Page 30 of Savage Lover

Bella smirks, pleased to have her boyfriend pay for her mistakes.

Camille takes the money, but she’s so pissed off that she’s shaking. She’s mad that Bella didn’t even pay her bet, let alone the damage. It looks like Camille has to silently count to ten before she can turn away from Bella, popping the hood of her car, and releasing a cloud of smoke-tinged with oil.

“Fucking garbage,” Bella hisses, not specifying whether she’s talking about Camille or her car.

Camille ignores her, focused solely on her ride.

Mason, Carlo, and I all circle around her, irresistibly drawn by our curiosity to see what went wrong. I stand next to Camille, peering over her shoulder. It’s exactly the position we took when she was looking at my car earlier today.

“Here we are again,” I say.

She gives me an annoyed look, not seeing the humor in it.

“Yikes,” Mason says. “That doesn’t look good …”

“COPS!” somebody shouts.

The effect is instant. The word is like a grenade thrown into the center of the group. Everybody scatters.

It’s not that I care so much about a ticket. It wouldn’t be my first. But I don’t fancy spending the rest of the night in an interrogation room, if the cops get the bright idea to try to put the screws to me while they have the chance.

I’m about to take off, until I see Camille standing helplessly next to her car.

“Come on!” Patricia calls to her. “Come with us!”

Patricia is climbing into Mason’s Supra. She gestures frantically for Camille to join them.

“I can’t leave my car!” Camille calls back.

I hear sirens closing in on two sides.

I should just leave.

If Camille wants to get arrested, that’s her dumb choice.

Camille rests her palm on her car, her expression anguished. Like it would kill her to leave the Trans Am. Like it’s her baby.

“Forget the car,” I bark to Camille. “You can come back for it tomorrow.”

She casts a frightened look in the direction of the cop cars, but she’s still glued to the smoking Trans Am. I hear racers speeding off in all directions, while I’m still standing here like a fool.

Propelled by annoyance, I scoop Camille up and throw her over my shoulder.

“HEY!” she shrieks. “Put me down! What are you—”

“Shut up,” I snarl, jogging over to my car.

I’m jostling Camille but I could care less. I wrench open the passenger door and throw her inside.

“I don’t need you to—”

I slam the door in her face and run around to the driver’s side.

A squad car is heading right for us. We’re the only idiots still parked along the main drag. Mason already peeled off as soon as he saw me grab Camille.

The cop has his siren blaring and his lights on. Over the speaker, he barks, “Stay right where you are!”

Instead, I set my foot on the gas pedal and press it all the way down to the floor.

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