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I glance back, only once, to see Lily Calloway taking her son out of Loren’s arms. But he’s too busy to really notice. He’s glaring at Nathan, at me, and my friends, the table littered with sugar packets, their voices causing more havoc.
His amber eyes daggered.
He will murder you with them.
Part of me wants to glare back—to prove that he’s not murdering me with anything. But my neck grows hot, my stomach unsettled, and I focus on my vodka instead.
Another swig, I think before taking one.
I can’t even remember the last prank we did on Loren’s house. We’ve done so many, even in the past month. Even when they had a fucking newborn in there—stop.
Drink.
I do.
Not long after, I feel Nathan press closer to my side. Loren squeezes into my end of the booth while his brother squeezes into the other.
Tumblr is right, I think. Despite both brothers having lean muscles, runner’s builds, Ryke Meadows acts like the aggressive brute, his elbows on the table, the strong-hand that could literally drag any of us out of here if Loren Hale said so.
It always seems like Loren calls the shots though. He’s the talker—his features murderous and cold.
“Hey there,” Loren says with this irritated half-smile. It’s iconic, his dry smile that says you’re a piece of shit and you know it. I can’t even replicate it. I don’t think anyone can.
I hold his gaze this time. And I take the largest swig from my paper-bagged bottle. I’m not scared of you, I want to retort. I want him to feel it.
I’m not scared of you.
He tilts his head a little, unperturbed by me. His amber eyes are full of flashbacks, memories that contain all that I’ve done. The longer I stare, the more I see the paintballs I fired, blasting against the window—panic and shrieking from inside, from his soon-to-be wife.
Some people say that if you mess with Loren Hale’s girlfriend, you’re on his “metaphorical” kill list forever. That he has ways and means to do you in, to make life not worth living.
Too bad for him.
Because I’m already there.
He can’t do me in. He can’t touch me.
I miss a portion of the conversation, only hearing the part where Loren says, “I’m not going to lecture you.”
I lean forward, not rolling over. “You can’t kick us out. We have a right to be here like everyone else.” I watch his narrowed eyes flit over my features. He recognizes me from that night—the night where he grabbed me and let me go.
He let me go. Who would even think to do that sort of thing? Who wouldn’t turn someone like me in?
John adds, “Yeah, it’s our first amendment right to be here.”
Ryke Meadows rolls his eyes. “You all smell like cheap fucking vodka.”
“Sorry,” I retort, leaning back with a glare. “We’ll buy better stuff next time.”
“That’s not what I…” Ryke lets out a frustrated growl, and I guess I’m tempted to provoke this “beast” and see him lash out. So I make a crude gesture with my hand and tongue, the vulgar gesture known to crawl beneath his skin. Less so when it’s directed at him. More so when it’s directed at a girl.
So I’m not really surprised when he doesn’t launch himself at me. He just breathes through his nose and looks to his younger brother to deal with us.
Loren rests his forearms on the table, glancing between each of us with less threat in his eyes. “Come on,” he says, “you all look no older than seventeen.” He gestures to me. “Drinking underage is illegal, so you’re not in a power position here.”
I glare at the table. No shit. I’ve never been in a power position before. Not once in my life.
“What’s your name?” Loren asks me.
“Fuck you,” I retort, and I switch my V-shaped fingers to a middle finger. Flashes go off by the window near my head, causing white light to flicker in my vision. I wonder if I’ll be in a tabloid like Celebrity Crush tomorrow.
Probably.
They’ll call me the “unnamed delinquent”—predictable.
“How was that bourbon bath?” Kyle snickers. He high-fives Nathan across the table, and I’m reminded of a recent prank. It was John’s idea. We filled a bucket with his family’s liquor—stuff I would’ve rather drunk. His parents froze his bank account for raiding the cabinet, so it’s not happening again any time soon.
When we had the liquor in the bucket, we tethered it to Loren’s front door.
We heard it doused him and Ryke. “Two for one”—Nathan had said.
It’s fucked up. Because they’re both sober, and Loren Hale is known for his stint in rehab and difficulties recovering from alcohol addiction.
Ryke looks murderous at John. “You think it’s funny?”
“Ryke,” Loren says and shakes his head like stand down.
And I mutter, “Pussy.” I think it’s easier pushing him away. He keeps thinking he’s going to change things with us—but he can’t.
