I couldn’t see Mama, but opportunity was like a bright light, and she was a dumbass moth. “Thank you, Mrs. Livingston. Sweet dreams,” he said in a tender tone before hanging up the phone.
“There. Now your mama knows where you are. So if you die or disappear, we’ll be prime suspects.”
Too bad my mama would rather let me die than risk ruining her reputation, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“Now are you gonna get into the front on your own? Or do I have to put you there?”
I shot him a smartass sneer and then made my way around the SUV. Opening the passenger door, I flung myself inside, and Rogue wasted no time slamming the trunk and getting into the driver’s seat beside me.
Rogue peeled out onto the street, and I watched out the window as we passed the historic district and the riverfront. Savannah was home to nearly one hundred and fifty thousand people, and it was no secret that the elites liked to flaunt their money like a prostitute flaunted her curves. The wealthy in this city were just as flashy and obnoxious—you could see it at every street corner.
Rogue took his phone out again and made a call, and even though I tried, I couldn’t make out the voice on the other end. “Yeah. Party’s over. Be back in ten. Cut ‘em all loose. No, I don’t want my shit messed with. Just handle it.” He hung up and flung the phone back down, and I half considered snatching it up and calling the police.
As if he could hear me thinking, Rogue looked over at me. “Fucking try it, Scar.”
My eyes snapped back to the window.
I wondered what would happen if I really did make that call. Not that I ever would. Even though they deserved it, and even though it would be totally justified, I could never implicate them like that. I just didn’t have it in me. But maybe that was my own sickness spreading out of some festering need to protect them. I didn’t know why. They certainly didn’t protect me anymore.
When Rogue rolled up to his house again, all the cars of the partygoers were long gone. The only evidence that there had been a party there was in the inflatable donuts sitting in the fountain in his yard and the red cups littering the lawn. He parked in front of the estate and got out, and I waited silently as he came around to my side of the car. A second before he could wrench open my door, I hit the lock.
His hand paused against the handle, and he cocked a brown brow. The arrogant asshole had left the keys in the ignition. We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us trying to talk through the glass, but there was plenty being said with our eyes.
He looked at me through my window, equal parts pissed off and challenging. That was one thing about Rogue Kelly. He was the dominating one. The controller. Even when we’d been friends, I’d always got off on challenging him. And I was pretty sure that he liked that about me. So when I hit the lock, my heartbeat quickened. It was like one of our old cat and mouse games that I used to love. His eyes dared me. Threatened me.
“Don’t fucking do it,” he said through the glass.
Which is exactly why I did.
Before he could blink, I jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Rogue smashed his fist against the window, and though it was loud and powerful, the glass didn’t break. I slammed the gear into drive just as he was running around the front of the car. I barely managed to skim the wheel around him.
Kicking up pristine white gravel, I thundered out of the driveway, hearing him scream my name and swearing. The tires screeched when I made it onto the pavement on the street, and then I was gone.
I didn’t think. I just drove. And I drove. And I drove.
Chapter Twelve
This was not like another cat and mouse game of ours. This was different. But there was no turning back now.
Somehow, I ended up at Clayton Hammond’s apartment.
Parking on the street, I realized that my hands were shaking when I finally let go of the steering wheel. I leaned my forehead against it, trying to steady my frenzied breaths as I replayed what I just did.
I was an idiot. A total fucking idiot.
Why did I have to push him? Why the hell would I do that now, when I just saw him kill a guy in cold blood? It was like I was just asking Rogue to off me. But for some reason, I just couldn’t keep taking the hits and doing nothing. I was sick of letting them punish me without fighting back. And you know what? It felt fucking good to drive away from him. It felt good to finally win one.
But it was a good thing I’d be on a plane Monday. All I had to do was hide out until then. Two days. I could make it two days. I didn’t really think he’d kill me. He would have already if he’d really wanted to. Once he realized I hadn’t gone to the cops, he’d calm down.
I hoped.
I picked my head up to look around the street, just to make sure I hadn’t been followed. This was the college part of town, with dorms and apartments littered over the city. So even though it was late, there were still people walking around and I knew Clay would be up since it was a Friday night. I then grabbed an old napkin on the floor of the car and started wiping at the dried blood coating my neck, from when Rogue grabbed me. Red flakes fell from my skin, and once I was sure there wasn’t more I could do, I threw the napkin on the floorboard.
Opening the car door, I made my way toward the student apartments. I punched the code into the gate and it slid open, then passed some people at the pool that were drinking and smoking. I got a few sarcastic catcalls at my oversized sweats that smelled of Luis Salvador, but I ignored them as I made my way up the stairs to knock on apartment 3B.
It took a bit longer than usual for him to answer, but since I could hear music coming through the door, I knocked again.
“Yeah, hold your fuckin’ balls in your sac! I’m comin!”
A second later, I heard the lock flip and then Clay threw open the door. His mouth was open and ready to yell, but when he saw it was me, he stopped himself.
“Scarlett fuckin’ Livingston. What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”
“Can I come in?”
Clay stepped out of the way to let me pass, and I walked inside his apartment. It was a total college-guy bachelor pad, but Clay liked to think of himself as eclectic. Which was just a fancy way of saying he hung a lot of nude photographs on his walls and grew weed out of his guest bedroom.
I perched myself on the barstool at his countertop and Clay wasted no time opening his fridge and grabbing a couple of beers. He passed me one, and I took it gratefully. When I popped the lid on the edge of his steel counter and downed a third of it in one go, I found Clay staring at me incredulously. “Who are you, and what the hell have you done with Scarlett?”
“Ha ha,” I said dryly.
“No. Really. I’ve offered you about a hundred beers. Not once have you ever taken one.”
I shrugged and started peeling the label off the cold bottle. “Everyone is entitled to change.”
Clay toasted silently to that before taking a swig himself. He watched me, his nearly black eyes pausing on the very masculine and ill-fitting clothes that I was wearing. His dark skin was smooth over his taut muscles, and he rubbed a hand over his short black hair as he studied me. When he leaned over, seeing that I was barefoot, he cocked a brow. “You in some kind of trouble?”
I laughed bitterly, but caught myself before I could say something stupid. “No. Just...needed to get out of the house. My mama was driving me crazy.” It was true often enough that it didn’t feel like a lie.