Page 31 of Jerk
My hands gripmy steering wheel, my heart pounding with the bass in my car.
“Tears” by Sabrina Carpenter blares through my speaker, but it doesn’t calm the tension in my chest.
High beams on, my Porsche rolls onto the gravelled driveway, but I don’t get far. A long line of cars blocks me from getting closer to the door, forcing me to park at the edge like I’m a visitor. Twigs and leaves snap and crunch under my slides as I climb out of my car, the night air cold against my skin as I approach the front door.
My dad spent millions making our Scandinavian-inspired retreat into the epitome of cozy luxury. Nestled right into the woods overlooking Silver Lake, this place,ourplace, is a serene escape. Not a playground for Rye’s boyish whims.
Bass bumps through the frosted glass door, and before I can turn the handle, a couple of girls in lingerie stumble out. I swerve past them as I step foot into our second home, and it’s worse than I thought.
He’s claimed every piece of this place, all our decor arranged in what looks like some sort of sex dungeon. Furry red blanketsand silk sheets drape over our white furniture, all our bulbs replaced with red ones. It’s dim and dark in a way I’ve never seen before. Even the air smells like him.
My eyes land on the centre of attention amongst the debauchery, my skin prickling with heat. Rye sits on a large velvet armchair in the middle of the main living area. All our friends surround him, but his eyes are already on mine. It doesn’t help that he’s in fewer clothes than last time, a long, silky trench coat over his tight black boxers. A crystal bottle half-filled with clear liquid hangs between his fingers. My eyes narrow on it. It’s my father’s favourite, worth a few grand.
Without another second to think, my feet storm towards him, all eyes moving to me. He watches me walk over, that intense stare unwavering.
“Get out.” The minute I speak, Mac and Gray appear on either side of me, like Rye’s bodyguards. I stand tall. They don’t scare me, but the way Rye stares into me is soul sucking, like he’s studying the shape of my brain. I don’t know what this is, but the more he stares, the more sweaty my thighs get. So I break the silence. “Get out," I repeat since he's acting like he didn't hear me. "Now.”
With a tip of his chin, Mac and Gray back off, sinking into the seats next to him. Rye takes a swig from the bottle before he rises, approaching me until his red socks point at the tip of my heels.
“We had a deal,” he says, his eyes like black holes.
“I can’t go home, and right now, you're in my second one." I get it, I know how privileged I sound, but two homes and nowhere to go isn’t the luxury I’m used to.
He takes another swig. “Not my problem.”
“It’s about to be.” Before he takes another drink ofmyfather’s gin, I snatch it out of his hand. My eyes on his, I empty the bottle on the fluffy black rug in front of him. Ignoring thepiercing look on his face, I turn to the crowd whose attention I now have. “The party's over! Everyone can get the fuck out ofmyhouse.” No one moves, eyes shifting to Rye as if he owns the place. Turning back to him, I stare him in those cold, dead eyes. “Don’t make me call the cops.”
“Oh, Hannah,” he chuckles, holding out a hand. Marisol places a black cigar in his palm, a gold ring around the middle. She even lights it for him. “Go ahead, call the cops. I’ll tell them about the vandal who burnt down my mother’s studio.” He takes a puff, letting the smoke out on my face.
Fighting back my cough isn't helpful. My blurry eyes give away my discomfort. A tear wells in my left eye before it drips down my face. His smirk grows as he reaches out, wiping away the teardrop with his free hand. Heat settles across my face before I slap his hand away.
“Tell you what, my little fire-starter.” He ignores my slap, a spark coming with his touch when his finger lands on my chin. “You drove all this way, why don’t you join us?”
“I don’t want to be part of your wannabe Playboy party.” I slap his hand away again, ignoring the twist in my stomach.
A jolt fires through me when his arm comes around my waist. Hate. He spins me around to the party, my back to his chest as he pulls me close like I’m his special guest.
“Don’t you want to experience what everyone's talking about?" His words in my ear make the knot in my stomach tighten.
Trying to pull away doesn’t help. It only proves he’s stronger as his grip sinks into my skin, his hard body against me. “I would rather experience what it's like to strangle you."
His body shakes against mine, like he’s laughing again. “Or would you rather experience me pinning you against a desk with my fingers so deep inside your spoiled cunt you forget what it's like to enjoy control?"
Crash!
It’s only when the bottle hits the floor do I realize it fell from my hand.
“What’s the matter, Kitten? Was I wrong?"
Spinning around to him, his grip finally loosens, and I hate that the only thing I can say to that smug, dazed smirk is, “Fuck you.”
Steadying my stance, I grab the glass of cheap champagne out of Marisol’s hand and make my way down the hall.
When I get to the furthest room, I swing the door open, interrupting two girls going down on one of the guys from the hockey team. One of them is Chloe, who's supposed to be onmyteam.
“Get out!” I scream. Un-poised. Wild. Intense. My eyes land on Chloe. “Or I’ll tell everyone about Professor Dubois.”
Chloe’s eyes widen. “We should go.” She scrambles for her clothes, the other two students following before all three of them stumble out. Slamming the door behind them, my back sinks against it, my face dropping into my hands.
