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I feel one of his hands moving, sliding to the back of my head. He’s not grabbing me, just keeping it flat against the car. When I realize why, I want to burst into tears. He’s making sure I don’t hit my head harshly against the metal. That I don’t hurt myself while he uses me like a whore.
I’ve got saliva dripping all the way down my throat, and my hands push at his hips uselessly.
What I hate the most is the pressure between my legs. The way I want to bring my hand to my clit instead of his hips. I hate that I want to let him use me, and then beg him to push that exact same way into my wet pussy.
He stops abruptly, pulling out and only leaving the tip of his dick in my mouth as he explodes. His hips flex, his thighs tensing. Cum lands thickly on my tongue, and as soon as he pulls out completely, I’m ready to spit.
But I don’t have time to. He slams a hand on my closed mouth and pinches my nose with his other. I thrash in his hold as he presses me against the car, his dark eyes looking down at me, and a devilish smirk on his face.
I hate you, Ethan Torres, my glare screams as he forces me to swallow his cum.
The second he sees my throat working, he lets me go and takes a step back, redoing his jeans and belt. I struggle to get on my feet, helping myself with a flat hand on my door.
I’m panting, my underwear soaking, and anger coursing through my veins.
“Fuck you,” I rasp. Shit. It hurts to talk. I feel like I’ve swallowed a bee.
He looks at me calmly, perfectly composed, and ignores my insult. He simply turns to walk away. But he doesn’t get to do that and just leave me here.
“You never told them, did you, Ethan?” I call after him.
Turning back, his brow furrows in question.
“That you’re the one who helped the traitor run away.”
His jaw tightens, but I still don’t get anything out of him. He casually ignores me and is back on his way.
My hand is trembling when I open my door. It’s only once inside my car that I notice the note left on my passenger seat. I hurry to unfold it and another wave of anger crashes over me.
How long do you think you have left? Tick Tock, dead girl.
I jump back out of my car and look around. Ethan is gone. The fucking asshole. It’s him.
He’s threatening me. Because he hates me, because he hates that I’m back.
Because I know his secret.
My mind only starts to clear when I park across from the brothers’ house. It’s going to be another battle in there, but surely the fact that I’m coming back will show I don’t plan on running away. I grab the roll of money on the passenger seat and the note.
Dead girl,I read again.
My jaw tightens. If Ethan wants me dead, he can come say it to my face instead of being a silent dick who doesn’t speak more than two words to me. Get in fucking line. The euphoria from the race is long gone now that I know Ethan is after me.
One note might have been a little game. Following me to a race to leave another is no coincidence.
And I know it’s him. It can’t be anyone else.
The Kings are clear about wanting me dead for the supposed betrayal. They don’t need to scare me with petty notes.
I’m not important enough to be a threat to NSC anymore. Plus, they’d just strike. Vague threats really aren't like them.
Caden hates my guts, but he would just casually stab me in front of everyone without any remorse. And his girl holds him on a leash.
Unless Billie didn’t really forgive me. I wouldn’t blame her; I never forgave her for the things she did to me in high school.
But Billie has bigger, better things to worry about now.
So I know it’s him.
