Page 2 of Scorpion

He also wouldn’t understand the issues of his suggestion. Moving out would mean saying goodbye to my parents and their bank account. I’m not bright enough to get a scholarship, and I haven’t been working. My savings will hardly get me far.

Mathijs could cover my entire tuition four times over, and it wouldn’t dent his account. But an innate part of me wants to prove to my mother that I don’t need a man to survive.

My parents are still my meal ticket, and they have connections I’ll need if I want to be successful in my career. If I didn’t need them for anything, I wouldn’t have been hiding my relationship with Mathijs since I was fourteen.

“They’ll come around eventually,” I respond with a sigh, checking my phone again.

I jolt as the landing skids hit the ground, narrowly avoiding the gilded water fountain at the front of my mid-century modern mansion.

My heart beats erratically as we land, and I notice all the lights that are on in our house. Is Gaya throwing a party again? The last time she did that, Mom slapped her with a slipper so hard, she had the shoe imprinted on her skin for days.

So did I for not stopping Gaya.

“Whose car is that?” Mathijs nods toward the Maserati parked by the house as he turns the engines and rotor off.

I don’t think any of Gaya’s friends own that type of car. The majority of them aren’t even old enough to drive yet. Maybe one of them has an older boyfriend?

Mathijs shakes his head when the curtains ripple. “Your sister is just begging to get in trouble.”

I make a noncommittal sound as I push the door open and jump onto the ground. Mathijs is beside me in an instant, closing the door for me and intertwining our fingers. He gives them a comforting squeeze that does nothing to soothe my unsettled nerves.

“I can stay over tonight and help with whatever mess Gaya and her friends make,” he offers, then winks, nudging my side. “I’ll be your bodyguard, baby. I’ll protect you from drunk teenage girls.”

I nod, but something feels wrong about the situation. There’s no music or high-pitched giggling. It’s too still.

My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and I read Gaya’s message.

Gaya: Brace yourself. Tell your man to run while he can.

The air catches in my throat when the next text comes in.

Gaya: They’re back.

Blood rushes from my face.

I whirl toward Mathijs and snatch my hand away, hoping to every divine being there is that my parents somehow missed the helicopter landing in their driveway. “You need to go,” I hiss.

His face falls as he stiffens, glancing around before dropping his gaze to the wide gap I’ve placed between us. “What’s wrong?”

I stumble back, my throat closing. If my sister’s right, I have to salvage this somehow. Maybe Mom didn’t see us holding hands. Maybe she just got home and was in the shower so she didn’t hear the commotion. “Gaya said they’re—”

“Zalak.”

I freeze.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My knuckles turn white as I spin toward her voice.

Mom stands at the front door, deathly still as she takes in every inch of me, burning holes through any semblance of armor I thought I might have. The disdain for me is as clear as day as she scrutinizes my mud-stained jeans and the fur covering my ripped shirt. Mathijs sports the same look as me.

The venomous scowl she cuts his way could kill a lesser man. But he doesn’t back down. No. He does the opposite. He stands right beside me, too close for anyone to pass us off as just friends.

Papa appears in the doorway, holding up a phone to his ear and saying words I can’t quite make out. He waves in the direction of the helicopter, shaking his head.

“Please leave,” I whisper, hoping Mathijs hears my distress.

“Get inside. Now,” Mom grounds out.

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