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34

SAWYER

E arly on Saturday morning, I’m riding with the enemy. Stony silence fills Brad’s Audi on the drive to the Boston international airport.

Ash, sweetheart that she is, would’ve come back to Foxgrove for me and taken me home to her family for the holidays, but Jamie’s literally the last person I want to think about, so meeting and hanging out with his extended family is a hard pass.

The bitter sting of Jamie’s rejection hits me again, and I can’t keep the visceral response from happening… The sick feeling in my stomach. The desperate feeling of being tainted by my lowlife beginnings, and of perpetually being seen as low class when someone learns the truth about my life.

I let it all wash over me until it makes me angry instead of sad.

Fuck him . And fuck anyone else who tries to make themselves superior by putting me down.

The sole benefit of Jamie’s proverbial slap in the face is it led to an epiphany moment. Fifteen years of carrying undeserved shame is long enough. Too long, in fact. I’m done. Letting it go won’t be easy, but I’ll never be happy in life if I don’t.

“So what’s the deal?” Brad’s voice is half sullen, half accusatory sneer. “I thought you weren’t coming to Palm Beach?”

“Plans change.” The words are icy and clipped.

“You realize no one wants you there.”

Staring out the windshield at the empty tree branches shaking from the wind, I raise a terse wall of silence. I refuse to be put on the defensive.

“You think getting into the Briar Club is a big triumph that’ll finally impress Grandmother? When you barely made the cut? Even while riding my mom’s coattails?”

My gaze flicks to the pinched expression on his face. “The nasal way you say grandmother makes you sound like a dickhead. You should rethink that.”

After a beat, he swerves across two lanes of traffic and makes a turn into a random strip mall parking lot on the side of the feeder. His slamming on the brakes causes my seatbelt to lock so I rock forward and snap back at the screeching halt.

A second later, his fist nails me in the upper arm. A bitter gasp emerges before I can stop it. Pain explodes from the blow. I grit my teeth to keep from rubbing my arm and spewing rage.

“You’re such a fucking cunt!” he snaps. To add to the humiliation, he slaps my face with enough force to turn my head and cause sharp, burning pain. I’m sure there will be a red mark. It might even stay visible and could raise questions, which he’s never allowed before.

I blink stinging eyes and bite the inside of my cheek, fighting to stay calm. I want to slap him back. Or to scream at him, but I stop myself. He’s dangerously out of control. After four and a half years of not hitting me, he’s starting again.

A feeling of impending doom oozes over me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand like the hackles on a wolf.

“You think I’m afraid of your boyfriend? Fuck him. He’s about to have big problems. Ones that’ll get him gone from GU.”

I only half process his words because I’m reading his angry expression and body language. He’s vibrating with rage. If I push back here and now with caustic taunts, he might snap and do more than hurt me.

My hand reaches the door handle and pulls. Light fills the small space, so I can see the harsh lines around his eyes. He grabs a clump of my hair and jerks me toward him. The pain in my scalp wipes away every thought. I shove at him, trying to escape.

“Close that fucking door or I swear to God—” He grabs my throat in a grip so hard I’m afraid he’s about to break my neck.

My heartbeat jumps in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. Fear pours down like an avalanche. Brad’s not just a bully. He’s out of his mind.

Letting go, he reaches across and bangs my forearm with his closed fist. My hand wrenches off the door, and I let it hover over my lap as my mind races.

“I want to get out,” I say, reaching for my seatbelt.

“Fuck you,” he says, shifting the car into gear. In an instant, he propels us forward. “Shut that fucking door!”

I grab the armrest shakily, my breathing shallow and erratic.

“If you jump out. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

The thought that he might kill me is shocking, but I can’t escape the feeling that things are spiraling, and my lifeless body could be found strangled in a nearby ditch.

A muscle in my jaw ticks as I stare at him. I can’t tell if he’s bluffing. He seems more in control now that he knows I’m scared, but I’m not sure I can trust his control to last.

He barrels onto the feeder, and the moment for jumping out of the car is gone. He enters the freeway going sixty.

“Dad asked me to bring you to the airport.” His voice is calm now. Who but a psychopath can change gears that quickly? “You think I’m going to let him see a ride-share charge on your credit card?” The way he immediately thinks ahead to cover his tracks is sickening.

