Page 71 of Raise Hell

Fifteen

I have never hatedmyself as much as I did when I walked out of Havoc House last night.

Drake had whispered the nastiest things he could think of in my ear, disgusting words that made my belly clench and my heart race. I’m not mad at myself for letting him trap me — he was too strong for me to fight off.

I’m mad at myself because a small part of me liked it.

When I raced from the room, I was a little bit disappointed when he didn’t come after me.

I need to finish this soon.

Before I lose my mind.

Luckily, the impressive size of his dick wasn’t enough to distract me from the pointy metal poking into my thigh when he held me against the door.

And I am a little proud of how easy it was to lift his keys out of his pocket without him noticing.

That was why I busted into Havoc House in the first place. If I requested a school town car, I’d have to admit where I’m going, which would definitely make it back to the Havoc Boys. And I definitely can’t afford the money for a cab.

Drake’s bike is the best way I could think of to get off campus.

I didn’t think he would make it so easy.

Doesn’t matter how much effort it took to leave after he got naked.

The stolen Ducati roars into the hospital parking lot loudly enough that I almost startle an old man walking outside into a heart attack. He clutches his hospital gown to his chest while clinging to the IV pole he’d been pushing across the sidewalk.

The girl behind the counter is barely any older than I am. She chomps on a wad of chewing gum as she moves her computer mouse slowly across the desk, clicking occasionally. When I take a peek at her monitor, a game of solitaire is up on the screen.

“Hi,” I say as politely as I can.

The girl doesn’t look up from the computer screen.

“Hello,” I try again, louder this time. When she finally glances up, I force a wide smile to overcome what I know is becoming a chronic case of resting bitch face. “I need a copy of my medical records.”

She picks up a stack of paper without taking her eyes off the screen and slaps them onto the counter. “Fill out these request forms. In triplicate. Your request should be processed in approximately one to two business months.”

“What in God’s name is a business month?”

“Don’t forget to include the handling fee. Personal checks will not be accepted.”

I blow out a hard rush of air as I try to hold on to my patience. “There isn’t any way to expedite this?”

“Nope.”

My hand slams down on the counter, leaving a sharp sting in my palm. The girl finally breaks eye contact with her game to glare up at me.

I give her a smile I hope seems apologetic.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. But I really need to get a copy of my medical records as soon as possible. It’s important.”

She taps the stack of papers with one manicured nail before her attention returns to the screen. “In triplicate.”

“What’s your name?” I ask, still smiling so wide that the corners of my mouth hurt.

Her gaze flicks to me and back down again. “Charity.”

Of course it is.

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