Page 12 of Hate Game

“Holy fuck. What the hell?”

The SUV speeds up. Hearing the panic in Red’s voice, I undo my seatbelt and scoot over, shoving Shay out of my way as we vie for the middle seat.

“Strap the fuck in, Rue!” Red barks.

I buckle in. Ahead of us, an inferno lights up the night sky.

“Red, Malice’s parents’ place is on fire.”

“No shit. Crap, he’s dead meat. This is the last straw.”

“What was the first straw?” I ask. Anything to distract me from my fast heartbeat.

Oh, God, please let Malice be okay.

“The first straw was him getting a girl pregnant.”

“Wait, what?!” I clamp my hands on the sides of the seats and lean forward. “When?”

The fire grows, filling the night sky in this angry red. Shay is on the line with 9-1-1. I drown out his voice and wait for Red's answer.

“When he was sixteen.”

“You know this how?” My gut clenches. No one knows this secret of mine except for Malice. How could he break his promise?

“Eavesdropping on our parents’ conversation at a family get-together. His parents said it was the start of Malice’s spiral out of control.”

Great. I’m a loser with a bad reputation,andI’m a bad influence on the bad boy.

We pull into the driveway. The fire trucks are already there. I haul ass out of the SUV and search for Malice in the crowd of kids.

No wonder no one was waiting for us, and the bonfire was out by the time we made it back to the clearing. Malice had moved the party to his parents’ house. It was smart of him. The inside of their house would be toasty warm. Except it is exceptionally hot right now. Flames are shooting from the upstairs windows.

I ask the girls who are huddled together and the guys filming the scene with their phones where Malice is. They ignore me, but they don’t ignore a Sterling.

“Where the fuck is Malice?” Red glowers.

One of the kids points toward the back of the house. “He went that way with Cassie.”

Is he with the pretty brunette as his parents’ house burns?

That jerk!

I turn from Red’s smirk and march to Malice’s place. How did he not hear the fire trucks’ sirens? Why did the kids not tell him his parents’ house is on fire? Or they did, and Malice didn’t care.

I stomp to the front door and pound on it. Malice takes a good minute to open the door. I tap my foot, knowing full well who keeps him from answering.

The door opens, and I am not mentally prepared to see him shirtless with his jeans hung low on his hips. They are so low his V-cut is showing. I blink past the mouth-watering view and point a shaky finger at him. “Outside. Now.”

He stretches his arm along the door frame and glances down at me with eyes hooded. “No go, sweet thing. I already had my action for the night.” He looks me up and down. “Anyway, you’re not my type. You’re too skinny and don’t have enough here or here.” He points to his chest, then turns and points to his ass.

Is he for real? I grab him by the hair and haul his butt up the dirt path and to the house. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, Malice. Your parents’ house is on fire.” I let go of his hair and cross my arms over my small breasts. So what that I’m not his type? It’s not like I care what he thinks of me. Only my friends’ opinions matter. Malice is not my friend.

I move away from him and stand by Red, Shay, and Winslow.

“What do you think happened, Winslow?” I look for Winslow’s dad but can’t tell which one he is. They look alike in their firefighter gear.

“Electrical. Or it’sintentional.”

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