“If they don’t kill you!” she calls back.
I laugh. As if that would happen…
My legs carry me towards the Mustang and Braxton grins from the back, waving my way. Abel, on the other hand, fiddles with the radio, turning the knobs until the rock cuts off, shooting into static before he gives up and smacks the off switch. I stop in front of Dean and look up.
“Well?” I say.
One side of his mouth curls up and he reaches for my bag, taking it off my shoulder, and then pops the trunk to toss it in among a few other bags I catch a glimpse of before he slams it shut again. “Let’s go,” he says, slinging an arm over my shoulder and leading me to the passenger side.
“Not so fast,” I say, stopping him as I dive out from under his arm. “I think I got this myself, D-man, but good to know you can be a gentleman when you want something.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond but curl my hands around the edge of the rolled down back window and heave myself up and over until I land in the backseat next to Brax. I reach for the seat belt and clip it into place as Dean looks down at me with one arched brow visible over his sunglasses. “Problem?” I ask.
He shakes his head, reaching for the door and popping it open. It isn’t until he’s inside, slamming the door behind him that I hear him mutter, “Not yet.”
“Woohoo!” Brax shouts, jiggling the back of Abel’s seat as he hops up and down in his seat, laughing and making the whole car shake. “Let’s get this baby on the fucking road! I’m ready to go!”
“Jesus fuck, cool it!” Abel snaps.
“You’re liable to make the car flip,” I comment dryly.
Brax shoots me a grin. “Nah, Abel’s sweetheart can handle a lot more than my big ass,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms, but it’s hard to keep the smile off my face—not when he’s so obviously excited. “Yeah, speaking of big asses, why the hell are you back here?” I ask. “Is this like some sort of punishment? Stick the smallest person in the back with the giant?”
Braxton laughs again and wiggles his brows. “Would you rather be back here with D?”
That’s a no brainer. “On second thought,” I say, “strap in and let’s go.”
Dean reaches for the radio and turns it back on, and this time, an older Tupac song starts blaring. Abel puts the car in drive and we cruise away from the curb as the sun burns down on my forehead and the smell of gas and wind slaps me in the face.
“It’s gonna be a long ride,” Abel calls. “I hope you’ve got something to entertain you.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” I snark back.
He doesn’t reply, but I notice the corner of his mouth tipped up. It’s almost as satisfying as the scowl now on Dean’s face in the side rearview mirror. Almost.
A beach house. That's where they take me. Or rather, it's more of a fucking compound than a mere "house." As Abel slows the Mustang and turns down a short lane, I realize dozens of cars have already arrived. Porsches, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and dark SUVs line up in the circle driveway of a gray brick mansion with white shutters. I can smell the salty ocean on the wind. Closing my eyes, I inhale, letting the scent fill my lungs.
"Welcome to the Eastpoint Estate," Braxton says, leaning back and sliding his shades over his eyes when someone waves to the car as it cruises through. I'm supposed to spend seven days in this place. Locked up with Dean the dick, the Sick Boys, and their equally rich and annoying friends. Maybe I should've slept on a bench on campus instead, I think a bit belatedly as the car comes to a stop.
Brax places his hands on the side of the car and hops out. Everyone else is a bit slower to move, including me. My body feels itchy—that sensation I get right before I feel the need for a good adrenaline high. I can feel the stares already starting. It's not just Dean's football buddies but their girlfriends too. Dozens of blonde-haired, blue-eyed model-thin girls already sporting their first bikini of the spring break season.
"Is the whole fucking school staying here?" I ask sarcastically as I scowl at a bitch walking by. Don't need the fucking looks of disdain to know I'm not welcome. It's not like I would've chosen to be here anyway if I had another choice.
Abel rounds the back of the Mustang and pops the trunk. "Most people have their own private residences along the beach," he says as Dean grabs a duffle bag and slides it over his shoulder before reaching in and lifting mine up. He tosses it to me, his eyes obscured by his aviators. "But for those who live a bit farther down, they usually stay here. Don't worry, we have our own wing. No one will bother you."
A thought occurs to me. "You said this is the Eastpoint Estate," I repeat, curiously. "So, who owns it?"
Dean and Abel exchange a look, and this time, Dean answers. "All of us," he states. "It's a bit complicated, but technically all the Eastpoint families have a stake in everyone's property. The families co-own this one."
"Complicated how?" I press. “Seems pretty simple to me.”
Dean slams the trunk closed after Abel retrieves the rest of the bags. "Just complicated," he says in the way that means he wants me to drop the subject. I do, but I file his reaction away for future reference. As much as he likes picking me apart, it's only fair for me to return the favor. Unfolding the layers that make up the man known as Dean Carter is liable to send me down a dark and twisted path. After all, they're not called the Sick Boys for their saintly behavior.
"Come on," Dean grunts as he leads me towards the front entrance. "I'll show you to your room and leave you to unpack."
"Ain't much to unpack," I reply with a shrug but follow him nonetheless.
Abel disappears when we enter the house, but Dean doesn't say a word as he guides me through a series of twists and turns that make my head spin. There are so many side hallways and so many doors that I swear the building is never ending. The only way I know we're ever actually moving is because the farther we go, the fainter the sound of people and party music gets.
We descend to a deeper level of the house until the sunlight wanes and there are fewer windows. "Here," Dean says, as we hit a final floor and he stops and gestures me forward.
There are four doors and he nods towards the last one on the right. "This will be your room," he states. "Braxton's there and Abel's there." He points to each prospective room before leveling me with a look. "I'm across from you, and I'll know if you try to sneak out, so don't try anything."
I laugh. The thought is fucking ridiculous. "How are you going to know if I sneak out?" I challenge. "You're going to be half-drunk all week, aren't you?" For all the emotion he shows at that question, his face could've been carved from stone. I roll my eyes. "What if I have to use the bathroom?" I ask, changing the subject as I turn and look up and down the hallway. "I don't see any other rooms and I doubt I'll be able to find one in that fucking maze you call a—"
"There's one in your room," he says, cutting me off. "We each have a private room, so no need to go anywhere."