Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
I draw in a breath, my heart beating faster. I scan the crowd. Where’s Dylan?
Arlet sticks out her long, bare leg, posing as she sweeps her hair up into a ponytail, making a big show in her strapless cocktail dress and heels. Mace sits on the bleachers, her arm hanging over Coral’s shoulder who sits one level down, between her legs, as they pass a Hydro Flask between them.
I find Farrow sitting on a chair, far off in the corner, swallowing giant gulps of Coke and then holding the can out to his side, letting Calvin slip in some whiskey.
A large group dances in the middle of the floor, the clouds blotting out any moonlight that might shine through the glass dome above.
I head over to Farrow. “Hey.”
“What’s up?” he says, shaking his can at me. “You want some?”
“Later.” I search the gym. “Have you seen—?”
But then I stop, watching Dylan walk through the doors I just came through.
She enters the dark gym, a backpack hanging off one shoulder, dressed in tight jeans and an even tighter, red leather jacket. The blue and pink lights glint off her buckles and zippers, and my gaze falls to her neck, visible with her hair pulled up.
Then, they drop to the three inches of bare stomach between her jeans and jacket, and my body warms even as relief hits me, seeing she’s here and safe. She smiles, and I follow her gaze to the girls on the bleachers. She walks over to them, handing Coral the backpack.
Coral looks inside, smiles, and then uncaps her flask, trying to keep the liquor inside the bag as she pours more into her bottle.
Lightning strikes the sky, thunder cracks, and everyone howls, something that feels like wind swirling through the room. “Whoo!” they howl.
I move, trying to catch Dylan’s eyes. A lock of hair hangs over her face, but even from here I can see the ease in her gorgeous face.
“You look pretty,” I whisper, but I know she can’t hear me.
Someone puts a small plastic cup in her hand, a shot of something gold inside.
I drift over and stop in front of her, her eyes still cast down at her cup. I ignore the girls on the bleachers to my right.
I lean in, so she can hear me. “You look pretty.”
Beautiful.
She raises her eyes, giving me a small smile.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
She holds the cup to her mouth and tips her head back, swallowing the alcohol in one gulp.
“Your dad wants you to call,” I tell her.
“I will.”
She hands the cup back to Coral, and I think she’s getting another one.
“Space those out, okay?”
“I’m not having anymore.” She shakes her head. “I’m not staying.”
She starts to move, and I take a step. “What? Where are you going?”
“Everywhere.” She grins at me. “Have fun tonight.”
What?
She walks away, and Arlet grabs me. “Come on. Dance.”
But I barely hear her as she pulls me onto the floor. Dylan disappears through the doors, and I’m fucking confused, because if she’s mad at me, she’d let me know. If she’s not, then what’s the problem? Everyone’s here. Dylan isn’t a one-girl party. She likes people. Why is she leaving?
No sooner than I get on the dance floor, when commotion bursts through the gym doors, the entire room going silent except for the music.
“We’re here for our traitors!” Stoli announces, flanked by Pirates.
He stands there with at least ten other guys, the light behind them blinding me to the point I can’t make everyone out. Is Kade here?
They run in, the music seems to get louder—or maybe it’s the screams—and I hear footfalls descend the bleachers.
People run and shout, angry but also excited by it.
I catch Farrow by the arm. “No weapons!”
“No promises!”
He rushes off, and I run my hand through my hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“Get them out!” someone shouts over the DJ’s microphone.
They came in right after Dylan left. Was she in on this?
Phones are out, snapping pics and videoing, and I’m not in the mood for this.
Students escape into locker rooms, others falling in the rush as the strobe lights cut out, and the music only gets louder.
“Call the cops!” someone shouts.
“Like they’ll come,” another says.
I run to the exit, passing Coral. “Where did Dylan go?”
“She mentioned riding in the rain,” she shouts over the commotion.
Dammit.
I run out into the parking lot, thunder rumbling across the sky and wind whipping through my hair. “Dylan, where are you?” I whisper to myself.
Hopping in my car, I cruise the streets, keeping my eyes peeled. Leaves and trash blow across the roads, trees bending with the force, and the rain is going to start any moment. She shouldn’t ride in this. She shouldn’t ride with even a shot of alcohol in her. I shouldn’t have let her go.
I swing past Knock Hill, the lane deserted, everyone inside, and then I climb up to Phelan’s Throat. She knows better, but that doesn’t mean she’ll listen to her head.