And yeah, I read all of those in my free time. Internet culture is more entertaining than real life. Like right now, I immediately turn my head away from Loren. Because of what’s in his arms.

A baby—his baby. The thing can’t be more than two months old, and he’s crying hysterically at all the noise and attention.

I glance back, only once, to see Lily Calloway taking her son out of Loren’s arms. But he’s too busy to really notice. He’s glaring at Nathan, at me, and my friends, the table littered with sugar packets, their voices causing more havoc.

His amber eyes daggered.

He will murder you with them.

Part of me wants to glare back—to prove that he’s not murdering me with anything. But my neck grows hot, my stomach unsettled, and I focus on my vodka instead.

Another swig, I think before taking one.

I can’t even remember the last prank we did on Loren’s house. We’ve done so many, even in the past month. Even when they had a fucking newborn in there—stop.

Drink.

I do.

Not long after, I feel Nathan press closer to my side. Loren squeezes into my end of the booth while his brother squeezes into the other.

Tumblr is right, I think. Despite both brothers having lean muscles, runner’s builds, Ryke Meadows acts like the aggressive brute, his elbows on the table, the strong-hand that could literally drag any of us out of here if Loren Hale said so.

It always seems like Loren calls the shots though. He’s the talker—his features murderous and cold.

“Hey there,” Loren says with this irritated half-smile. It’s iconic, his dry smile that says you’re a piece of shit and you know it. I can’t even replicate it. I don’t think anyone can.

I hold his gaze this time. And I take the largest swig from my paper-bagged bottle. I’m not scared of you, I want to retort. I want him to feel it.

I’m not scared of you.

He tilts his head a little, unperturbed by me. His amber eyes are full of flashbacks, memories that contain all that I’ve done. The longer I stare, the more I see the paintballs I fired, blasting against the window—panic and shrieking from inside, from his soon-to-be wife.

Some people say that if you mess with Loren Hale’s girlfriend, you’re on his “metaphorical” kill list forever. That he has ways and means to do you in, to make life not worth living.

Too bad for him.

Because I’m already there.

He can’t do me in. He can’t touch me.

I miss a portion of the conversation, only hearing the part where Loren says, “I’m not going to lecture you.”

I lean forward, not rolling over. “You can’t kick us out. We have a right to be here like everyone else.” I watch his narrowed eyes flit over my features. He recognizes me from that night—the night where he grabbed me and let me go.

He let me go. Who would even think to do that sort of thing? Who wouldn’t turn someone like me in?