Page 46 of Jolt's Vengeance

The Jolt I know—charming, funny, protective—is so far from the picture Trevor's painting.

I struggle to keep my voice even. "What do you mean by that?"

Trevor's eyes narrow, his tone dripping with disdain. "Those lowlife bikers, I mean, it's fucking disgusting how they are."

My fingers tighten around my fork, knuckles turning white.

The urge to defend Jolt, to defend my family, is overwhelming.

I spear a piece of pasta with my fork, buying time to compose myself.

The savory aroma of garlic and herbs wafts up, but my appetite has vanished.

I chew slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

"Really, how so?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Trevor's face darkens, and he launches into a tirade. "They're nothing but criminals, Aggie. Drug dealers, thieves, murderers. They prey on innocent people, terrorize communities. Those thugs think they're above the law, but they're just scum."

Each word feels like a dagger, twisting in my gut.

Images of my father—strong, loving, protective—flash through my mind.

I think of Jolt's easy laugh, the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me.

The disconnect between Trevor's words and my reality is staggering.

I can't listen to this anymore. "Did you know," I interrupt, my voice low and dangerous, "my family consists of 'lowlife bikers' like Jolt? Every single one of them."

Trevor's jaw drops, his eyes widening in shock.

He reels back as if I've physically hit him. "I... I wasn't trying to be offensive," he stammers.

I lock eyes with him, fury simmering just beneath the surface. "But you were," I spit out. "You were super fucking offensive, and I'm leaving now."

My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand, hands shaking from how furious I am.

I grab my bag, not even bothering to clean up my half-eaten meal.

As I turn to leave, Trevor's hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

The sudden contact makes me flinch, memories of a different, more violent touch flashing through my mind.

I jerk away instinctively, my heart racing.

"Wait, Aggie!" Trevor pleads, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "Let me make it up to you. How about we go to a party next weekend? The frat's throwing a rager, and I promise it'll be a blast."

I stare at him incredulously, my mouth hanging open slightly.

Is he serious?

After everything he just said, he thinks I want to party with him?

"I don't know, Trevor. I'm really not—" I begin, trying to find a polite way to tell him to fuck off.

He cuts me off before I can finish, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Come on, I made a mistake. Please don't hold it against me."

I can feel my jaw clenching, the muscles in my neck tightening.

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