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But she won’t want me waking anyone else up, either.
Not this late.
Not when I’ve been drinking.
And she knows I was earlier. Before I came into the house, I made sure to take a swig out of one of the little bottles I snatched from Hannah’s house so she’d smell it on me and know she had damage control to do.
With the car still in park, I press my foot down on the gas.
This car is very nice to look at, but it’s noisy as all fucking hell.
I rev it again, and again.
Arden smirks, and Malek shakes his head. They know what I’m doing.
And I keep fucking doing it until I get what I want.
Chapter Seventeen
Parker
It’s still dark when I wake up.
I’m not initially sure what woke me. A noise, I think. Something outside.
Typically, I’m not afraid of the dark, but when I was trying to fall asleep last night, I was keenly aware of Hannah not sleeping beside me. That made me think of the nightmares she keeps having, and I guess that triggered a sympathy nightmare of my own.
So, when I push back the covers and climb out of bed in the middle of the night, my mind is caught in a land where evil men can’t be kept from the things they want by doors or walls—no matter how expensive or impressive those well-meaning barriers may be.
Nobody’s here.
I tell myself that as I creep toward my bedroom door. I only intend to go down the hall until I get to a window with a view of the driveway. But then I hear a revving engine outside, and that’s too brazen to be anyone trying to creep around the property.
I don’t bother going to the window when I hear it again.
I know some asshats who would rev engines in the driveway in the middle of the night without caring who they woke up. A whole group of them, actually.
I glance back at the bed to make sure Hannah is still sleeping before I slip out of my bedroom.
It occurs to me I probably should have grabbed my phone or at least a robe. I’m wearing a pair of grey sleep shorts and an olive green tank top with no bra underneath. Not exactly an ideal uniform for dealing with Landon and his debauched friends.
I slip on a pair of sandals and head outside to see what’s going on.
Tonight, court is apparently convened in the middle of the driveway.
Arden Prince leans against the door of a sleek, sexy red Camaro. It’s a new model, not a classic. It’s a gorgeous car, pretty and showy like he is, but somehow it doesn’t quite suit him. It’s probably too cheap for one of Baymont’s wealthiest heirs.
He seems to agree. Arden’s gaze is locked on Malek’s car, some crazy-expensive limited-edition Ferrari he doesn’t even care about. His dad has so many cars that he famously gave Malek this one last year for his birthday when it’s rumored he completely forgot about it and had to scramble for a present. Maybe it’s because of the thoughtlessness of the gift, but Malek has quietly loathed his three-million-dollar ride from the moment he got the keys.
He’s not even standing by the coveted car now. Instead, he hangs off to the side with Jordan Brewer.
Landon is behind the wheel of his Jag. I’m guessing he was the one revving his noisy ass engine.
Of course he was.
“Well, well, well, it looks like we have company,” Arden observes as I come down the stairs.
Landon has the roof up but the windows down. He looks at me through the passenger window hole, and he doesnotlook happy to see me.
