John adds, “Yeah, it’s our first amendment right to be here.”

Ryke Meadows rolls his eyes. “You all smell like cheap fucking vodka.”

“Sorry,” I retort, leaning back with a glare. “We’ll buy better stuff next time.”

“That’s not what I…” Ryke lets out a frustrated growl, and I guess I’m tempted to provoke this “beast” and see him lash out. So I make a crude gesture with my hand and tongue, the vulgar gesture known to crawl beneath his skin. Less so when it’s directed at him. More so when it’s directed at a girl.

So I’m not really surprised when he doesn’t launch himself at me. He just breathes through his nose and looks to his younger brother to deal with us.

Loren rests his forearms on the table, glancing between each of us with less threat in his eyes. “Come on,” he says, “you all look no older than seventeen.” He gestures to me. “Drinking underage is illegal, so you’re not in a power position here.”

I glare at the table. No shit. I’ve never been in a power position before. Not once in my life.

“What’s your name?” Loren asks me.

“Fuck you,” I retort, and I switch my V-shaped fingers to a middle finger. Flashes go off by the window near my head, causing white light to flicker in my vision. I wonder if I’ll be in a tabloid like Celebrity Crush tomorrow.

Probably.

They’ll call me the “unnamed delinquent”—predictable.

“How was that bourbon bath?” Kyle snickers. He high-fives Nathan across the table, and I’m reminded of a recent prank. It was John’s idea. We filled a bucket with his family’s liquor—stuff I would’ve rather drunk. His parents froze his bank account for raiding the cabinet, so it’s not happening again any time soon.

When we had the liquor in the bucket, we tethered it to Loren’s front door.

We heard it doused him and Ryke. “Two for one”—Nathan had said.

It’s fucked up. Because they’re both sober, and Loren Hale is known for his stint in rehab and difficulties recovering from alcohol addiction.

Ryke looks murderous at John. “You think it’s funny?”

“Ryke,” Loren says and shakes his head like stand down.

And I mutter, “Pussy.” I think it’s easier pushing him away. He keeps thinking he’s going to change things with us—but he can’t.

Nathan laughs. “Nice, Garrison.”

I almost choke on the liquor. “Dude.” I gape and nudge his side hard. My hood falls off my head.

They don’t know our names, but now they fucking know mine. I look up, and Loren Hale is staring straight at me, his eyes full of sympathy—I don’t get it.

I’ve fucked with him for months.

Hate me, I think. Fucking hate me.

“What are you looking at?” I practically spit. Help me.

“You,” Loren says with hot malice.

I feel sick, my neck scorching now, and I lower my gaze to the table.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Loren begins. “You all have two options.” We stay quiet, waiting for him to say, Jail. Jail. Jail.