“Stay where you are. I’m coming.”
“Okay.” And the fact that she’s being cooperative, compliant, tells me that she’s not fine at all.
Knowing what I know about Ryan, I don’t take the time to do anything besides shove my cock back into my gym shorts and throw on some shoes before I’m on the road. In Vegas, there’s always traffic and always construction. But on a Friday night? I’m fucked. It takes me almost forty minutes to get to Remington’s house, and each passing minute feels like hours. A sense of déjà vu overwhelms me, making me feel even more anxious. How many times have I done this very thing? Except, it wasn’t a student who needed rescuing. It was my sister.
I scroll through my call log—I never saved her number because I was trying to do the right thing—and shoot out a quick text.
I’m almost there. Don’t move until I come in to get you.
I toss my phone into the passenger seat, looking for Remington’s street. I know it’s one of these college streets… Yale. I swing a hard right and spot her house immediately. It’s hard to miss. Cars and motorcycles litter the driveway and road. Music blares from inside. I’m forced to park a few houses down. I almost leave the engine running in my haste, but I know we wouldn’t have a way out of here when I got back if I did that.
I force myself to appear calm, to walk and not run. I walk right past the people sitting in the yard drinking and throw the front door open. No one even notices my entrance. I see a hallway with four doors. I’m not sure which one is the bathroom, but that’s all there is to the house, so I know she’s close.
I try one door, and it seems to be her bedroom. There’s a man draped over a girl, moving between her thighs, and I throw him off by the back of his shirt.
“What the fuck!” the guy yells, adjusting his crotch. I look back at the girl on the bed—not Remington, thank fuck—and walk out without an explanation.
Door number two is locked, so I pound on it. “Remington? It’s me! Let me in!” I yell over the music. The doorknob twists, and I slip in and close the door behind me.
“What’s going on?” I ask as my mind tries to keep up with what my eyes are seeing. She’s on the floor with tear-stained cheeks and bloodstained thighs. Next to her are two towels with splotches of blood on them and little shards of glass are sprinkled around her.
“I’m fine,” she says again. “I mean, I got nicked up, but I’m okay. What I saw…” she trails off, her lower lip starting to tremble.
“What?” I ask her. “What did you see?”
“Can you just get me out of here first? I’ll tell you everything.” I nod and extend a hand to help her to her feet. Her palms look like they have cuts, too, but I resist the urge to question her until we’re back in my car.
“Ready?” I ask instead. She nods once and tucks her tiny hand inside mine. I open the door and keep her close to my side as we walk out. Just when we’re feet from the front door, Ryan stands from the couch. It’s then that I notice the glass coffee table is shattered. There are beer cans and fast-food cups that have poured out onto the carpet and
dollar bills coated in a white substance.
“What the fuck are you doing with my girl? In my house?!” Ryan yells, working his jaw back and forth. He’s shirtless and sweating profusely, which on its own doesn’t mean much—because it’s August in Nevada—but the fact that he can’t keep still, bouncing from foot to foot along with the dilated pupils are a dead giveaway. I know the signs better than anyone. He’s definitely using. “You’re not fucking him, right, Rem? Isn’t that what you said? Little lying ass bitch,” he spits.
“She’s coming with me,” I inform him through clenched teeth. I’m trying to stay calm, but firm, because I know from experience how volatile and irrational this shit can make people.
“Fuck this!” Ryan roars, crunching over glass and trash to get to us. I tuck Remington behind my back.
“One more fucking step, and not only will I beat the living shit out of you, but I’ll call the police and let them know about your little extracurricular activities.” My voice is menacingly low. I should have already called the goddamn cops. I won’t—not yet. But he doesn’t need to know that. I will get revenge. I will get justice. Just a little bit longer…
I see the hesitation in his eyes. He’s wondering if I’m bluffing.
“Just let me go, Ry. Don’t do this to Dad,” Remington says as she comes to stand between us.
Ryan throws his hands up in the air and spins toward the small crowd of people watching us, ignoring her altogether.
“You hear that, guys?” He laughs. “He’s gonna call the fuckin’ pigs!” He turns back to me. “Didn’t you know? I. OWN. THIS. TOWN.”
Such a bunch of bullshit, but he’s so fucking strung out, he probably believes it.
Remington tugs on my arm, pulling me toward the door. I keep one eye on Ryan, letting her lead me outside. I open the passenger door to let her in, and when I’m walking to my side, I look up to see Ryan standing in his doorway, arms braced on the frame. “And I own her, too, motherfucker!” he yells and chucks a beer bottle at my car. He misses and that pisses him off even more. He turns to go back inside, throwing some girl off him when she tries to hang on him and ask if he’s okay, then slams the door.
“You need to get out of there,” I point out dryly, reaching across the console to buckle her up. She’s out of it. Completely. I don’t like this new Remington. I like the one who looks at me like I’m her next meal, even though it’s bullshit we both don’t believe in. The Remington from school can deal with what I’m about to throw her way when I lock her brother away. This one? No way in hell.
She’s still in her uniform with her knees pulled to her chest, tear tracks dried to her flushed cheeks. And maybe it makes me a sick bastard for thinking so, but she’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment. She’s vulnerable and bleeding, but still she has fire in her eyes.
“Why do you think I called you?” she snaps.
“I mean for good. You need to leave for good.”