That smile of his only grows wider. “As much fun as it is getting under your skin, my reasons for being in town are far more ambitious. Annoying you now is just an added benefit.”
He may have me boxed in, but I still have enough room to turn and face him, not caring that he’s close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips. “Be that as it may, I won’t be your punching bag or plaything for the next two months. Your old merry band of psychos may have immunity around here, but I seriously doubt the police will be so lenient with you.”
Jase’s eyes narrow, but I can’t quite decipher the look. Idoknow that mentioning the police is more than a little extreme, because nothing Jase ever did himself would warrant that kind of reaction, but I’m not pussyfooting with boundaries here. He needs to be reminded where he sits on this new food chain, and it ain’t anywhere as high as it used to be.
His arms slide inward, more than blocking me in. The asshole has me pinned. “What exactly happened?”
As if he didn’t already know. Even if news didn’t reach him on the West Coast, someone here would have been all too happy to rehash everything that went down—well, at least what was made public. And it doesn’t take a detective to figure out who was behind it.
As for the rest…
I scoff. “What? You expect me to give youtipson how to torture me better?”
He returns the sound, although far more mockingly, leaning in further. “And there you go again. Always assuming the worst of me.”
“Yes, because you suggest I should confront the assholes in my life out of the goodness of your heart, despite knowing damn well it’s the equivalent of tying cinder blocks to my feet before shoving me into the water.” I eliminate any fraction of air left between us until our noses are practically touching. I don’t care. I’m not backing down. I won’t give him that satisfaction. “We both know you love watching me drown, but if you’re dumb enough to try Trent’s tactics, I guarantee you won’t like the outcome. Fuck around with me, Rivers, and find out. Idareyou.”
Yeeeeah, seeing the devil in that smile he returns has me immediately regretting my lapse in self-preservation.
Because I’ve never known Jase to turn down a bet.
Knowingthat his punch-worthy smile will continue to haunt me throughout the morning, I don’t waste any time leaving the bathroom to finish my routine. All I want is to exit stage left…
But when I head outside, I find a certain section of the driveway empty, right where my car should be parked.
What the hell?
I seriously doubt anyone stole it, given that far nicer cars sit in neighboring driveways on either side of us. Plus, Vanessa’s is still right there and is more expensive than mine.
Again, what the hell?
The prospect of talking to my stepmom is about as enticing as an elbow to the face, but I haven’t run into my sister yet, andfor my dad to know anything, he’d have to be paying attention to something around here for once.
Opening the garage door only leaves me more confused. The classic muscle car my dad has been “fixing” still sits at the far end, dead as a doornail, alongside his Escalade, but my stepmom’s pink monstrosity is gone. Frustrated, I look around again, like I’ll suddenly find my car parked where it’s supposed to be, only for my eyes to land on…the motorcycle out on the driveway.
Son of a bitch.
Did that asshole seriously take my car? I had only been in my bedroom for fifteen minutes, and he was supposed to be taking a shower. But what if he hadn’t? We all have spare sets of keys hanging in the laundry room by the entrance to the garage.
I head inside, and sure enough,myset is missing.
I can picture it right now—Jase slinking past my room and scooping up the keys from the hook, driving off down the street with his stupid, cheerful whistle as he steers into every puddle and pothole humanly possible.
I’m tempted to storm over to that damn bike and kick it over, except for the fact that I can quite clearly hear Jase’s whistling, and it’snotoutside.
It’s coming from the kitchen.
Yes, I probably look like a petulant child having a tantrum, but if he so much as puts a scratch on my baby, he’s about to lose a testicle.
The jackass strolls around the island sans shirt, drinking a cup of coffee and grinning at my approaching form. I’m not sure what’s more annoying: his expression or the absurdly sugary tone as he asks, “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Where is she?”
“She?”
“My car,” I practically growl.
Jase just bats his eyes, feigning ignorance. “How would I know?”
