Ruthless Secrets (Elites of Macedon High 2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Parker

My Mercedes beeps as I unlock it, popping open the passenger door for Alex. She slides inside, buckles herself in, and waits patiently for me to hop into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice sounding hoarse. She clears her throat and continues, “How did you know I would be here?”

The engine roars to life when I turn the key in the ignition. “Soren told me when you were a no-show.”

A few stupid hicks have crowded around the entrance of the gas station, those nosy fucks already turning around to point an accusatory finger at my car. Grimacing like a rabid animal, I peel out, spewing dirt at the fuckwads who are stupid enough to stay behind my car.

“We both came to collect your sorry ass,” I spat. “He left already.”

“He left?”

Her voice sounds so weak, so defeated. It stings to hear her speak like that, but it’s her fucking fault for being so reckless.

I nod. “He took Ophelia’s car.”

“Oh.” She sinks into the seat. “Thanks.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Alex?”

She remains quiet as I drive, turning toward the closed window and holding her hand over her face. I hate how she tries to hide from me. Doesn’t she see I’m doing this for her own good?

“You never drive your own car to a collection, never,” I bark. “You don’t go alone. You don’t do it with witnesses around. Jesus fucking Christ, do you think you’re Bonnie and Clyde?”

Her shuddering breath doesn’t deter me. If she cries, then she fucking cries. She’ll grow tough skin and keep it moving. Like the Moretti I know she is.

I growl while gripping the wheel, pressing my foot harder on the gas. “Soren was right. You’re getting too cocky. Do you want to end up dead, Alex? Is that what you’re doing? Fuck, it’s like you have a suicide letter in your hand every time you fuck something up.”

“Stop it,” she says through gritted teeth. “I get it. You’re disappointed. You don’t have to be rude to me.”

“Seems to be the only way you understand things, precious.”

She glances at me, sniffling while hugging her shoulders. “I spoke to Tabitha. She thinks she’s marrying you.”

“That dumb bitch will believe anything if it makes her feel better.”

“Yeah? Well, she’s pretty convinced that you two are going to run off into the sunset together.”

The bitter hurt in her voice at the prospect of me and Tabitha getting married—something that makes me sicker than liquor on a Tuesday without any lunch—floors me. My heart aches to think that Alex would assume my feelings toward Tabitha are anything affectionate at all.

And the fact that Alex could be hurt over it?

Well, that’s even more confusing.

I scoff at her and shrug. “Let her think what she wants. I don’t want her.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and shudders. “You know what he expects from me, right? He thinks I’ll be his own personal sugar baby.” She pauses for a second, licks her lips, and then says, “Actually, he probably wants me to be a living sex doll.”

“Take it back.”

“Take what back? I’m just stating the obvious. You should know by now what he intends for me, living in the same house and all.”