Pretty Little Savage (Sick Boys #1) - Lucy Smoke Page 0,68

"Looks to me like we're just two college kids out to eat. Not exactly at each other’s throats with guns and knives, now, are we?" I say the words, but the truth of the matter is they're not completely true. And he knows that. That's why there's a gun sitting in the glovebox of his Mustang. And it's also why I'm lying. Of course, I know more than I'm letting on.

He's right. I'm not stupid. I haven't seen Corina much since that night at Urban, but I had run into her a time or two and she'd been all too happy to spill the beans on what she knows of the Eastpoint families. I'm just waiting now to see what he's willing to tell me, and if he's just like me—a liar. Because that's what I am. A liar. A thief. But more than that, a survivor.

Abel pushes his basket aside and crosses his arms as he leans forward. "There are three families," he says. "And together, we hold more money than you can possibly imagine."

Again, he's right. I can't possibly imagine having enough money to pay for a regular car outright, much less the millions I accused him of having earlier. The thought of enough money in my bank account to never have to go back to Plexton again gives me a strange feeling inside. It's similar to the feeling I have just when I'm about to do something dangerous for that adrenaline high. The back of my neck begins to sweat. My chest tightens up. My heart gallops against the inside of my ribcage.

He leans closer. "Money is power," he says, eyeing me. "And you would do well to remember that we hold all of it."

I grin at his threat, crossing my own arms over my chest as I stare right back at him. "If you hold so much power," I challenge, "and you think I disrupt it, then why haven't you kicked me out, hmmm?" It's a risk to ask it, but it's also a dare.

Abel works his jaw, his teeth clenching and unclenching as I watch thoughts filter over his face. The waitress returns and clears away his empty basket. I keep mine and order another milkshake—this one to go, since I have the sneaking suspicion our time here is almost up. I start eating again as I wait for his response.

After several more moments, he answers. "That's not in the cards for you," he says finally.

"Oh?" I finish off the last of my burger. "Why's that?"

He looks pained. As if the question itself—or perhaps the answer—goes against what he wants. That makes me even more curious. Instead of giving that answer, however, he gives me another question. "Is that what you want?" he asks. "You want to leave Eastpoint?"

I shrug, digging a now cold French fry into the Styrofoam container of my new milkshake before eating it. "Not really," I say around my food. "Just wondering, if I'm such a big problem, why not cut me loose. It'd solve all your problems, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps," he concedes, but the way he's watching me doesn't really give me a clue to his actual thoughts. Like Dean, he has this way of closing off his feelings. Like a curtain coming down to shroud what he's thinking. It's quite annoying, if I'm being honest. I'm used to being able to read people—you need to have that ability if you're living in the ghetto. It's better to know who's out to get you and who's your ally. Ally or enemy, there were no friends. I wonder what the differences are in his world. I imagine among the rich there are just as many enemies, perhaps more. After all, he may say money is power—but where I come from, money is dangerous. Money breeds hostility and jealousy. Money is nothing but another drug.

The rich may think they're not addicted, but they're just like the rest of us. They only dress it up better.

"Are you finished?" he asks after another long silence.

I look down at my mostly empty basket and my nearly finished second shake and sigh, pushing them away. "Yeah."

We get up and he tosses down a hundred dollar bill on the Formica tabletop. I bet it's four times the cost of our actual meal, but he doesn't seem to give a shit about change as he gestures me towards the door. I go without comment.

Half an hour later, and through a lot more traffic than I expected this time of