Page 93

I glance at the driveway and finally notice that his Bronco's gone.

Coming sounds amazing, hot shot. Where are you? Door's locked and it's cold.

No immediate answer. When I hit the call button, it goes straight to voicemail too, so I bring up Owen's message asking if I want to hit up a Halloween party tonight.

Hey, sorry, I just got out of court. Anyone gonna be at the apartment soon to let me in?

It takes only a few seconds for him to respond.

Uh… no, everyone's here drinking. You had court?

My brows furrow slightly, smile faltering on the word everyone.

Yeah, for the drug shit. Went good tho. Is Christian there?

He is. Hang on, I'll send you a ride.

My chest constricts as I shove my free hand into my pocket and rock back on my heels. It's fine, it's cool. He probably didn't mean to lock me out on purpose. Maybe he forgot I don't have a key or something. No big deal.

The sky’s gone a deeper purple now, stars shining through like they’re curious to see what happens next. A second later, my phone buzzes again with another message from Owen.

I don't think he knew you had court.

The ache in my chest deepens, and I thumb out a response, tonguing my lip piercing.

Did he say something?

Three dots appear, then disappear. Then reappear again.

The Uber should be there soon, just find us when you get here.

I drop down onto the porch, grocery bag rustling against my leg as I blow out a breath. Instantly, my good mood vanishes.

Guess Christian did, in fact, lock me out on purpose. Owen doesn't need to spell it out for me; I’ve known Christian long enough to read between the lines.

It takes about ten minutes for the ride to show up, and I spend it the entire time shivering my ass off on the porch with my head in my hands. When the car nears the nightclub, a dark feeling prickles the back of my neck. Flickering neon hits my eyes in the distance before the driver even stops.

“Here you go,” she says, already halfway turned around in her seat. “Party’s poppin’ tonight.”

“Yeah,” I mutter as I get out. “Looks like it.”

The car pulls away before I can second-guess myself, tires crunching over gravel as it disappears down the road. I’m left standing on the sidewalk with my dumb grocery bag, staring at the pulsing lights of a club that sits way too fucking close to Arnie’s bar for comfort. Music thumps through the ground, vibrating up my legs, making my skin itch.

Eyeing Arnie’s sideways, I can already see a few guys smoking outside. One of them glances my way.

“Fuck.” Taking out my phone, I send Owen a quick text to let him know I can't get in.

They suspended my license for the next six months. Can you send Christian out?

A few more sets of eyes notice my presence. I shift on the curb and set the grocery bag between my feet nervously. Two bikers peel off from the group down the block, smoke curling from their cigarettes, and I recognize them immediately: Arnie’s cronies who beat the shit out of me.

All of my nerves begin firing at once. I instinctively take a step back, nearly tripping over the curb as I try to call Owen on the phone. He doesn’t pick up.

The two assholes stroll toward me leisurely like they’ve got nowhere else to be. My pulse jumps, adrenaline dumping straight into my bloodstream. Every muscle tenses, my freeze response trapping me in place.

“Look who crawled back,” one of them calls, a nasty grin on his face.

All I can think about is how fucking tired I am of getting my ass kicked.