Page 68 of SNOB

“Did you have fun fucking my best friend?”

“Jealous.” She crosses her arms, poking at my leg with the tip of her heel.

“Whore.” Pushing her leg away, I bring my attention back to the screen. A picture of a pile of money burning is Beau’s background like he didn’t enjoy what we have in The Hill.

“Fuck you.” She pokes at me again.

“Never.” Staring at the screen, I try tapping some numbers to unlock it.

“You’re so stupid. You’re such a jealous boy. Gray was only helping me look for the person who bought my drawing. And you overreacted. ‘Cause you’re jealous!”

“Why? So you can fuck them too?”

“Ew.” She makes a gagging sound that makes my abs twitch. “I wouldn’t fuck my mom.”

My gaze lifts back to hers. “Who’s your mom?”

“Cara Walsh.”

My head tilts. “Your mom is the General Manager to the Vultures?”

“She’s the what?” Ember blinks, trying to sit up straight.

“How fucked up are you, Everett?”

She reaches her hand out. “My locket. Give it to me.”

Reaching into my pocket I pull out the gold necklace she usually wears. She reaches for it but I open it instead. Then it all makes sense. “Well fuck me, she is your mom.” She grabs the locket before it falls in her lap. When she opens it, she stares, like a little girl who dropped her ice cream. “What happened? You piss her off too?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. She left when I was three. My dad said she’d only be gone a little while and she’d always love me. Wherever she is.” Her brows lower, so do her shoulders. “But he lied.”

“He never told you what really happened?”

“He couldn’t.” She lets out a small laugh. “He died when I was ten. Told me he’d tell me at thirteen. When my uncle took over for him I asked. But he always said he made a promise not to get involved.”

My gaze on her, I try to connect the dots. “So your mom is the General Manager of the Vultures, and you never knew?”

“I didn’t even know she was alive until tonight.” She slumps in her seat.

“So you decide to get drunk in my house? The fuck were you thinking?”

“It started as just a couple with Gray.” Tension comes back to my jaw. “I wanted to work up my nerve to talk to her but I didn’t know what to say. It was like I was a total stranger. I don’t know if she wanted to talk to me or if she recognized me…” She trails off, her eyes blurring.

“Don’t be so dramatic. I get it.”

“I don’t know if you do,” she sniffles between her words, a tear falling from her eye. From hiccups to tears, this girl is as messy as her life. “You were busy accusing me of being a whore because you live your sheltered, privileged fucking life. With girls, and cars, and medals, and everything handed to you?—”

“Sterling isn’t my father.” The words fall out of my mouth. Ones I’ve never told anyone. “Not really anyway. I’m adopted.” She stalls, her brows knitting. “Sterling threatens to kick me out if I don’t help with the family business. To him, I’m disposable. He wants an heir but I have my own goals. To be real, being his son is the worst job I’ve had.” The words linger and I really hope she doesn’t remember this tomorrow. “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

“You still get a cool car, a massive house and a goddamn helicopter.” She looks around the cabin. “I get an old trailer, an uncle with a drinking problem and a life below The Hill. I’m not playing the violin for you.” She swipes a tear on her cheek with such fierceness she leaves a scratch. “You won’t ever understand what it’s like coming where I’m from and the shit you and your family stole from us when we already had nothing.” She swipes another tear away. “You’re a fucking monster. Don’t try and sit here and act like our trauma will bond us. I’ll never be like you.”

Slamming Beau’s phone on the leather seat beside me, I lean forward, tugging on that choker. “You are, Everett.” Everything inside me wants to silence those sniffles. “You’re just as foul. And stubborn. And psychotic. Or did you forget ruining my entire fucking life?”

The choker loosens as she moves so close to my face her breath lands on my lips. “You had it coming.”

My eyes move to her mouth. Even with faded red lipstick they look like a ripe apple I want to bruise. And the way that smirk settles on them, tears staining her face, tells me she’s as insane as I know.

“You’re not a butterfly.” Leaning back in my seat, I keep my fingers around the golden choker, pulling her closer. “You’re a moth.”

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