Page 52 of Gilded Fake

And then he’s opening the door, and I move faster, and I call to him again, but he’s already slipping inside.

The car pulls away from the curb, shooting forward, taking with it both of my fixes, leaving me standing on the side of the road emptyhanded and empty.

The taillights fade, the sleek, forest green ‘69 Mustang disappearing from view.

My hands ball into fists at my sides. She’s going to fucking pay for that. All the rage that’s been simmering inside me for years rises like a tide now, billowing inside me until I know I’m going to blow into shrapnel if I don’t find an outlet real fucking fast.

Usually I can fuck it out, but when the girl I fuck is the one pissing me off, it complicates things. I storm back to my truck and jump in, gun the engine, and peel out of the parking lot. I know where Maverick lives, but I also know he doesn’t take hookups home. Maverick lives by his own set of rules. People think he’s a dog, that there’s nowhere and no one he won’t fuck because he fucks in cars, gyms, classrooms, bathrooms, friends’ couches and floors… Anywhere there’s a surface he can lay someone down on or push them up against or bend them over.

But he won’t fuck where he eats, not even when his parents and his little sisters aren’t home.

Which means they went to Gloria’s.

She doesn’t live with her sisters anymore, and I’m not going to call Maverick and ask for directions. There’s only one other person she talks to, one person who might have been to her place.

I dial while I drive, roaring after the Mustang that disappeared too soon, without giving me a chance to follow. The streets aren’t completely deserted, but traffic is light enough this time of night that I can’t expect her to be hung up at a light.

“Dynamo,” comes the answer after a couple rings. “Did someone drop out on you at the last minute, or why you calling me so late on a Friday night?”

“Where does Gloria live?” I demand.

Silence.

“You owe me one, Teeny.”

“Can’t I just give you the bag at my next fight?”

“I don’t need your money,” I snap. “Show up for the graduation fight if you want to get your knuckles bloody, but you can keep what you win. Now give me Lo’s address.”

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Why do you want to know?”

“Maverick’s over there, and I need something. It can’t wait.”

“So call him.”

“He’s not answering,” I lie. “And you’re the only one who knows we’re more than friends. I can’t ask anyone else without it being suspicious, and I don’t want it to come back on her.”

“You’re not going to fuck with her?” she asks.

“Come on, why you gotta ask me that? That hurts. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Okay, but I’m texting her to tell her you know.”

“Fine,” I say, not even caring. She’s probably too busy sucking Maverick’s dick to answer anyway.

I toss the phone down as soon as she gives me the address, swing onto the highway, and floor it. I’m familiar with the area where she lives, a little way outside of Faulkner, not far from Preston’s old loft. There’s nothing there but a few apartment complexes that sprang up in the middle of nowhere, the next exit up from Faulkner. I swing off the highway and race that way, circling the complex twice, cursing Harper for only giving me an address and not directing me to the correct building. I finally find it, pull in next to Lo, and throw the truck in park. I grab the bag in the back and jump down. The Mustang’s engine is still ticking as it cools, which gives me hope. I’m only a few minutes behind.

My footsteps bang like gunshots on the metal stairs, the echo reverberating down the corridor between apartments on each floor, the entire staircase vibrating with my fury. When I reach the fourth floor, I stomp to her number and pound my fists on the door, my pulse pounding in my head at the same beat. I lost track of when this stopped being about getting my fix and started being about getting Gloria.

I don’t wait for an answer, just grab the knob to rattle it. It turns easily in my hand, and I grab my stuff and walk in. The apartment is small and sparsely furnished, with only a couch, a couple lamps, and TV in the living room. It’s minimal enough to look bare, with no decorations on the wall, like someone’s just crashing here for a week. I hear voices from behind a door and throw it open without stopping to think about whether I want to see what’s inside.

And then it’s too late, too late to know that I don’t want to know, to realize I can’t unsee what’s behind that door.

“You didn’t lock the door?” Gloria shrieks at Maverick, who’s under her on the bed. She yanks the sheet up around her, but I’ve seen enough.

More than enough.

I stride across the room and dump the entire contents of the trash bag onto them. “To think I went to all this trouble for you, and you couldn’t wait until five minutes after I left to climb on someone else’s dick,” I snarl, tossing the empty bag at her back. “I’m glad I’m going to marry someone else if it means I’ll be free of your venomous evil.”

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