Deviant (Boys of Winter #3) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,68

been following me my whole life. Every step of the way she’s always been ahead of the game, always watching me, always keeping close by just waiting for her chance to strike.

Nausea drops into my stomach and I grab the passports and licenses off the desk and shove them into my back pocket before I race from the study, desperately searching for a bathroom to hurl.

I’ve been such a fool.

I make it to a bathroom just in time and slam the door before Cruz decides that it’s a free for all and helps himself to an up-close view of the snacks I’d stolen in the car. “You good, babe?” he calls through the locked door.

I throw up a little more. “Get lost. You don’t need to hear this,” I call back. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“CRUZ,” I snap.

“Jesus. Alright,” he mutters. “I’m going. Just come back when you’re done. The last thing we need is you falling down the laundry chute or accidentally getting stuck in some hidden secret dungeon.”

Ha. Ha. Fuck, I hate him sometimes.

I get myself cleaned up and as I stare at myself in the mirror, the anger quickly sweeps through me. How could I have missed this? My mother has been stalking me my whole life. Add that on top of the shit Sara pulled on me last night and the fact that just up the stairs of this massive house lies the very spot that my father was betrayed and murdered ... I’m seeing red.

I’ve let these bitches walk all over me. They’ve gotten away with it, but not anymore.

How could I be so stupid?

I pace the small bathroom, my hands pulsing in and out of fists by my side. The anger is too much. I can’t control it. I need to run. I need to be free. I need a release and it’s not the kind that I’m going to get from any of the boys. It’s the kind I get from beating the ever-loving shit out of a pervert behind a bar.

I need to get out of here.

Without thinking, I unlock the door and throw it open. Instead of doubling back to Cruz, or any of the guys for that matter, I find my way to the impressive garage. Just as I knew it would be, my father’s stolen car sits idle, the front end still smashed from when my bitch of a mother drove it through my garage door less than two months ago.

I tear open the door, and finding the key still in the ignition, I drop down into the driver’s seat. Despite never having a single driving lesson in my life, I kick over the engine and hit the gas.

The car jolts forward and a panicked squeal tears out of me as the muscle car tears straight through yet another garage door and flies down the long driveway, taking me away from the pain that resides in that house and giving me the freedom to take back my control.

CHAPTER 17

My father’s car races up the side of the curb as I bring it to a screeching halt outside the shitty bar just a few miles from my parents’ mountain mansion. I have to make this quick. The guys would have all caught my grand exit, and considering my phone has been blaring in my pocket for the last ten minutes, I’d dare say that they’re onto me.

They’d all be piled into Carver’s Escalade right now, following the destruction I’ve left behind on the road. Either that or following the fucking tracker that they have on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if those big bastards had a GPS tracker on my phone.

Assholes.

Fuck, they’re going to hate me for this, but I have to do it. Besides, is it not better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission?

I really shouldn’t be driving. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing behind the wheel of a car, all I know is to steer and hit the gas and somehow, I’ll get myself from A to B. I’ve flown over speed limits, swerved past other cars, and taken out a small garden.

I’m a danger to myself and the other people on the road, but I couldn’t just stand there in that bathroom going over everything that was happening. It was too much. I have too much rage boiling through my blood. I have to release it. I have to let it out. The desperation flooding my system is too much and they’ll never understand. If