Page 17 of Ruin
“Kolton!”
You have got to be kidding me.
I move quicker into the crowd, hoping to get lost. If I was smaller, I’d beg someone to kidnap me.
“Wait!”
Someone grabs my arm, and I jerk them off and whirl around.
“Do not fucking touch me,” I seethe.
Lucian frowns, daring to look hurt.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” I tell him. “I didn’t do this.”
“Can we talk?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” I growl, but I can’t move. I’m caught in his gaze like I have been so many times before. Helpless. At his mercy. So desperate for him to make things better.
I stand there, staring at him, the people around us disappearing with each second that passes.
“You look so much like your father,” he says, his face softening.
“Oh yeah? You like that or something?” I step closer to him, noting he doesn’t flinch. “Were you fucking him, too?”
I don’t really think that, but I need to do something to hurt him. I need him to hurt as badly as he hurt me. Not that I think it’s possible, but I won’t know if I don’t try.
“Why would you say that to me?” he asks, once again, looking hurt. The fucking audacity. “Do you really think that?”
“Seems like something you would do,” I spit out.
“Think about that, long and hard, Kolton. Think about what you just said to me. I know you don’t believe it. I know you’re only trying to hurt me.” He lowers his voice, stepping closer. “And guess what? It’s working. I don’t like feeling like this.”
“Fuck. You,” I growl, whirling around and slamming into someone.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Kaison asks.
“Nothing,” I grit out, then shove past him to disappear through the crowd. I end up in the back of the beer tent, drinking more than I should. I give them all the cash in my wallet, something near $200, if my math is correct. It usually is, but with my head all fucked up and the alcohol in my veins, maybe I’m wrong.
I come out of hiding when the sun starts to go down and it’s time to clean up. Most of the vendors have already packed uptheir stuff and gone. There are a few people lingering around, chatting, and looking at the few carts that are still set up.
There isn’t much else that I need to do here, and honestly, I should have gone home a long time ago. I make my way up the hill, toward the parking lot. There aren’t many cars left up here, and I make my way over to my bike. I turn the switch, but it doesn’t start up.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, trying again. Nothing.
I pat down my pockets and dig around—my fucking fob is gone.
“Fuck!” I shout, getting off my bike to double check my pockets. I check them all five times. No fucking fob.
With a huff, I make my way down the hill and back to the beer tent.
“You find a key fob over here?” I ask.
The two ladies who were working the line both shake their heads. There are a couple guys who have the tent mostly taken down. I move past all of them to go where I was sitting and drinking, pull out my cell for light and look around in the grass.
It isn’t fucking here.
I roll out my neck, flex my fingers, and take a breath.
