“Hey!” Jake's brain finally kicked into gear. “I drive.”
I got in the driver's seat.
Jake growled.
I shut the door on him and locked it.
Snarling, he went around to the passenger side, the other two watching warily. Jake got in. They got in the back. I started the car.
Jake set a hand on the side of my leather seat and leaned in. “Be careful with her.”
I snorted. “Your car's a girl? Did you name it?”
“Angie.”
I froze. “After Angelina Jolie?”
He grunted.
Mentally cursing, I spun the car around and shot down the drive.
“Ease up!” Jake shouted.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarled, not sure why I was pissed.
Maybe because it seemed as if everything I did for myself ended up being exactly what they wanted. No, not everything. Not the clothes or my home décor. We had differing opinions on that. Or did we? Maybe they had merely chosen what theythought I'd like, just as I had misconceptions over what I thought they'd like. Ugh! Why did that piss me off even more?
As I neared the gate, Jake fumbled for the device clipped to the visor. He pushed the button just in time, opening the gate so I could speed through. And then I had to slow down. One did not race through New Orleans. Not in the neighborhoods we were traversing.
Jake sighed and sat back, but still watched my every move, grunting in approval when I handled the vehicle properly. Again, that annoyed me. But it wasn't long before I pulled up in front of my house. The sight of it relaxed me. This was mine. Sure, it had been given to me, but I still felt as if I had earned it. After all these lifetimes, I finally had a home of my own.
And I wasn't about to let a bunch of overbearing hound dogs take it from me.
I parked and turned to look at the men. “Where's my stuff?”
“What stuff?” Cyrus asked.
“My purse! My fucking keys, asshole! Where is my stuff?!”
“Whoa, relax.” Lex pulled some keys out of his pocket and handed them over. “We didn't bring your purse, but I did grab your keys.”
I snatched them from him. “And you only now thought to hand these over? We're in front of my house. What did you think I was here for—to admire the garden?”
“Why are you so angry?” Lex asked.
“Angie!” I growled and got out. “Fucking Angie!” I pointed at them. “Wait here.” Then I slammed the door. “God damn motherfucking Angelina Jolie and her fucking puffy lips. Why are big lips so sexy? Ugh!”
I stomped to the porch and up to the front door, unlocked it, and went inside. I wasn't surprised to hear the hounds come up behind me. But they didn't try to enter the house. It sounded as if they split up and circled it instead.
Rolling my eyes, I went upstairs and packed a bag of clothes, and then a cosmetics case with all my essentials. I also changed into a sleek, black Phillip Lim dress in a cotton-silk blend. You need fabrics that breathe in New Orleans. That was another thing the men didn't understand. Half the clothes in that closet had been polyester. Fucking polyester! The savages! Kicking those awful shoes across my bedroom gave me a little satisfaction, but I felt even better after I slid into some Hermés sandals.
Holding two bags with another tucked under my arm, I went downstairs and collected my purse—right on the side table where I'd left it. And where the hounds left it. Just as I reached the front door, I remembered my phone. I froze. Should I text Ace? If the hounds were right, and I assumed they were, he was Silas's stooge now. But he was also my Ace. I hated making him worry.
A knock came at the door, making me flinch.
“Salina, you almost done?” Cyrus called.
I opened the door, startling him, and smirked as I shoved my larger bag at him, right at his chest. “I thought I told you to wait in the car?” I plopped another bag atop the first.
