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But he simply shakes his head. “The mayor’s house,” he replies instead. “Grudge Night. You’re simply going to get Kade to unlock the doors. Madoc Caruthers has some things I need.”

“Money?”

“There are so many things more valuable than money.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but I can imagine, since Hawke’s uncle Madoc is the mayor and a powerful lawyer with national political ambitions. Reeves hopes to find something that will put a politician in his pocket. If he gets Caruthers by the balls, no footage Hawke has will see the light of day. Reeves controls the mayor and me, and I control Hawke. Reeves will be safe. That’s how he sees it.

“Do that, and you can come home,” he tells me.

Home? What’s home?

But then it starts to sink in. Matty and Bianca. My mother’s house, with her off my back and my stepdad out of the picture. I’d have a little money. Influence. Matty would have all the drawing pencils he wanted. I could have all of that…or Hawke?

Grudge Night is in two days. And what if I don’t agree?

“In a year, your life will be very different,” he nearly whispers. “Power will intoxicate you.” He slips a hand between my thighs, squeezing the inside. “And then you’ll want to fuck me.”

I bare my teeth, trying to tear his hand away from where Hawke’s brushed less than twenty minutes ago.

But he pulls away before I can. “Grudge Night,” he reminds me.

And he opens the door, music flooding in from outside as he climbs out of the car and slams it shut again.

Fury overtakes me, and I’m not sure if I know what the fuck just happened. I kick the car, punching underneath the dash with my feet. “Ah!” I growl.

Hawke has him. He’s had him for days! Why give Reeves a chance to find the camera and come after us? Why would Hawke do that?

A knock lands on the window, and I jerk my head, seeing Hawke’s jacket.

I roll down the window.

“You okay?” He leans down. “What the fuck? What was that?” He rises, twists around, and then comes back down, looking past me and through Dylan’s window. “Where’s he going? Did he hurt you? I just saw him get out of the car…”

But I just glare at him. “You have the footage we need on him?”

His face softens, and he falls silent.

And that’s answer enough. I throw open the door and step out, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He avoids my eyes, looking off to the side, and exhales hard. I study him.

I can’t believe this. Reeves wasn’t lying. Hawke has him. He could’ve had him in custody days ago.

“What are you playing at?” I yell, and I don’t care who hears me. “What do you want? Are you trying to make this worse?”

“It was just yesterday morning,” he explains. “I…”

He drifts off though, not finishing. So, he noticed yesterday when he studied the footage. Thirty-six hours. What is he waiting for?

But he doesn’t say more.

“What?” I shout.

“Aro, I… I just…”

“You lied to me.” I sharpen my gaze, hurt. “My sister needs me. She’s all alone with my mother and her bullshit. What are you doing? You got your own agenda here?”

He shakes his head, but still, he can’t form the words. For Christ’s sake.

“Ready?” Dylan calls out, leaping back up to the car.

I wait for Hawke for another second, but when he doesn’t say more, I dive back into the car and slam the door, rolling up the window. “God, just drive,” I breathe out. “Fast.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Dylan presses the clutch, and shifts into first, pulling up level with the other driver. The announcer’s voice booms over the sound system. “Miss Dylan Trent versus Sammy Phuong!” The crowd cheers. “You know the drill. Ten laps, no rubbing, and—”

“Oh!” Dylan blurts out, turning to look at me. “We forgot to have you sign a waiver.”

A waiver?

But she waves me off. “We’ll make a verbal agreement. I hurt you, and you can’t sue me, okay?”

I side-eye her. “You hurt me, I hurt you.”

She turns, facing the track again. “That’s fair.”

But seriously…she’s never been injured, right? Has anyone died here?

The red lights on both sides of the track start blinking, and Dylan fastens her seatbelt, looks over and checks mine, and then shifts into gear again. One hand on the wheel, she jacks up the music, “Problem” by Natalie Kills blasting, and I see Hawke off at the sidelines out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t look.

The light changes to yellow, Dylan’s hand on the stick shift tightens, and my stomach somersaults.

I look over, seeing the other driver in a helmet, and I… Wait, are you supposed to have helmets? Do we need—?

But the green light glows bright, Dylan hits the gas, and I shoot out my hands, grabbing the console and the door as she charges off.