I wanted to fuck him up.
“Hey, man, check it.” Kruger is pointing at something through the windshield. “That look like a Tesla to you?”
“Bro, I’m seeing fractals right now, so you gotta be a lot more fucking specific.”
“That car.” Kruger presses his finger on the glass. “The one turning off, just up ahead.” He taps the glass. “Is. That. A. Tesla?”
I shuffle forward, arms on their backrests as I crane my head and squint through the glass.
“That’s Rooke’s car,” I say, my stomach tightening like I’m going to puke. It’s not the drugs or the weed. It’s the thought of Haven in that car, trusting him, letting him touch her the way I’ve been dreaming about since we were kids.
“Is he already back from the hospital?” iPhone says.
Kruger shakes his head. “He’d still be there. Admissions takes fucking forever in this place.”
Rooke didn’t take her to get help. He took her somewhereprivate.
“Maybe it’s someone else,” iPhone is saying.
“Anyone else in town who drives a Tesla?” Kruger keeps ducking his head, peering at the Tesla through the windshield.
“So then where’s he headed?” iPhone asks.
There’s a beat of silence, and I swear all of us are holding our breath.
“Follow him,” I mutter through clenched teeth, pointing.
Both guys glance down at my hand with its torn, bloodstained knuckles and bruised flesh. Both look up at me like they’re about to ask a really stupid fucking question like,am I okay.
I’m not.
She’s not.
Rooke’sdefinitelyfucking not.
“Go,” I grate out.
My bloodied knuckles throb with each pounding heartbeat.
I’ve spent three years being Haven’s enemy. Tonight, I’m becoming her savior…whether she wants me to or not.
Chapter 4
Haven
I’m staring at my reflection in Bastian’s bathroom mirror, and I don’t recognize the girl looking back.
Neon paint streaks her face like war paint. Her hair hangs in wet tangles. Her eyes are still too wide, pupils blown from the MDMA, mascara bleeding down her cheeks in dark rivers. She looks feral. Broken.
She looks exactly how everyone will remember her.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” Bastian says from the doorway.
His bathroom is all black marble and chrome, the kind of aggressively masculine design that screams ‘I have money and no one to spend it on.’
“I can handle a shower on my own.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I feel jittery, fragile, nerves raw.
“Can you?” He moves into the bathroom, eyeing me warily before making a point of looking at the shower. It’s one of those massive walk-ins with multiple heads, all black tile and chrome inside. Probably cost more than my entire year’s tuition.“Because twenty minutes ago you couldn’t chew gum and walk at the same time.”