It’s also something I need to learn. When I told my dad I was going to Palm Beach after all and was hoping he would come, too, I should’ve also said a friend would drive me to the airport. It was stupid to ride with Brad. But I’d honestly assumed he’d be over the rave party altercation by now, since he’d already retaliated by helping Clare get Celine’s bracelet.

I rub my arm, which has grown its own painful heartbeat. That first punch was vicious.

As he drives, the car grows silent, and my mind tries to focus on next steps. The question becomes how am I going to handle things? When I was younger I would shrink off and hide. I avoided being near him.

My reasoning for going to Palm Beach for Thanksgiving was to start to face things head on. Ironic that the very thing that I thought would help me move forward has cast me back into the abuse I silently withstood in childhood.

“What do you want from me, Brad?” My voice is neutral and soft. I seriously want to know what he thinks his end game is.

“I want you gone for good.”

Understanding dawns. Brad’s driven by more than hatred. He’s threatened by the prospect of my exerting my position in the family. There can only be one prince. One heir.

Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I recall the times when he punched a young me in the stomach so hard I worried about internal bleeding. I’d forgotten how dangerous he can be.

“I don’t want to be around you, either.” My voice is surprisingly level. Seemingly emotionless. “Maybe I will just stop coming to family things.”

“You’d have to make excuses to avoid seeing my dad, too. Not just my grandparents. If you do it enough, they’ll get the message that you don’t want to have anything to do with us.”

My not coming to several family functions must’ve given him hope I would do exactly what he’s suggesting. That I would withdraw until the rift made me a distant memory. Remember that charity case we took in? What ever happened to her?

God knows my Allendale grandparents would probably be relieved, too, if I just disappeared.

“I won’t come. I’ll cancel my flight and take a ride-share back.”

“No,” he says bitterly. “He knows you’re too much of a grasping freeloader to let an expensive last-minute ticket go to waste. Especially after you came all the way to the airport. No. It’ll raise too many questions now.”

Glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, I wonder why this concerns him. He wouldn’t care whether I seem like a flake who can’t make up her mind. Dad would be upset at me for wasting money. Unless my dad is suspicious of Brad’s treatment of me and has said something to him about it.

Frowning, I shake my head. “I’m not going to be your punching bag all week. I’ll say I got sick on the ride to the airport and couldn’t fly.”

“No.” Brad’s calm now as he rests back against his seat, one hand on the wheel, white knuckles gone. Good. Let him believe he’s got the upper hand. “Nothing will happen to you during this trip. I swear to God, though, if you try to come to Christmas, you’ll fucking regret it.”

“I won’t.” I’m not sure what I’m saying. While I’m fine with skipping the next holiday, I’m not okay with cutting off contact with my dad. I have to figure out a way to stop Brad from getting near me in the future.

For some reason, getting Ash’s advice springs to mind. Actually, not for no reason. She went to check on her friend who was apparently being hunted by bad people. She called herself a poisonous frog. That may have been false bravado, but I know she’s clever. She might have good ideas for how to deal with this situation. Maybe, I’ll see my dad separately? On the down low? Or secretly video Brad threatening or punching me? Ash could help me get documentation.

The image of Jamie and War jumping in to rescue us during the Tronex party flashes in my mind. I would love to be able to talk to Jamie about Brad.

Fuck no. Forget Jamie.

In response to that order, his handsome face appears in my mind, and a pang of longing surfaces.

Seriously, stop. It’s pathetic.

Signs for Logan Airport flash overhead, bringing on a sense of relief. Once we’re inside, Brad won’t be able to touch me.

Pulling out my phone causes him to stiffen.

“Who are you texting?”

“No one,” I lie, but there’s a surge of satisfaction at the concern laced through his tone.

“It won’t matter if you tell O’Rourke.”

From his tone, it sure sounds like he thinks it would matter. Of course, I’m not going to, but it can’t hurt for him to think Jamie would retaliate on my behalf. Another small protection against violence now that he seems to be thinking rationally again.

Putting my phone in my purse, I sit back. I’ll wait to text until I’m no longer alone with him.