Page 51 of Jerk

“Sure. Fine.” Hannah shrugs with the same enthusiasm she has when shopping at a thrift store. “Let’s do it.” Then she turns to me. “Go home, Rye.”

“Why?” Flicking my cigarette to the ground, I push a smile on my face. “A sail sounds lovely.”

One minute,I’m throwing one of the best parties of my life. Next, I’m here, sharing family time with the enemy.

That means listening to her father drone on and on about the legacy of his family. How they came here from Colombia to do better business, and how he managed to pull his family to the very top. All while Hannah’s next to me in that dress, the one where her tits roll over the top like they’re begging to fall out. The one where her skin peeks through the back cutouts. The bow settled right above her ass.

The boat sways back and forth in a way that doesn’t help this hangover. This is the worst one in a while. It makes everything feel fuckingweird. Seeing Hannah around her family is a different experience. I thought I took her confidence away, but her parents do that in a way I never can. That feels weird, too.

“Come on, Hannah,” her father says. “Let’s toast to this beautiful evening.” He pours us all glasses of champagne, the setting sun making the bubbly liquid sparkle. “To fam?—”

A gasp escapes Hannah’s mom before he's finished. Hannah’s head whips to her, a wince on her mother’s face as she stares into the screen of her phone.

“Is something the problem, Elena?” Hannah’s father asks as her mother’s hand comes in front of her mouth.

“Ma?" Hannah leans closer to her mother, glancing at her father. "What is it?”

Her mother looks up, noticing our eyes on her. She downs the glass of champagne with her free hand before she speaks again. “It’s nothing. The news.”

My brows lower. Hannah clearly doesn't get her poker face from her mother.

“The news.” Her father repeats, and before her mother can put her phone away, he snatches it from her hand. He swipes on the screen. “News indeed.” He glares at Hannah, who searches her mother's face for answers.

“Ma?” Hannah sounds nervous as she moves closer to me. Like she’s already distancing herself from her father’s incoming wrath.

“Why don’t we go over to Reaper Island?” Hannah's father asks, champagne flute in hand. He starts steering the boat in the direction of a small patch of land in the middle of the lake. “We can show Young Rowen where we picnic.”

Hannah hesitates, looking up at the sky. “It’s getting late. The sun is almost down, and I see some clouds. We should head back."

“I insist!” Her father raises his voice as he continues to point the sailboat in the direction of the island. “It won't take long.”

My hand falls on Hannah’s knee, her bare skin soft and warm. She looks at me, but doesn’t move it. Instead, she lets her body sink a little more against mine as silence takes over the boat.

Something stirs in my pants, and I adjust how I’m sitting as if even touching Hannah is enough to get me going. That would be weird. That would be insane.

When we approach Reaper Island, it’s far from massive, a handful of trees scattered around it. It looks big enough for a picnic and some waterside activities, but that's about it.

Hannah’s father gestures to the dock before the boat comes to a complete stop next to it. Hannah hesitates, so I climb out first, helping her father tie the boat to the dock.

“Don’t worry about that,” her father says. “We won’t be here long.”

“You told me to always tie it up,” Hannah says.”

“You’re wasting time,” he says as I hold a hand out.

Hannah takes it, carefully stepping off the untethered boat. The minute she’s on the dock, her father puts the phone to her face and…

Fuck.

Glancing at Hannah, her eyes widen. Her lip trembles.

It’s the photo of her tied up to the throne from the party. Intheirlake house.

Looking back at her father, he’s livid.

NINETEEN

HANNAH