Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I move into damage control mode. I pull Winona back so she’s not bent forward. “Buckle, Nona.”
“I already am.”
But it’s too loosened, and I don’t need to ask. Farrow already pulls the strap to her belt, tightening her in.
I snap my belt off and slide to the seat’s edge. Just so I can speak more directly to Ben. Farrow is glaring at me for unbuckling, but I’ll be quick.
“Go faster,” I tell Ben.
His eyes flit to me. “Did you read the text?”
“Not yet. Accelerate, Ben. You can pass the Kia on your right.”
Ben presses the gas, but lets off as rain slams harder. “I can’t, Moffy.”
Charlie rubs the fog off his window. “You should pull over. I’ll drive.”
I can’t even offer since I still don’t have my license back. Not that they’d feel that safe since I have a speeding problem, but I’ve never wrecked.
“Pull over where?” Ben shifts forward, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“The emergency lane,” Charlie says.
“I can’t see it.”
“Maximoff,” Farrow says through clenched teeth. Winona fists my shirt to pull me back. I end up sliding backwards on my own, and I pull my seatbelt across my chest and snap in.
I glance at Farrow.
He looks like he wants to kiss me and kill me. “Don’t do that again.”
“Bodyguard orders?” I ask.
“Boyfriend rules since you love following them so much…” he trails off, checking the traffic through the rear windshield. “Shit.”
I see what he sees. “Ben,” I say, “switch to the left lane.” We’re in a middle lane, and a truck on the driver’s side is gaining speed.
Ben flicks on his blinker. His car sensors start beeping, alerting us about an approaching vehicle. “I can’t get over.”
He’s sixteen and just got his license in March. All I want is to take the fucking wheel.
Ben tries to accelerate again. “Moffy, you should read the text out loud.”
I hesitate.
Not sure if this is a good distraction from paparazzi or a bad one. But I end up looking down at the phone in my hand.
And I read, “Colin texted, heads up, dude, Easton Mulligan is getting pills from your cuz. Thought that shit stopped, but Easton’s been bragging about it. Even saw the bottle.”
I don’t know how I read that without a single inflection.
I don’t know how my heart is still beating.
My muscles burn, shoulders locked, and my impassive face carries nothing. Xander needs his meds, and he’s just giving them away so that he can make friends. Hurt claws at me, wanting to just grab him and hug him and tell him this isn’t right. Somewhere inside, I almost can’t fucking believe this. Somewhere inside, I think I’m screaming at the top of my lungs for this to reverse.
But that emotion is lost with a switch, too deep to reach.
The car is so quiet I can hear Ben’s heavy breath.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say. He can’t deal drugs. Or is it even considered dealing if he’s giving them away freely? Jesus.
“Be gentle, okay,” Ben breathes. “I can’t…I mean, Xander just…he lost his door again, right? He’s not in a good place.”
“Yeah,” I say, nothing in my voice.
Farrow studies me for a long beat, and then his tattooed fingers touch his earpiece again, his gum chewing slows down.
I pass the phone to Charlie since Ben is still concentrating on the road. “Just let me handle this,” I say and add to Winona. “Don’t tell the girl squad what’s happened.” Last thing I need is for the entire family to be in on this before I even talk to Xander.
“My babes won’t know,” Winona confirms, and by babes, she means my sister Kinney, then Audrey Cobalt and Vada Abbey. Her shoulders loosen, and she exhales in relief.
Ben gains speed but falters as the storm brews. He decelerates. “Thanks, Moffy—” A camera flashes at the driver’s window in pitch black night, jarring Ben.
He swerves right.
“Ben!” Winona yells.
“I can’t see!”
Charlie instantly grabs the wheel and straightens the car.
“Relax,” Farrow tells the teenagers, slightly turned as he watches security’s car behind us.
We’re wedged between a truck and an SUV, both windows rolled down. Cameras wrapped in plastic point at our car.
“I can’t see,” Ben mutters again. He grips the steering wheel harder.
Flashes blast in quick succession. Imagine a strobe light in your face on a freeway at seventy-five miles per hour in pouring down rain, and you just got your license three months ago.
“Slow down,” I suggest. “Just ride here. They’ll get bored and leave.”
Now Ben is pressing down on the gas. “I can try to pass one—”
We spin out the second he pushes eighty-five, no traction to the wheels on the wet road—my arm extends over Winona’s chest to protect my cousin, and I feel Farrow doing the exact same for her.
As the car revolves, there’s no time to glance left or right. No time to course correct or overthink or call out to Farrow.