Page 38 of Reckless at Westbrook High

“That’s because I haven’t slept in three fuckin’ days, you little brat,” I grit out, sighing when she narrows her eyes on me. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she lies, sweet as fucking sugar. “I heard her scream. Thought I’d come check on her.”

“Of course you did,” I deadpan, shaking my head at her when she grins like a psychopath. “Where’re the boys?”

“Damon’s ordering breakfast and Kai’s in the shower,” she tells me, laughing like it’s funny. “Did you know he sings–”

“Hello?!” Freya shouts, frantically pulling on her taped wrists. “Can you stop talking like I’m not here and get these things off me? It feels like my damn hands are gonna fall off.”

I roll my eyes at her dramatics and snatch Callie’s nail file, as she called it, walking over to cut the tape from her wrists with the pointy end.

“Don’t give that back to her,” she whispers, side eyeing Callie while she moves to stand. “She threatened to cut out my tongue with it.”

I raise a brow and Callie drops her jaw, feigning outrage. “I did not.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah,” she grins at me, sliding her tongue back and forth between her teeth. “I did.”

I laugh and pull my phone out to check the time, looking at Freya while I walk for the door. “You’re riding with Damon and Callie today.”

“What?” she frowns, freezing with her hand on the bathroom door handle. “Why?”

“I got some stuff I gotta do before school.”

“Like what?”

“None of your business.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fuckin’ said so, that’s why.”

“You realize that’s not how this works, right?” she cocks her head, pushing her goddamn luck.

“You realize we don’t give a fuck, right?” Callie throws back, taking her sword from me to resume filing her nails. “You wanna be here, you’ll do as you’re told and keep your bitchy little mouth shut while you’re doing it. End of fuckin’ story.”

Freya’s nostrils flare but I ignore it, wrapping my arm around Callie’s neck to walk her out.

“End of fuckin’ story?” I ask, speaking over her hair. “You really are a Kingston.”

“Shut up.”

I laugh and follow her out to my balcony, dropping down on the couch next to her for our morning ritual.

“You know there’s a real easy way outta this for you if you’d just give me a little free reign,” she tells me, waving her little sword between us. “Gimme ten minutes with her and I’ll get you a name.”

“Torture,” I clarify, taking the lit joint she offers me. “You’re asking me to let you torture my ex-girlfriend into giving up whoever she’s working with?”

“She’s your fiancé,” she corrects me, leaning her elbows on her knees to watch the sunrise. “And yeah, why not?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Enlighten me, ganja man.”

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