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I wish I had, though. I wish, before I hopped into Finn’s truck, that I’d considered the he would be here.

I add ‘distracting me’ to the top of the list of things I have to kick Simon and Charlie’s asses for, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

There’s nothing to do but follow Finn as he strides towards the first thing I’ve ever truly regretted, and act like I don’t want to dry-heave.

Finn greets him with a handshake and I want to punch him for it. Carl holds his dirt-stained hand out towards me, yellow-tinged fingertips wiggling, and I want to punch him too. I want to wipe the slimy smirk right off the face that looks a lot older than it is.

Instead, I shove my hands into my back pockets and scowl.

Unphased, Carl retracts his filthy paw—filthy like the way he ogles every inch of me, and I hate him all the fucking more for making me wish there weren’t quite so many bare inches to ogle.

“Charlotte Jackson,” he mouths my name like there’s something inherently dirty about it—and I guess to him, there is. “Didn’t know you were back in town, babe.”

I say nothing. He doesn't even deserve the breath it would take to snap that I’m not his babe .

In my peripheral, I watch Finn’s head snap my way. I feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, and when I glance aside, I get a real good look at that hard expression. He’s got a tone to match too, quiet but firm as he practically commands, “Wait in the car.”

It’s a knee-jerk instinct to ignore him, but it’s fucking survival that has me turning tail and hiking it back to the truck without a word of protest. Sitting sideways on the passenger seat with my legs hanging over the edge, I track the guys as they walk into the barn and wonder if they’re talking about me.

Is Carl telling Finn everything? Probably.

He’s a sleazy brag—that’s his prerogative.

I don’t want to know what kind of shit he’s spouting.

Or rather I do want to know—I just don’t want to want to know.

I know I shouldn’t know. I know hearing that same ol’ explicit story he just loves to recite will make me murderous and nauseous and a hundred other things that are in no way good for a girl’s sobriety.

Blowing out a breath, I flick on the radio and crank it all the way up in the hopes that the old alt-rock album Finn let me put on without complaint will distract me.

Which it does.

Too much.

So much that I don’t notice someone approaching until they’re touching me.

I jolt. My gaze flicks away from the barn and to the unfortunately familiar face hovering way too close for comfort, then drops to the hand settled way too high on my thigh.

Teeth gritted, I make sure I look Clint Weber right in the eye as I promise more than warn, “You’ve got five seconds before I take that as an invitation to break your hand. ”

The former classmate from hell waits until the fifth number I count aloud to do as I say. Although, him gripping the edge of the door isn’t much better. He still has me boxed in, but at least his groin is one wrong move away from getting real friendly with my knee.

Clint has always been a little shit. A jealous, vindictive asshole who didn’t like that I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. He was never exactly nice to me, but after everything went down with his brother, he was cruel.

Evidently, not much has changed.

“Lottie.” Compared to his older brother, my name sounds more like a curse coming out of Clint’s mouth. “Almost didn’t recognize you off your back.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “As if you ever got to see me on my back.”

“Heard enough.” The corner of his mouth quirks meanly. “I can paint a pretty good mental picture.”

Yuck. So much yuck . “Can I help you with something?”

That smirk amps up another disgusting notch. “Sure you can.”

Even though revolt cloys at the back of my throat, I laugh again. I smile too because I know it’ll piss him off, I know he’s just trying to rile me up. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got? Grotesque innuendo?”

Because he wasn’t acting sleazy enough, Clint drops a hand to his crotch, fucking fondling himself over his jeans like that’s something that has ever, in the history of the universe, attracted a woman. “You wanna see what I got?”

My smile widens, teeth flashing. “I’d quite literally rather die.”

His mouth drops into a scowl. “Bitch.”

“ Ouch .” I click my tongue, drawing my brows together in an expression of mock hurt. “That one hurt my feelings.”

Clint’s face is almost the exact shade of red I’m going for, and the glorious sight of a rather large vein popping out in his forehead makes me truly, happily grin. A few more antagonizing jabs and I’m sure I can get him as bright as my hair after a fresh dying session.

Unfortunately, someone ruins my fun.

Instantly, I know something is wrong. For starters, Finn doesn’t say anything as he yanks open the driver’s side door and joins me in the truck.

He starts the engine without a word too, white-knuckling the steering wheel, looking about half an impatient second away from taking off with me still hanging out the passenger side.

Another millisecond later, he deigns to cut me a fleeting glance that’s almost as harsh as his tone. “Let’s go.”

I purse my lips at the command, but I don’t argue. Why would I? The second we got to this place, I was itching to leave.

“Well, it’s been lovely,” I lie, not-so-gently kicking one of my least favorite people in the world out of the way so I can shift to sit properly and shut the door. “But you can get fucked now, Clint.”

It’s the wrong choice of words and he knows it, I know it, his brother who’s suddenly lurking within earshot knows it too.

Both men visibly gear themselves up to crack a vile joke, but luckily, if they do, it gets drowned out by the rev of the Ram’s engine.

And then we’re gone, going from zero to one-hundred like there’s someone on our ass, chasing us down.

And still, Finn says nothing.

It makes me squirm. I might excel at dishing out the silent treatment, but I’m fucking horrendous at being on the receiving end of it. Blame my mom for that; I have more than one hazy yet strangely vivid memory of her and her cold shoulders. “Are you mad at me?”

He doesn’t deny it. And hey, at least he’s honest. “You give everyone else in the world hell, but that asshole, you’re nice to. Him, you smile at.”

Nice? Ha . Did Carl bonk him in the head or something when I wasn’t looking? “Careful, cowboy. Sounding a little jealous.”

“I’m not kidding around.” He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to frown at me.

“They abuse their animals, Lottie. Ruin hates men because he’d never seen one without a whip in his hand before he got to Serenity.

That mare I saw today is so emaciated, she’s probably gonna lose her foal.

Earlier this year, one of their horses got to us too late and we had to put it down. ”

Fuck. That’s… worse than I expected yet somehow not surprised at all, knowing the Webers. “I wasn’t being nice.”

“You sounded nice.”

“You clearly weren't listening”

“You smiled ,” he repeats, and I don’t know why he’s so hung up on that. “You laughed. You looked nice.”

Despite the circumstances, the corner of my mouth quirks. “I looked nice?’

Finn casts me another sideways look. “You know what I mean.”

Yeah, I do. God forbid I try to alleviate the unbearable tension suffocating us. “I was being civil, not nice.”

“Why?” he’s so quick, too quick, to snark. “You’re not with anyone else.”

As pesky, unwanted hurt stabs me in the gut, I sigh dramatically. “Here we go.”

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for this.” The lecture. The follow-up to go easy on them . “This is about my family, right?”

Again, there’s no denial. “Your family are good people.”

“Yeah, they’re great and I’m the Devil, I get it.”

“Why do you do that?” His tone bleeds pure exasperation. “Why do you take everything everyone says in the worst possible way?”

Because that’s how they usually mean it. “You tell me. You know enough about me, right?”

Finn grits his teeth. Clutches the steering wheel a little tighter. Quickly glances at me again before swallowing, spitting out, “I think you’re so angry that you don’t even know what you’re angry at anymore. I think you’re jealous. I think—”

“Of you?” I cut him off with a very nasty noise. “Fuck off , Finn. You’re the ranch bitch for my family. What, exactly, do I have to be jealous of?”

This time, when he looks at me, it lasts a lot longer. Sears a lot deeper. Hits me right in the ribcage, burrowing deep and latching on to something meaty and fragile. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

I hide my flinch by looking away, by sneering. “Fuck you,” I repeat except this time, I really fucking mean it.