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Shit.
There is a car back there.
And as soon as I see the driver’s face, one part of my heart relaxes while another part clenches even tighter.
It’s Lincoln.
2
Adrenaline is still pouring through my body as I gaze through the windshield, making my stomach churn until I feel sick.
Lincoln is alone in the car, his head tilted slightly as he creeps along behind me at a mile an hour. The bright amber color of his eyes is a stark contrast to his almost-black hair, which falls over his forehead a little. His features are almost inhumanly symmetrical, the angles of his face sharp and perfect.
He’s beautiful.
Or at least, I thought so once.
Now, I can barely look at him without wanting to vomit.
I drag my gaze away from his and pick up my pace, veering back into the center of the sidewalk. The engine rumbles, and a second later, the car pulls up alongside me, the passenger side window rolling down smoothly.
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, Low,” he says, a hard edge to his voice. “Did you take the bus to the prison again?”
“None of your fucking business,” I shoot back, putting one foot in front of the other and keeping my gaze fixed ahead.
Part of me wants to sprint back to the house, but I’d never outrun him, and I won’t give him the fucking satisfaction.
“Get in the car. I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”
I ignore that completely, wrapping my arms more tightly around myself in a protective gesture. I’ve known Lincoln Black for less than three months, but so much happened between us in that time that I fooled myself into thinking I knew him better than I did.
But I don’t.
I’m not sure I know him at all.
And I’m smart enough not to get into a car with a stranger.
I keep walking, shoulders hunched against the cold and the ache in my heart, ignoring the BMW that creeps along beside me. It isn’t the first time Lincoln has tried to talk to me since my mom’s arrest on Saturday, but I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
Ever since I met him, he’s been controlling and domineering—the kind of guy who insists on getting what he wants when he wants it. There was a time when I actually found those qualities somewhat attractive, but right now, they just make me want to slash all four of his tires.
He asked me to trust him. Demanded I trust him, really.
And I did.
I don’t plan on making that mistake again.
“Low.”
His voice floats out of the car window as we near the gated drive that leads to his house. I hate that he knows my nickname, hate that it still sounds so fucking good in his smooth tone.
I don’t answer. I shiver a little as I wait for him to open the gate so he can drive through, which will allow me to slip through too. But instead, he yanks up the parking brake and leaves the car idling as he shoves open the driver’s side door.
He’s already crossing in front of the car when I realize what he’s doing. He cuts me off as I start to dart forward, planting his larger body in front of my smaller one. Amber eyes blaze with concern and anger as our gazes lock for a half-second, and it’s the anger in him that draws out my own.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Lincoln,” I mutter under my breath as I stare past him, working so hard not to scream that my words are barely audible.
“No. Jesus, Low. You shouldn’t be going to the prison on a fucking bus. You should at least—”
