Page 127 of Trailer Trash

But the door flings open once more.

“What the hell are you doing here this late?” asks Frida.

I glance around, realizing I’m parked behind the dance studio, not a bar. I check my watch. It is early morning. At least I got that right.

“My security system alerted me of a vehicle loitering at my studio. It woke me up!” she scolds.

“Sorry.”

She drops into the seat as if I invited her to join me.

“I just dropped off Asher. He needed a ride to this side of town.”

Frida goes still. Her gaze moves outside the window, searching. “Why are you still talking to that asshole?” she hisses. “Are you on drugs again?”

“Asher didn’t make me relapse. So calm down.”

“He made you start,” she replies. “I want you to cut him out of your life, Killy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Killy?”

I nod slowly. It isn’t her name for me anymore.

“You’re married,” I remind her.

She twists her slender fingers together. “So?”

“I wish you would move on, Frida.”

Her eyes narrow and nostrils flare.

“I am! With Matteo. I am being a good friend. You cannot go down this path again. You may not survive. Quit the drugs. Cut Asher out of your life. Start over.”

Her hand darts toward the ignition. I slap it away.

“You’re not driving like this.”

“Get out.” I take out my knife and point it at her, a warning.

Her eyes narrow, but she pushes the door open and steps out. Before shutting it, her goodbye is sharp. “I’m calling your father.”

“Do it,” I say, unbothered, but she’s already stalking back to her car.

I drive away. My phone buzzes.

Atticus: Here’s the address.

Atticus: *pin drop*

Good. He’s up late too. I’m glad he replied to my text. This is perfect timing.

I make a U-turn, following my GPS.

Evan should be home. He left Harlow’s trailer long ago. It’s time to make sure he never comes back.

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