Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Sorry, I know how you want to be punctual now,” Grant says dryly.
We head out. It doesn’t take long to get anywhere around here. This is true even for houses located outside of town.
“Always this many people?” Grant asks when we pull up outside the house.
“Yes.” I point to where he needs to park. The area is blocked off for the hockey team.
“Do the police often show up at these parties?” I follow Grant’s line of sight and see the guy I laid out heading toward the house.
“Not often.”
“Right,” he mutters, not believing me. It has to get really bad for the cops to show up.
They won’t show up alone either. They’ll drag the dean out of bed too. My brother won’t be happy about that, but he does get everyone to move their asses faster. They are more scared of him than the cops. They aren’t wrong. When he hits his limit, everyone but him backs up. That too is a Locke trait.
Except when my brother or I zero in on a person, it’s with cause. My father did that shit out of pure enjoyment. The older he got, the more obsessed he became with power. That power was all about control.
I pull out my phone as we make our way up the stairs and send a text to Madeline. She still owes me a favor. She doesn’t respond. Not once has she bothered to do so. So I go ahead and text her the video.
Yeah, I pulled that shit up. She’s trying to call my bluff. I have no plans on turning her in, but I do want her attention. Why? I don’t know. Because she pisses me off? No, it’s because she fucks with my head without trying.
Buttercup: Just tell me what you want so we can get this over with, asshole!
Her text makes me smile. Except I don’t have a fucking clue what I want from Madeline Pearson. In fact, I don’t know shit anymore.
Chapter Eleven
MADELINE
“It’s fine,” I try to reassure Georgia as we step out of the car together. I give my sister a small wave before she pulls off. She dropped us off down the street. Might be weird for a teacher to be dropping students off at a party.
She’s worried about Luke and what might be the fallout. I might be too, but I’m keeping that to myself. Georgia doesn’t need to make up more problems in that head of hers.
“He really got the video.” Her eyes bore into my phone. She read my text over my shoulder but didn’t say anything with my sister there. Georgia knows I don’t want Paislee tangled into anything.
I mean, I would have. If I had that access. “It shows he’s willing to go the distance.”
“It’s not funny,” Georgia huffs, but her lips start to twitch on one side. I give her a small elbow to her side.
“Come on. A drink might calm you down.”
“Beer is gross.”
I link my arm through hers. “It is,” I agree. I haven’t drunk much, but I went to parties at my old school. “That’s why you chew Big Red gum while you drink it.” I’ve heard this trick but never tried it.
“Do you have Big Red gum?”
“Nope,” I laugh. “You think he’ll be here tonight?”
“I never come to these, so I don’t know. You never know what Luke Locke is going to do.”
“Besides be an asshole. We can count on that one.” Georgia snorts a laugh. I say hi as I pass by a few people from school. Georgia stays close to me, and I notice no one greets her.
“You always remember everyone.” I do, but it is a practiced skill I developed over the years. Others might not be aware, but you don’t have to be a jerk to get the things you want.
“There’s Kory,” I say when I spot her in the living room area.
This room might be the parlor, but I’m not sure. The house is beautiful and also massive. It reminds me of a house in The Hamptons. This place is a random home Caleb’s parents own. I know everyone is wealthy, but it’s crazy when you get to see it up close and personal.
We make our way over to Kory, who is standing with Claire and Amanda. Those two are tight with her, and I’m sure they voted for Kory.
“Hi, guys.” I don’t get a chance to say anything before Lana pops up out of nowhere. I’ve gotten the cold shoulder from her since the voting went down.
“No one wants a drink?” she says.
“We’re good,” I tell her because it’s strange she would offer anyone a drink.
“Wasn’t talking to you.” She hits me with a sneer.
“Well, I was talking to you.” Her lips press into a firm line. She’s not used to getting a taste of her own medicine. Lucky for her, I’m more than willing to supply it.