Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) - Rachel Jonas Page 0,52

she hesitates.

“Scar, give me my phone,” I snap, mostly because tonight’s gone to shit and I’m so, so over it.

Redness spreads across her nose and cheeks. “I just… I didn’t want you to see. Mike’s already ruined things and… I didn’t want you to see,” she repeats.

My brow tightens and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Didn’t want me to see what?” I ask, suddenly even more eager to know.

As soon as she hands it over, the screen brightens with one of many notifications I’ve missed. Mostly from Pandora’s incessant posting.

Bitch doesn’t even take holidays off, apparently.

My ringer’s been on silent all day today. Like I said, it’d been peaceful, and I didn’t want anything to ruin it.

Now, as I stare at Pandora’s dreaded, black and pink icon, I’m starting to think shutting myself off from the rest of the world may have been more than a hunch.

Something’s happened. I feel it in my gut. See it on my sister’s face.

She tried to take my phone to shield me from something, like I do for her, but all it takes was one click to discover what that ‘something’ is.

My breathing’s erratic and I’m shaking all over, staring at an image of West that has my blood boiling inside my veins. He told me he didn’t care about Parker, claimed she means nothing to him, but that’s not what these images say.

In one, he’s going into her house. In another, he’s coming back out. And based on Pandora’s recap, they were in there alone for a while.

I haven’t known West all that long, but I know him well enough that this shouldn’t surprise me. This is exactly who he is, who he’s shown me he’s been all along.

A liar.

A con artist.

It’s me who keeps wanting to think otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Scar sounds sheepish, like she’s expecting me to implode.

“I’m fine,” I lie, accidentally speaking coldly to her again, but… damn. I don’t even know what to say.

Why do I let him do this to me? Break me in ways I never even realize he has the power to do? Like now, I’m brimming over with rage and hatred, yes, but there’s something else rearing its ugly head from the shadows.

Fucking jealousy.

At the mere thought of him going to her.

I feel like he’s gotten me all over again, humiliated me like I should’ve expected he would.

Entering her name into my phone twice—because my hands are vibrating with anger—I dial Lexi. Before she even picks up, I’m already headed to my room where I rip the ponytail holder from my hair.

“Sup, woman!” she answers, too chipper to have seen the update I just saw. If she had, she’d know I’m pissed and wounded.

“I need your help.”

“What’s up? We going on a crime spree?” she teases, falling silent when I don’t respond. “Shit! I was kidding, but are we?”

I don’t give a direct answer as I slip out of my sweats and tee, into something a bit less conspicuous. Something darker.

“Meet me at the train tracks near the school. Wear black. And if you own a baseball bat… bring it.”

“Be there in ten,” she says excitedly, not asking a single follow-up question before ending the call.

I shouldn’t even care that West was with Parker tonight, but I’m raw, aching in ways I haven’t before, broken in ways I don’t know how to fix. Guess he just picked the wrong day to hurt my fucking feelings.

Now, he’s gonna pay.

Like he should’ve months ago.

Chapter 20

WEST

Broken glass crunches beneath the soles of my sneakers. I circle what’s left of my car and vow to crush whatever asshole snuck into the parking structure and did this shit.

Headlights, taillights: busted.

Tires: punctured.

Hood, trunk: bashed to fucking hell.

Windshield, side and back windows: completely smashed, scattering glass all throughout the interior.

Hell, it’d be quicker to list what isn’t fucked up.

“I have the footage, sir,” Nelson says, rushing to my dad’s side with a tablet in hand. He hits play and the four of us—me, Vin, Dane, and Sterling—all lean in to watch.

First, there’s nothing to see but my once pristine car and flawless paintjob. Then, two bodies rush into the frame. Both dressed in black hoodies, one in black yoga pants to match, the other in sweats. The one with the tight fabric hugging a remarkably familiar ass, wields a pink softball bat, making the first dent in my hood.

I’m breathing heavy now, coming into the realization of whose handiwork this is. Glancing toward Dane and Sterling, they’re already eyeing me.