxi that’s pulling up beside the curb. It stops in front and I run to the passenger window. “Are you free?”
He nods. “Yep!” Then he pops the trunk for both of us to put our bags into.
“Where are we staying, exactly?” Tatum whispers.
I shrug, putting my bags into the trunk. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll ask him to take us to a cheap motel or whatever it is they call it here.”
“Good idea.” Tatum nods, getting into the back seat.
A few days later, after finding a good little place to stay in, “Hail to the King” by Avenged Sevenfold is pumping through the massive speakers, shaking the floor. I tip my drink back and Tatum winks at me.
“I think I’m going to like it here.” She looks around until her eyes land on two guys who are so obviously checking us out.
“Come.” She grins, gripping onto my hand.
“Tate—”
“Mads, please, when are you going to get over this shit with Bishop? He’s a liar and doesn’t deserve you!” Her hands come up to my cheeks. “Repeat after me.”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to stifle my laugh.
“Bishop Vincent Hayes is a cocksucker,” she says calmly, waiting for me to repeat.
A giggle erupts out of me from all the alcohol. “Bishop Vincent Hayes is a cocksucker.”
“Atta girl, now…” She tips her head back, swallowing her shot in one go. “Speaking of sucking cock.” Then she pulls me through the crowd of people until we’re in front of the two guys who were eye fucking us.
“Hi, boys.” Tatum grins. “Which one of you is buying us a drink?”
They both launch off their chairs. “Subtle,” I snicker under my breath.
Not my type at all.
The ground starts swimming, or it’s swimming in my mind when one of the guys pulls me into him.
“Wanna dance, pretty girl?”
Pretty girl? I shrug, because what can a dance do? He pulls me onto the floor just as “Bad Things” by Machine Gun Kelly starts playing. It’s more of an understated beat and a little personal, but whatever. It’s not like we’re at a nightclub or anything; this place is just a bar. It’s actually under the room we’re staying in, and we thought we’d check it out. Homeboy pulls me into his chest again—a chest that is the complete opposite of Bishop’s. A little squishier than I’d like, and when I look down, I see his beer belly.
Oh gross. Nope, I can’t do this.
“Sorry,” I push at his chest, “I can’t do this.”
“Nonsense.” He grins, saliva covering his mouth.
“Yeah,” I answer again, pushing at his chest. “Just not really feeling it.” He grips my wrist and pulls me into him again. “Hey!” I yell, though it’s still a slur. Where’s Tatum? I spin around, trying to find her, but I can’t see her anywhere. He starts to drag me toward a back door that has an exit light flashing over the top.
“No.” I try to pull my hand out of his grip, only it doesn’t move. He tugs me roughly, and I look around to see if anyone knows what he’s doing, but the music is too loud, and there are too many people to know what’s happening. Reaching the door, he pushes it open and my eyes shut, consciousness coming in and out. Oh no.
