Page 120 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

The leather seat is still warm from Finn’s body. I take a deep breath, trying to absorb some of his heat to thaw the ice in my chest.

If I mess this up at all, Finn could die.Icould die.

The pressure is building, squeezing my chest like a vise, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to overcome it.

Then, I hear Mr. Foster call over his shoulder. “Get rid of him. I’m done here.”

I nearly scream. He is going to have his son killed.

Officer Ingram seems surprised by the order as well. He stares after Mr. Foster for a second.

And it’s enough.

I see my opening, and I take it.

I slam my hand on the horn, and Finn jumps out from in front of the car in one smooth motion, ducking and rolling in the asphalt.

Officer Ingram spins around, gun waving wildly.

I throw the car in drive and hit the gas.

The gun goes off. I swear I can hear the whistle of the bullet, but I ignore everything except the mustachioed police officer directly between the headlights.

I don’t have much space to accelerate, but Finn’s car is fast even with the tires shot out, and Ingram has nowhere to go.

As soon as the car hits him, he flies up onto the hood. I worry he’ll come through the windshield, but he soars over the top of the car, thuds off the trunk, and lands behind the car.

Just for safety, I hit the brakes, throw the car in reverse, and mash the gas again.

It feels like hitting a speed bump going a bit too fast. Unlike killing Nico in the woods, killing Ingram is impersonal. Quick.

I barely realize I’ve done it until it’s done.

Then I see Mr. Foster.

He is standing in front of the patrol car, mouth hanging open in shock. And in that moment, I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone.

He killed his wife and daughter, and now he wanted to kill his own son.

No, even worse somehow—he wanted to blackmail someone else into doing it for him.

I hate him, and there isn’t a single thought in my head except pure hatred when I shift back into drive and hit the gas.

The car thuds along clunkily, but the flat tires aren’t enough to make the car any less deadly.

Especially since Mr. Foster is still standing dumbly, frozen with fear in front of the police car.

When I hit him, his body crunches between the two metal objects like a marshmallow in a garlic press.

Then, silence. Punctured only by the metallic groan of the two cars sandwiching Mr. Foster’s limp body together.

Suddenly, Finn is at the driver’s side door, and I realize I don’t know how much time has passed.

My hands are still on the steering wheel, but the car is in park, and I don’t remember doing it. I don’t remember anything.

“Lily?” Finn opens the door and grabs my arm, pulling me from the car. “Are you okay?”

I stare at him blankly, trying to feel something—anything—but I’m empty. Entirely empty.

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