Page 3

Not particularly in the mood for company, I wander back outside, meandering through the garden that’s just as impressive as the interior.

Leaning against the railing that guards against a steep drop-off, I survey the view.

We’re all but in the middle of nowhere, up here in the hills, the city so far away it’s nothing but twinkling dots in the distance.

If not for the music, it would be quiet like the countryside.

It smells like the countryside, fresher, cleaner, like—

I cut myself off with a tut and another drink.

Damn cowboys stirring shit up. That’s twice in one day my mind has wandered places it shouldn’t—it can’t , for the good of my state of mind.

I spent a long time in that wistful mindset, pining for things, for people, that likely weren’t pining back, and it wasn’t good for me.

It only made me sad, and I don’t like being sad.

I like being angry a lot more. It’s easier being angry. It’s fun being angry.

Well, most of the time it is. Not so much when it gets me kicked out of my house, and consequently out of my family.

“ Enough ,” I chastise myself beneath my breath. Shaking my head, I turn around in search of a distraction, and a distraction, I do find.

Ricky wobbles towards me, slugging my wine straight from the bottle, and I sigh at the borderline sacrilegious sight of it spilling down his chest. What a waste. Almost makes me want to reject his advances when he backs me up against the railing and leans in.

Almost .

Luckily for him, he tastes like Pinot Noir and bad decisions—my favorite combination.

Unluckily for me, kissing Ricky is an entirely mindless, deeply unsatisfying task.

It doesn’t consume me the way I need to be consumed, doesn’t obliterate my ability to think of anything else.

Frustrated, I pull away and snatch the bottle from his clumsy grip, draining it dry until the idea of suggesting we take this somewhere more private actually sounds fun.

I don’t get the chance—the moment I open my mouth, a blaring alarm cuts me off. Cringing at the offensive shriek, I’m confused for all of five seconds until Vic and Ethan come tearing out of the house.

“What the hell did you do?” Ricky asks, but I don’t need any clarification.

They did what they always do; they took things a step too far.

They couldn’t leave well enough alone, breaking in wasn’t enough.

They got greedy, and this time, their greed manifested in the fistfuls of jewelry they both clutch.

Typical .

“There was a fucking alarm in the bedroom,” Ethan huffs, stuffing his full hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Who does that?”

Stowing her own loot in her purse, Vic tugs on her boyfriend’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Relax. What, you think the cops are gonna show up in five seconds?” Ethan gestures at our surroundings. “Look where we are.”

As if on cue, sirens wail not-so-distantly.

My glass shatters as I drop it, the shards crunching beneath my feet as I break into a sprint towards the front of the house in the wake of the others.

I dropped my keys on the counter when I first got here, but Ethan snagged them on his way up.

Before I can snatch them back, he slips behind the wheel and starts up the engine.

I take the passenger seat, eyeing his shaky hands warily as I hurriedly click my seatbelt into place. “Should you be driving?”

Ethan slides me a dismissive look, but his pinpoint pupils are hardly reassuring. He twists and props an elbow against the back of his seat, glancing back to check the driveway is clear as he reverses down it.

Except he doesn’t reverse.

I’m not sure how we gain enough speed to crash through a wall, but we do.

It’s like a damn bomb goes off, debris flying everywhere, the wind knocked out of me a little as I slam forward and my seatbelt locks into place.

I cough as dust or plaster or whatever the hell is floating through the air finds its way up my nose, into my mouth, into my eyes.

Rubbing at them with one hand, I grasp the door handle with the other, but it won’t open. I try to put some weight on it, to shove a little harder, but I can’t really move, for some reason. My… my legs are pinned, I realize, something crushing the hood and, in turn, crushing me too.

I choke out that I’m stuck, trying to turn towards my friends, trying to ask if they’re okay, only to find they’re already gone. Ethan and Vic are nowhere to be seen, but Ricky is standing at the driver’s side door, peering inside, eyes wide and panicked. “Fuck, Lottie.”

I try to move again, my ankle throbbing in protest as it refuses to budge from wherever it’s trapped. “Help me out.”

He doesn't move.

“ Help me .”

Ricky swears again. He sets a hand on the roof of my ruined car, starting to lean inside, but another voice halts him—his brother’s voice halts him. “We gotta go.”

“I know that,” I snap. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

Ignoring me, Ethan gives his brother another shake. “ C’mon .”

Panic envelops me like the world’s shittiest blanket as I hear what he doesn't say— leave her .

Ricky isn’t going to leave me. There’s no way. He’s not going to leave me trapped in a crushed car with the cops arriving at any minute, there’s no fucking way.

Except he backs up a step. Lips parted, I think something like an apology escapes from between them. I don’t hear it—I only hear my own voice ringing in my ears as I scream at the top of my lungs at his receding figure.

“ Fuck .”