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Our parents will kill him, and then probably come for me.
Maybe Alec can crash here for the night. This house is huge, there must be plenty of empty bedrooms.
Once I make sure he’s taken care of, I can get out of here and return to the three day Netflix marathon I have lined up.
Arms come around my waist and for a second I think it’s Lucas, but my eyes land on him in the kitchen, retrieving a water bottle from the refrigerator.
My mind goes haywire as hot beer-scented breath covers the side of my neck.
“Hey, little Turner,” Carter slurs. He’s drunk, too. The acrid stink of his breath makes my spine go rigid. “You come to party with us?”
“Nope. Just helping my brother.”
Carter rumbles something I can’t decipher, too hyper aware of his hands pressing into my stomach. I pretend like I’m dancing to break free of his arms, but he tightens them around me and makes an encouraging sound.
“Yeah, girl. Show me what you’ve got.”
Jitters thrum across every inch of my body, my skin crawling with Carter’s hands on me. Hands that map the same path Matt’s did. It sparks a weird sense memory and I gasp.
Carter mistakes it for one of pleasure and presses his half-hard dick against my ass, grinding on me.
“N-no,” I wheeze.
My freak-out peaks in a visceral reaction when Carter tries to pop the button on my jeans. I sink my elbow into his gut, landing a good shot. He doubles over and my feet carry me away as tears blur my vision.
I can’t breathe, even when I hit the cold, damp air outside. I don’t stop running, the harsh echo of my pained panting loud in my own ears.
My natural instincts have me in a chokehold as I flee. I’m scarcely aware of what I’m doing until I’m speeding in my car down the road that leads out of Silver Lake Forest Estates. Tears roll down my face and strained gasps claw at my throat. My headlights cut through the deluge of rain that started back up when I was inside.
Escape, escape, escape, my brain screams at me.
God, I fucking left Alec there. He needed my help and I just left.
My knuckles hurt from how tight I grip the steering wheel. No matter how much I shout at myself to turn back because I’m overreacting, I can’t turn around or slow down.
The car wobbles ominously as I take the next bend too fast. I suck in air and force myself to slow down so I don’t die on the mountain roads in the pouring rain.
“Come on, Gemma,” I coach myself in a ragged voice that is so strained it sounds foreign.
I ease off the gas, fighting against all of my muscles locked in place and shrieking to get away.
Around the next bend I slam on the brakes and emit a wild scream. A huge downed tree blocks my escape, its uprooted base reaching for me like gnarled fingers ready to trap me.
My eyes go painfully wide and I force my foot down harder to stop before I crash into the tree the CR-V careens toward.
“No, shit, no, no, no!”
The tires squeal, then spin out. I scream as the car skids in a violent fishtail, certain death right ahead of me. I’m either going to slam into the giant trunk of the tree or send the car careening over the slope of the mountain.
By some sick sense of luck, the wheels grind against the gravel on the narrow shoulder and I’m jolted as the CR-V scrapes against a sapling, halting at last.
My chest rises and falls with my wheezing gasps as the sound of large raindrops relentlessly pound the hood in front of me, smoky fog swirling in my headlights.
I didn’t die.
Holy. Fuck.
I sniffle so hard that my nose burns from the sharp breath and unclamp my hands from the wheel to wipe my eyes.
