Page 17 of Her Sloth

“You didn’t stop annoying me with your annoying calls,” I snap at her. “Don’t complain if you harass me.”

“Sorry for caring enough to check if we need to bail you out,” she says in an icy tone. It takes a lot to piss Nikki off; otherwise, she couldn’t be with my brother.

“I would’ve let you know,” I say dismissively.

Nikki scoffs.

“You don’t need to piss us all off because you lost for the first time,” she then says.

I breathe in very deeply, trying to ignore the compression around my chest.

I lost.

To an elitist bitch.

My jaw clenches so much it hurts in my gums.

“They got her,” I say. “Cops.”

I am close to lying, telling everyone she got caught. But it would be against my code.

“She took the fall for me,” I add hesitantly.

“What?” asks my brother and Nikki at the same time. Apparently she had me on speaker.

“Yeah. I took the escape via Clinton, and she turned round and blocked the road. I don’t know what’s the matter with her, but she means trouble.”

“She’s Elise’s sister,” Nikki says. “Maybe she tried to make up?”

“I don’t care!” I shout and hang up. I don’t want to talk about Elise or anything else. My chest compresses even more from the thought of her. I want to escape the sensation in me. The sensation that makes me feel like I’m under pressure from all sides.

The blonde hair.

The Elenaor.

The race.

Everything.

I drive through Brooklyn and Queens for hours. I need to lie low until I can return to our home in Red Hook. I also don’t want to see any of their faces right now.

When I finally return, I check the area for any cops, but they know we’re gone. The cobblestones of Reed Street underneath the wheels give me the distinct feeling of home.

I pull into the open gate into the driveway leading to our hideaway between industrial buildings with roughly ten cars in the lot.

The house has belonged to my father, God bless him, but it’s good he is gone. And since he died, my brother and I lived here, taking over the garage and growing it into a go-to place no outsider knows about for custom builts.

Nikki practically lives here, and it’s always been an open house to family—blood as much as chosen one.

I sit in the Hellcat after turning her off and stare into the dawning night. The lights are still on; apparently the party went over here.

I groan.

I don’t want to go inside.

But running ain’t my style.

So I get out of the car, walk up the stairs, and enter the house.