Christ. Enough of that.
As if the universe finds my annoyance hilarious, laughter bursts out nearby. I quickly seal the drugs and toss them in my glove box, glancing aside as a pair of girls stagger toward, then fall into, a nearby car.
The vehicle drives off, prompting me to start the Tesla. But I don’t pull off right away, letting the car idle for a moment.
If I carry on down this road and make a left, I’ll be passing Haven’s sorority.
I could stop in for a midnight snack.
It’ll give her the opportunity to explain to me why the hell she thought it was a wise idea to ignore me.
I know she accepted my gift. I cloned the phone before having it delivered to her. She goes into VibeFeed a few times a day, mostly to scroll aimlessly through her feed, and every so often to reread the messages I’ve sent her.
If I can lure her downstairs without waking the other girls, I’ll let her give me head in the car to make up for it.
I rake a hand through my hair as I turn onto Greek Row.
Despite feeling like garbage today, I made a point of showering and getting dressed in charcoal slacks and a dove gray button-up shirt. It made me feel better for all of a second, but as soon as I saw the shattered glass of my sliding door, my mood soured again.
My to-do list is growing, and everything seems like a fucking top priority. Replacing my glass door. Cleaning the neon body paint from the carpet. Getting the Tesla’s upholstery steam cleaned…although I’m in two minds about whether to just replace it at this stage.
The ghost of Bobby Lee—his grimy clothes, his stinking breath, his foul temperament—haunts this vehicle and is determined to stay no matter how many pine-shaped air fresheners I hang from the rearview.
I frown when I see flickering blue and red lights through the torrential downpour up ahead.
It takes my frazzled mind much too long to figure out what the hell they are. By the time I do, I’m only a few yards away.
I veer toward the sidewalk, ducking to peer through the windshield as I slow my car to a halt. Two police cruisers are parked outside a sorority house, one belonging to campus police, the other to the local sheriff’s department.
Haven’s sorority.
It can’t possibly have anything to do with me. I’m not a fucking rookie anymore—I know how to cover my tracks.
So what then? Did someone OD again? Or was there another ‘he-said, she-said’ situation involving too much liquor and a couple of kids regretting the extra digit they added to their body count?
The urge to sate my curiosity is strong, but I don’t need the cops asking what I’m doing in Greek Row this time of night. Especially with this much marching powder and an eighth of Corbin’sepicfree weed in my glove box.
I guide the car back onto the road and take off as fast as I dare, getting the hell out of the cops’ radius before someone spots my car.
I’m about halfway down Greek Row when someone runs right in front of my car.
If it hadn’t been for the Tesla’s ABS, the kid would be dead.
The kid is Haven.
She stares toward me, but not quite at me, shock writ in uppercase over her face. It’s too dark for her to see my face, andraining too hard for her to even make out which car almost put her in an early grave.
“The fuck are doing?” I mutter, my jaw clenching tight over the words.
Out in the rain, fuckingagain, wearing the skimpiest clothes imaginable?Runningin the street when visibility is pretty much nonexistent? She has a death wish. Or she’s the reason the cops are at the GAZ house. Must be. No other reason for her to be running. What the fuck has Haven gotten herself into?
This girl will be the fucking death of me.
I scowl as I kick open the car door.
I honestly hope the cops can’t see us down the road, because I’m going to drag her into my car, drive to the nearest hideaway, and spank some fucking sense into her. And then fuck her, for good measure.
But for the second time tonight, I can’t sate my curiosity, because Haven doesn’t stick around to apologize for almost putting me in jail for manslaughter.
