A valet’s hovering nearby, and I snatch his sleeve. “My father’s Bentley. Keys. Now.”
He stammers, hands them over, and I’m tearing out of the driveway before the smoke from my Porsche even clears the sky.
The tracker pings steadily. Her dot races toward campus.
By the time I swing into the lot, she’s stepping out of her car. I slam on the brake, leap out, and pin her against her own door before she’s even on her feet.
“What the?—”
My hand clamps the back of her neck, forcing her eyes up to mine. Sadness pools there, rimmed in tears, and it’s a blade through my chest.
“Why so sad, baby girl?”
“Why aren’tyouwith your fiancée?” she spits. “Ditched your own engagement party? What—she didn’t wear the right pheromone perfume tonight?”
One eyebrow quirks. I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Hailey says she used some witch-brew scent to make you fuck her on Red Night.” Her lip curls. “I flushed it.”
I chuckle, low and wicked. “You’re incredible. And no. I don’t remember fucking her—perfume or not. Maybe she was in the pile of pussies on the pool table when the night started, but she was nothing to me. She’sstillnothing.”
Her jaw slackens, as if she had another knife to throw but missed the mark.
“How’d you get the keys to the Porsche?” I ask.
Without hesitation, she confesses, “Your sister owed me a favor.”
Olivia…Mentally, I tick a box, knowing I need topay her backfor that one.
“Let’s go.” I grab Ashlyn’s waist, hoist her over my shoulder like contraband, and her fists pound my back as her scream splits the lot.
Once I settle her inside, I yank the seatbelt across her chest and snap it shut. I flip the child lock so she can’t escape. Once I check that her car’s securely locked, I slide behind the wheel of the Bentley.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe.”
Her gaze cuts to the window, cheek pressed against the cold glass. “No such place exists.”
Then I’ll build one,I think.Brick by brick, bone by bone. I’ll make us one.
“You look like sin in that dress,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean. Sequins catch the dashlight like embers licking her skin. The slit rides high enough to show a dangerous amount of her silky thigh, and I can’t resist. My fingers slip beneath the fabric, clamping down on heat.
She tries to shove me off. I don’t let go. When she raises her hand to slap, I catch it, twine our fingers, and pin them to her lap. Together.
“Well, it’s not a green dress,” she mutters, venom and vulnerability tangled in her tone. “So I went with the next best thing.”
My throat tightens. Eyes on the dark ribbon of country road ahead, I force the words out. “That dress was for you.”
Her head whips toward me. “Me? You told me not to come!”
“I wanted you there. On my arm. If I could’ve brought you into that room without burning the whole house down, that’s the dress I would’ve put you in. But you?” I risk a glance, long enough to catch glossy questions in her eyes. “You would’ve told me to fuck myself and worn whatever you picked out anyway.”
She shrugs, but the ice is starting to crack. “That sounds so unlike me…”
It’s hard to swallow. Harder to admit. “They’re forcing this. I don’t want it. I told you that. And I’m getting out of it?—”
“Please don’t talk about that right now,” she bites out, then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want words. Or wishes. Or dresses.” Her voice dips lower, almost too quiet to catch. “Though…it was a nice dress.”