Page 539 of Filthy Elites

The house was empty when we moved in at the end of the summer. Everything here is new. His dad paid the bill for it. Mom decorated this place with everything she loved but could never afford—plush rugs, a large leather corner sofa, an egg chair, and a tree trunk coffee table. It looks girly, and a little ridiculous, like houses in TV soaps. On the walls, pictures of us are on display. Just the two of us, none of her many exes. In our old apartment, we used to have pictures of my old friends and me, but I asked her to remove those.

Nothing escapes Chase's intense eyes. He's judging my entire life.

I jiggle the first aid kit to get his attention, open it up on the sideboard, and get cleaning products out first.

He lets me touch his hand. He doesn't even wince when I clean the cuts.

"So, the story is that you passed in front of the house and saw my old friend, Vince. You'll say he doesn't seem like a nice guy. You will tell that to your parents, your friends—anyone who will hear you. If they ask why, you change the subject."

"I don't take orders," he replies, glaring at me.

I ignore him. "That way, if he chooses to bitch to the police about it, you can expand—explain you heard me scream and came to investigate. You got him off me and defended me. He came at you, and you had no choice but to protect yourself and me. Understood?"

I know this dance a lot better than he does.

After seeing this property, Vince might decide to cause trouble just to get a paycheck out of it. Or for revenge.

Chase’s jaw is tight.

"I'll mention Vince to my mother, making it categorically clear he was out of line today so she doesn't let him in again. I'll also leave it at that. But that way, in case he does mess with you, we have the work halfway done."

"Have you always been such a conniving bitch?" His accusation doesn't have much heat.

I smile. Conniving is another word for getting what you want out of life. I'll take it. "Always."

"Who was he?" Chase asks as I finish with his left hand. "Your ex?"

I snort. "He wishes. Literally. That's his problem. He wants me, I don't want him. We used to be friends."

He looks at me up and down, and snort. "Did you use to be a cock tease when you werefriends? Poor guy. I should have gone easier on him."

Ikick his shin without much force.

Chase looks down at my foot, then his eyes glide up along my body until he reaches my eyes. “Hit me again,” he says slowly, his upper lip curling. “See what happens, Erica.”

One thing about me? I’ve never been great at resisting dares. Even the ones I definitely should ignore.So I kick him a second time, in the same spot.

Chase’s eyes flash, as his fist wraps around my neck. I grab his arm with both hands, attempting to break free, but I might as well try to bend metal. His bulging muscles are ridiculous. No eighteen-year-old kid should be that ripped. Fucking football.

I bring my knee to his crotch, but he anticipates the move and blocks it.

His hand’s still firm on my throat. Uncomfortably so, for various reasons. “You’re a fucking dickhead.”

He tightens his hold and smirks. “I thought I was your white knight.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. Knights don’t get off on torturing girls.”

One of his eyebrows hitches up. I’ve always wanted to do that, I’ve even practiced in front of the mirror, but when I try, I look like I’m having a seizure.

“Does this feel like torture, Erica?” He flexes his arm, bringing me closer to him. I’m less than a foot away. My chest brushes the front of his ridiculous blue and gray letterman jacket.

“Let me go.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think so. See, I helped you get rid of the idiot and, spoiled brat that you are, you haven’t said thank you yet. That’s the least you can do, don’t you think?”

“Thank you,” I parrot, glaring up at him.

Naturally, he doesn’t let me go. I struggle against his hold again, but it’s pointless.

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