Page 39 of Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“Nothing. I’m just hoping you’ll use the heart you pretend not to have and make the right decision for once because if you don’t give Kendrick time to get better, he will die and you know it.”

He leans back into the booth and exhales. Irritation can be seen in his perfect features.

“They sent you to sweet-talk me, Winter. Do you realize what that means?” he hisses, “They think they can mess with my head. They think you can mess with my head, so let me clarify something.” Any trace of kindness drains from his light-colored eyes.

“I am not going to go soft. I don’t care how badly the East Side gets hurt, I don’t care if something happens to them, and I sure as hell don’t care if they’re vulnerable at the moment. Am I making myself clear?”

Feeling rage and disappointment take over me, I nod and get up, not even bothering to look at him.

“Winter, sit.”

“Why? You’re clearly not going to help, so why waste my time trying to find some humanity in Mr. Bad Boy?” I head for the door.

“And how do you think you’re going to get home?” he calls.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just walk. Or maybe I’ll call Kendrick to come pick me up. Oh no, wait. Your brother beat him up.” I rush out of the restaurant, blinded by my anger.

The sudden burst of rage Haze created in me seems to have been enough for my common sense to go missing. I look around me and see I’m standing next to some sort of abandoned factory. I’m pretty far from the restaurant already and in a part of town I don’t know. I have no choice but to admit that I should’ve probably waited for him to drive me home before I made a scene. I instinctively reach for my phone in my pocket, and I’m mortified when I realize that Haze still has it. I completely forgot to ask him to give it back. How in the world am I going to get home?

“You’re an idiot.”

I almost feel bad for being this happy when his voice reaches my ears.

I turn around to see him looking at me with mocking eyes. With both hands in his pockets, he’s shaking his head in disapproval.

“Yeah. I figured that out when I reali

zed I have no idea where I am, thanks.”

“Oh please. Don’t pretend like you’re not relieved that I came after you to save your ass again. Notice the word again,” he teases, slowly stepping closer to me.

“I would thank you but…” I analyze my surroundings. “Saving me would require a danger of some sort, you see?”

“You got lucky this time, but take my advice: don’t storm out into the night like that again. You’re hanging out with the bad kids now. That makes you a target.”

The distance between us decreases by the second. He stops a little too close to me for my liking. The darkness of the night somehow makes his piercing eyes a bit more bearable. They’re slightly less hypnotizing at night.

“So what? You made it clear that you don’t care one bit if something happens to me, remember?”

“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

“I’m not stubborn. Just realistic. Those are your words, not mine.”

“My words? Are you sure about that?” He’s staring at me intently.

I try to find some hidden message in the sentence he so kindly said to me earlier but can’t find any. Probably because the idiot is messing with me and there is none.

“You said, and I quote, ‘I do not care if the East Side gets hurt.’ So yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.”

He steps closer until I can feel his breath against my skin. We don’t move, staring deeply into each other’s eyes like we’re waiting to see who’ll look away first.

“I said I wouldn’t care if something happened to them.”

Then he pauses for what seems to be an eternity.

“I never said I would let something happen to you.”

THE SILENT STREETS WELCOME THE ROAR of Haze’s motorcycle but also welcome unwanted thoughts into my head. The neighborhood’s asleep. It’s late. Too late. Maria is probably worried sick right now. Not to mention I already owe her an explanation about not coming home yesterday.