Page 35 of SNOB

I will keep you safe.

That doesn’t match with how he’s treated me. But the cops haven’t shown up to my door. Not yet anyway.

My hands wander between my legs, still wet from the shower. Still wet from Mac… or what I imagined. When I rub my clit aching between my legs, I’ll never tell anyone what I think happened tonight.

And I’ll never tell anyone I’m about to get off to Malcolm McKinsley.

Pow!

My eyes pop open to the stain on the ceiling, the towel still damp underneath me.

My brows knit as I’m pulled into the day, sunlight pushing through the sheet over the window. My fingers move to the locket around my neck. Then it all comes flooding back.

That car ride.

That mouth.

That chuckle.

Mac.

If you leave, you will die.

“Emmy?” Uncle Jake’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. If he’s still here, and I’m still here, was yesterday all a dream? “Emmy!”

Reaching to the side of the bed, I grab my dying phone off the floor, hoping to see a text from Beau.

“Emmy!” Uncle Jake calls again. “Can you come out here for a minute?”

What now?

My body aches when I climb out of bed but with Uncle Jake calling again, it’s easy to ignore the pain. Grabbing a graffitied shirt off the floor, I pull it over my damp curls before heading out the room. My body stills when my eyes land on the bathroom door.

“Does this excite you, Butterfly?”

“Emmy, you gotta see this!” Uncle Jake calls again.

Moving to the main room, Uncle Jake looks out the dusty window. “What’s up, Uncle Jay?” My voice croaks when I speak as I move to the yellowed fridge. It's plugged in but the milk is warm when I grab it. Reaching for the off-brand Cheerios reminds me our home is a hell of a contrast to the glamour of Paradise Hill. But at least here, I’m safe from the glares and whispers.

At least I’m safe from him.

Those iron eyes flash in my mind and when my eyes land on the red marks still on my wrist, the box drops from my hand.

It wasn’t a dream.

“I’m as shocked as you are.” Uncle Jake’s voice pulls me back to the room. “What the hell is a Bugatti doing in The Valley?”

Moving next to Uncle Jake, my eyes narrow on the black supercar sparkling under the sun. It stands out against old Hondas and Toyotas with scratched paint and bricks for tires.

“He's lost, right?” Jake asks, reaching his palm out.

I know that gesture. He wants a beer. Turning to the fridge, I glance back at the window as I grab a brew. Have I seen that car before?

“It’s only a matter of time before someone steals it. And get a load of that license plate,” he laughs. “Mac?”

Crash!

The beer bottle shatters across the peeling linoleum.

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