Page 53

“God, you’re a fucking idiot,” she mutters, walking away just as Rat comes out the door.

“What did she say?” he asks, me. “Did she say something to you?”

“No. Nothing. Just forget it.”

“No,” he pushes past me. “What the fuck did you just call my friend?”

She spins on her heel. “I called him a fucking idiot!” she shouts, stalking toward us. “He’s lucky I’m not calling the police on you assholes for what you did last night.”

She’s pointing at Rat, and he grabs her by the wrist. “Shut your filthy loser mouth. You realize it was a joke, right? Chicks like you don’t get real invitations to parties like ours.”

“Hey now!” I jump in, forcing him to release her. People are watching. Grayson could still be around here somewhere. I rest my hand on Rat’s shoulder. “She’s not worth it.”

“You think I’m not worth it? Why? Because my asshole isn’t bleached, and my tits aren’t bought from the store? You guys are pathetic and you’re going down. Hard.” She smirks. “I’ll be there filming it when it happens.”

There’s a certainty to her tone and Rat must hear it because he lunges at her. I lunge at him and push him down the hall. When we’re far enough away, I shove him into the wall. “What the fuck, dude?! If you hit a female, one that is accusing you of drugging her, don’t you see how much shit we will be in? Back the fuck off for once in your life.”

He breathes heavily, eyes flashing with anger. I have no doubt that if I hadn’t been there, things would have escalated. I’ve known for a while now that Rat is a liability. When I take over, he’s the second to go—right after Royer.

He shakes me off and smooths down his shirt. “What do you think she meant by us going down hard?”

“I think she’s pissed and mouthing off.” But I have the same question. Did Reagan tell her something? If anyone finds out what she’s doing—what I’m doing—being blacklisted is the least of both of our concerns.

22

Reagan

I’m apprehensive about going back to the farm, but I know I can’t avoid it forever. I’m walking toward the shuttle pick up spot when a familiar black Jeep pulls up beside me. The window is open and Miller stares at me from the other side. He leans over, pops open the door and says, “Get in.”

Looking around, I make sure no one is watching as I climb into the Jeep. He presses the gas before the door has fully latched.

His hands grip the black leather steering wheel, and he faces forward when he says, “Look, about last night—"

“There’s no reason to talk about it.” I lay my palms flat on my thighs. “Obviously, it was a mistake.”

The Jeep lurches forward, tires screeching to a stop. I fling forward, but his arm flies out protectively against my chest. I open my mouth to scream at him, cuss him out for being so careless, but when I look at his face, he’s staring at me, eyes blazing.

“That wasn’t a mistake,” he says, his voice low. “That was…”

A horn blares from behind us.

“I’m doing something here!” he shouts at the car, flipping him off. The car swerves around us, and Miller moves to the curb. He shifts the car into park and faces me. “The only regret I have from last night is walking out on you.”

My jaw drops. Actually drops. “What—what are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath. “I like fucking you. I like driving around conning liquor off people with you. I worry about you, and when you didn’t show up, I was afraid…” He swallows and looks away.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I’d screwed this up for good.”

I look around, searching for a camera or Royer or maybe Andrea. I’m waiting for the shoe to drop—the humiliation and pain that comes from me letting down my guard. Miller frowns, noticing my hesitation. “I just had to put that out there,” he says, hand gripping the gear shift. “I won’t retaliate if you don’t feel the same.”

He restarts the car, jumping back into traffic. The ride is silent all the way back to the farm. My heart skitters in my chest. Did he mean all of that? Does he really care for me? It seems crazy and unexpected, but at the same time… not.

Miller doesn’t usually pay this much attention to one female, and he’s been following me around for months. Sure, some of that was for the prank, but… how much? I think of all the times on my father’s boat or the opportunities he took to corner me. The small touches and the hungry eyes. I know this man is awful. A monster. But sometimes monsters still have a heart beneath all the scales and claws.

He pulls the Jeep to a stop before we get to the parking area, gravel kicking up from the tires. He parks and I sit there, heart stuck in my throat. I’m not sure why he’s stopped, but it gives me a moment to muster up the courage to say, “I don’t regret last night either.”