Page 162 of Falling in Reverse

“I did.” Red outlines my vision because I want to slam the brakes so hard and watch him go through the windshield that I almost do it. “You’re not going back there. I’ll see if she’s still there.”

“Dude—” I don’t know how he knows what I’m about to do, but his palm slams on the steering wheel, keeping it still and on the straight and narrow.

“My ass isn’t going to be shot at again tonight,” he seethes in my direction, dark eyes glaring into the side of my head. “I said I’d handle it.”

“That doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“Well, that’s what it’s gonna be.” He confidently releases the wheel, giving me control of the car, and starts tapping away at the keyboard on his phone. “Go the The Grind.”

“The what?”

“Coffee shop on Halifax.”

“For what?”

Our eyes meet, his dark and lifeless when he says seriously, “I want coffee.”

FORTY-ONE

cairo

“So, you’re a coffee snob.”

I steer my focus to the girl who won’t stop talking, blue eyes—that are more like soul suckers—aimed at me.

She’s been constantly worrying about her sister and friend since we got here. The demand to go back after I stole my keys from her so she couldn’t go back made her big-mad.

Whatever.

I mean, fuck that we were shot at, her loyalty runs deep for family and friends, so there’s that, yet you can still fucking die. There’s a difference between being stupid as fuck and having a plan.

“How did you know Matteo had AKs?” she asks me. “It was as though you were peeking from the window.”

“Word on the street,” I deadpan over my recycled coffee cup. The Grind makes the best coffee and drinks around for a little pick-me-up, and I need something to get my head on straight that’s not a fifth of tequila.

“Right, gang stuff.” She says it as though she’s not part of it or that it’s below her in every sense of the word.

“Right, shit you’re into, too,” I volleyball back.

Her face twists. “No, I’m not.”

“Do you run with Wallace?”

“Describe run.”

I hit her with an exasperated glower before taking a sip of my hot latte and ignoring the comment.

She’s like a fucking frisbie, spinning round and round, but she keeps coming back. So, I guess, that makes her a boomerang.

“Can we go?” she presses for the millionth time, fidgeting in the chair across from me. “I need to get back?—”

“No.” Yeah, one-word answers aren’t really her favorite because the moment I see her fingers clasp under the table, I know she’s about to flip it. “I have your sister coming up here.”

Her eyes bulge a bit. “Wha—really? Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Bay gapes at me for a beat before her spine hits the back of her chair. “Huh.”

---