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“Yeah, I heard you were a real nutjob.” Fuck, I really need to keep my mouth shut.
With a smirk on his face, he lowers his head and puts his lips beside my ear. “You heard correctly.”
I resist a shiver. And not the good kind of shiver.
“Awesome. I’ll make sure to remember that.”
“Oh, you’ll do more than that.” He slants back, tugging on my arm as he slams his palm against the door and tows me outside. “You’re going to learn how crazy I am during the drive to my father’s place.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I lift my leg to kick him in the shin.
“If you don’t obey, Hadley, then I’m afraid there’s going to be punishments.” As people walking across the grass around us begin to gawk, he shifts closer to me and lowers his voice. “If you don’t put a smile on that pretty face of yours and get in my car, there are two guys staying at the same group home as your sisters who are more than willing to do a favor or two or three, if you get my meaning.”
“Sure fucking do, asshole,” I grit through clenched teeth. Fuck! I hate my dad. Hate him more than I ever have. “Which one’s your car?”
He grins cockily. “It’s the red Porsche.”
“Of course it is,” I mumble, scanning the crowd enclosing us, wishing upon wishes Blaise was amongst them.
Then again, what is he going to do? He can’t stop these guys from hurting my sisters. No, this is something I’m going to have to attempt to handle on my own.
Just like old times.
The crowd parts as Austin hikes across the grass toward the parking lot, hauling me with him.
“So, I look like the kind of guy who owns a Porsche, huh?” He flashes me a grin.
“Yep,” I say flatly. “But that’s not a compliment.”
“Of course it is, and deep down, I think you know it,” he playfully teases, borderline flirting.
Blaise’s crazy nutjob reference to Austin makes sense. One minute he’s breathing murderous threats down my neck, and the next he’s trying to smile his way into my pants.
Rich, preppy asshat.
“Fine, it can be a compliment if you want it to be,” I tell him as we arrive at his car. “But just know, when I envision a person sitting behind the wheel of a Porsche, I imagine a cocky, rich jerk who wears too much hair gel, has way too shiny shoes, and probably has a cheetah print thong on beneath his wrinkle-free slacks.”
His fingers wrapped around my wrist twitch, his eyes darkening. “Actually, I have on boxer briefs, but it’s nice to know you’re picturing what’s underneath my pants.” He smirks then releases my wrist.
The burnt flesh beneath the bandage throbs, but I refuse to rub my wrist, refuse to show that he hurt me. “I bet those boxer briefs are probably a size extra, extra small.” I flash him a toothy grin then round the front of the car, open the door, and slide onto the warm leather seat.
He follows suit, hopping into the driver’s seat. “You can argue all you want with me,” he says as he revs up the engine. “But in the end, you’ll lose.”
I reach for my seatbelt. “We’ll see about that.”
I’m all bravado, since I already feel like I’ve lost almost everything already.
Well, at least that’s what I think at first.
But, as Austin slams on the gas and peels out of the parking space, I spot a tiny bit of hope amongst the mob of people covering the parking lot.
Standing on the sidewalk is Jaxon Porterson, and his gaze is fastened on the Porsche.
I’m uncertain if he sees me—the windows are really tinted—but if he does, then maybe he’ll tell Blaise, and Blaise will …
What will Blaise do, Hadley? Come save you? Rescue you? Are you really turning into that girl?
No, but at the same time, I’ll swallow down my pride and hope he does help me if it means getting through this mess and my sisters being okay.
Blaise
I’ve been in detention one other time, which reveals just how much us Portersons get away with around here. Even Alex has barely clocked in any afterschool hours. Maybe that’s why I’m restless as a crack addict as I sit at the desk in Mr. G.’s classroom, the teacher in charge of detention. Five other students are with me, three of which are currently staring at me like I’m the devil, and the other two have hearts in their fucking eyes. It’s always the case—either people fear me or like me too much. Why can’t it ever be in the middle? Why can’t someone just look at me like I’m some normal guy who doesn’t scare the shit out of them and that they don’t want to fuck?
My thoughts travel to Hadley. She’s definitely not afraid of me. Well, at least when I’m not trying to kiss her. And she definitely doesn’t want to fuck me—me trying to kiss her proved that. I can take a hint. She’s not interested in me that way. Or, she doesn’t want to be. I should be relieved by that. Like I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have time to do relationships, and I’m not a hooking up sort of guy—I did that one time and it was a disaster.
So, why am I not relieved?
Why can’t I get Hadley out of my head?”
Why can I stop thinking about her full lips and her big eyes and her hair that is so soft … I bet her skin is equally as soft, if not more so.
“Blaise.” The sound of Mr. G’s voice yanks me from my lusting thoughts of Hadley. Probably a good thing since I’m one step away from getting a little too turned on.
I blink toward the front of the classroom and find Jaxon standing beside Mr. G.
Worry waves through me, violent and potent. Not only is he supposed to be in therapy, but he looks upset.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, struggling not to go into instant panic mode.
“Your brother says he needs to talk to you,” Mr. G. tells me, nodding at Jaxon. “Says there’s a family emergency.”
Suddenly, I feel like I’m ten years old again and am peering through the screen door of our house at a cop who is standing on my front porch, telling my dad that my mother passed away.
“Can I go?” I ask Mr. G., already rising to my feet.
He nods. “Of course. Go take care of your family.”
“Thanks.” I grab my bag and hightail it down the aisle, trying to get a read on Jaxon, but he’s a damn closed book.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Mr. G. says as I pass him.
“Me, too,” I mutter then hurry out of the room with Jaxon. The second we’re in the hallway, I spit out, “What’s going on?”
“It’s Hadley,” he tells me, fidgeting with the leather bands on his wrists. “I saw her driving off with Austin Maeiriellie. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but I know you were worried this morning when William was at Hadley’s house, so I figured I should tell you.”
My worry skyrockets. Hadley is going somewhere with Austin? Crazy fucking Austin, the kid who once stabbed me in the leg with a plastic spork because he wanted to see if plastic was sharp enough to cut through flesh, which turns out is with enough force.
“This is so bad.” I yank my fingers through my hair, glancing around the mostly empty hallway and then at Jaxon. “Do you know where they’re going? Or why she was in the car with him?”
He shakes his head. “They took off about ten minutes ago and headed east. That’s all I saw.” He wraps his arms around himself. “I tried to call you right after I saw them, but I think your phone’s battery is dead.”
I retrieve my phone from my pocket and, sure enough, it’s powered down. “Crap.” I put my phone away, my mind racing with ways to fix this.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” Jaxon mutters quietly.
I blink at him then shake my head. “No, you should have … Why would you say that?”
He shrugs. “Because you’re freaking out, and you already do that too much.”
Shit. He has me there.
“I know.” It’d be pointless to deny it. “And I’m trying to work on it, but first, I need to get Hadley away from Austin. You know that guy is insane.
”
He nods in agreement, staring at me with his brows knit. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Like who?” I play dumb.
He rolls his eyes. “You know who I’m talking about, man.”
“Okay, maybe I do,” I sigh. “But I don’t think I’m ready to talk or act on how much I like her. Besides, I don’t think she likes me back.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, and I’m three years wiser than you, so that means I’m right.”
He snorts a laugh. “You’re three years older than me, but definitely not wiser.”
“When it comes to girls, I am,” I say. When he laughs even harder, I shake my head. “Whatever. Keep laughing at me. Just do it while we walk to the car.” I stride down the hallway, and he rushes after me.
“Where are we going?” he asks, his boots squeaking against the linoleum.
