Scott’s so used to his whole crew eating up his every word and likely believes he’s offering me some invaluable advice. Unfortunately for him, he’s unaware that his words mean nothing to me.

I pull my lips in, lifting the drink in the air. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Take it with you,” he insists. “Finish it off at home.”

I nod, and I’m in my car, pulling from the long driveway within minutes.

The roads are wide open where Scott lives, the houses spread out by two and three miles, so I follow it down as I did up.

I don’t notice the speed I’m gaining, the fog in my head rivaling the one from the ocean that’s rolling up over the hillside.

A flash of yellow catches my eye, but by the time I slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel on impulse, it’s too late to correct, my speed too high.

The car whips around, the passenger side crashing into a fire hydrant where the road ends and someone’s land begins.

I gasp, my breathing harsh as my gaze flies out the window.

Water pounds against the side, taking the mirror clear off and spraying into the air. It beats down against the hood, splashing all around.

I managed to keep my arms firm on the wheel, my body only whipping slightly, and it takes effort to pull my hands from the leather. Inspecting myself quickly, I spot merely a few cuts and scrapes on my arms from broken glass maybe, but that’s it. The airbag didn’t even go off or else there’d be blood pouring from my nose, I’m sure.

My forehead falls to the headrest, a humorless laugh escaping me.

And then my door is torn open.

I scream, my hands flying to my chest. Instantly, I’m met with wide and wild blue eyes.

Ransom stands there, panting. The color is drained from his face and his brows are drawn in so tight they’re nearly touching.

His gaze darts over every inch of me, his hand flying to my legs where he pinches near my knee. When it jerks in response, he falls to his ass beside my door.

“Ransom... what the hell?”

His hands come up and he drags them down his face, his shoulders sagging low.

I push up in my seat, but he freezes.

His head snaps up and he darts forward, latching on to my shirt, twisting his fist in the material and yanking me closer, his mouth now inches from mine.

His glare is heavy and hardens by the second. With jerky movements, he tears himself from the ground. “Get out.”

My head tugs back. “What—”

“Get the fuck out of the car, Jameson,” he barks.

He all but tears me from the vehicle, and I reach out to steady myself on the frame when my vision demands a second to catch up.