Page 4 of Savage Lover

“That’s right,” I say, smiling despite myself. I don’t want to smile at Nero. I would like to stay as far away from him as possible. But he’s talking about the one thing I own that I actually love.

Burt Reynolds drove the same car in Smokey and the Bandit—except his was black with a gold eagle on the hood, and mine is red with racing stripes. Faded and beat to shit, but still pretty rad, in my opinion.

Bella has no idea what we’re talking about. She just hates that Nero and I are talking at all. She needs to pull the attention back to herself, immediately.

“I have a Mercedes G-Wagon,” she says.

“Daddy must have had a good year,” Nero says, curling up that full upper-lip, puffier than ever from its bruise.

“He certainly did,” Bella coos.

“Thank god there’re heroes like him helping all those poor billionaires hide their money,” I say.

Bella whips her head around like a snake, obviously wishing I would leave or die already so she could be alone with Nero.

“Please tell us how you’re saving the world,” she hisses. “Are you doing oil changes for orphans? Or are you the same loser you were in high school? I really hope that’s not the case, because if you’re still a grimy little degenerate, I really don’t know how you’re going to pay for my dress you just ruined.”

I look at her tight white dress, which has three tiny spots of punch on the front of it.

“Why don’t you try washing it?” I tell her.

“You can’t throw an eight-hundred-dollar dress in the washing machine,” Bella tells me. “But you wouldn’t know that, because you don’t wash your clothes. Or anything else, apparently.”

She sniffs at my filthy undershirt, and my hair tied back with a greasy bandanna.

It makes me burn with shame when she looks at me like that. I don’t know why. I don’t value Bella’s opinion. But I also can’t argue with the facts: I’m poor, and I look terrible.

“You’re wasting your time,” Nero says in a bored tone. “She doesn’t have eight hundred dollars.”

“God,” Beatrice giggles, “Levi really needs to start getting security for these parties. Keep the trash out.”

“You sure you’d make the cut?” Nero says, softly.

He picks a bottle of vodka up off the counter, slugs down several gulps, then walks away from the girls. He doesn’t look at me at all, like he forgot I was even there.

The Queen Bees have forgotten about me, too. They’re staring after Nero, wistfully.

“He’s such an asshole,” Beatrice says.

“But he’s so fucking gorgeous,” Bella whispers, her voice low and determined. She’s staring after Nero like he’s a Birkin bag and a Louboutin heel all rolled into one.

While Bella’s consumed with lust, I take the opportunity to head off in the opposite direction, looking for Vic. Not seeing him on the main level, I have to climb the stairs and start peeking into rooms where people are either hooking up, snorting lines, or playing Grand Theft Auto.

The house is huge but run down. This obviously isn’t the first party it’s seen—the woodwork is gouged, the walls full of random holes. From the look of the bedrooms, I’m guessing several people live here—probably all dudes. The guests are a weird mix of slumming socialites like Bella and a much rougher element. I don’t like that my brother is mixed up with this crowd.

I finally track him down in the backyard, playing ping pong on an outdoor table. He’s so shitfaced that he can barely hold his paddle, not making contact with the ball at all.

I grab him by the back of his t-shirt and start dragging him out.

“Hey, what the hell!” he yells.

“We’re leaving,” I snarl at him.

“I don’t think he wants to go,” Andrew says to me.

I really despise Andrew. He’s a cocky little shit who likes to dress and talk like a gangster. Meanwhile his parents are both surgeons, and I know he got an early acceptance to Northwestern.

His future is secure. He gets to play around at being a bad boy, and when he’s tired of that, he’ll sail off to college, leaving my brother behind in the gutter.

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