He’s not wrong, but it doesn’t mean he should stand by and be complacent while a bunch of guys ogle her like she’s a cold drink of water on a hot day.

Annoyance brews in my chest as Dylan slowly gyrates her hips and rakes her fingers through her blonde hair.

One of Oakley’s pot buddies holds up his bong and asks if she wants a hit. I want to scream at her not to be a dumbass because while they seem harmless, there’s no telling what they could have laced that shit with.

My fingers curl into fists as she leans over and inhales.

“You gonna put a stop to this?”

Oakley looks at me like I’m crazy. “A stop to what? Her taking a bong hit?”

No, the way Courtland Bennett’s leering at her like a dog who wants a nice juicy bone. My teeth clench when he says something to Dwight.

I can’t hear him, but I know what the phrase run a train looks like coming out of someone’s mouth.

Dwight appears hesitant before he laughs and shrugs.

Irritation makes me snap. “Seriously, Oakley?”

“Seriously, what?” He fixes his gaze on me. “Quit acting like I’m doing something wrong because you’re jealous.”

“He’s right,” Cole chimes in. “If you want to stop the dogs from peeing on your lawn, you need to put up a fence. Not a sign.”

Not only does that analogy not make any goddamn sense, it doesn’t apply.

“The both of you can fuck off. I’m not jealous.”

I’ve had enough of this shit. If I spend another minute here, the Knights will be down two players for the upcoming playoff game.

Digging my keys out of my pocket, I flip them the bird. “I’m heading out.”

Chapter 35

Dylan

“Do you want another one?” my bong buddy asks.

Nodding, I lean over and place my lips around the mouthpiece.

“Damn,” some guy wearing a football jersey says as I inhale. “You sure look like you’re enjoying that.”

Coughing, I reply, “It’s pretty good. Not that I’m a professional or anything.”

He exchanges an impish smile with his friend. “That’s a shame. Such a pretty mouth shouldn’t go to waste.”

I’m not so far gone I can’t understand his crude attempt at a joke.

Paying them no mind, I go back to dancing like no one’s watching.

Just like my mom used to tell me to do.

Although I don’t think she had this particular scenario in mind.

A sharp pain infiltrates my chest. If she didn’t want her daughter dancing on tables for her eighteenth birthday, she shouldn’t have died.

I shake the terrible thought out of my head. I rarely feel such resentment and bitterness about her death, but given this birthday is one of the big ones—combined with the alcohol currently flowing through my system—I guess it’s starting to bring out an angry side of me.

I close my eyes. Keep it together, Dylan.

Forcing myself to take a few deep breaths, I stuff the pain down as far as it will go.

I’m gonna need more alcohol. Enough to drown it out.

I’m about to get off the table and find Oakley, but a hand skates up my leg.

“So, I was thinking,” the jersey-guy begins. “How about me and my buddy take you upstairs for a little while?” His hand travels higher, coasting up my thigh. “We’ll take real good care of you, gorgeous. Promise.”

Deep down, I know it’s not a good idea, but it’s better than thinking about my mom and how much I hate that she’s not here. Or how my dad’s in prison for my birthday and…

Tears prickle my throat and I have to clear it before I speak. “I—”

Don’t get a chance to finish that statement because Jace grabs the guy’s hand and bends one of his fingers backward. “Touch her again and I’ll break the other nine.”

The dude in the jersey screams in agony as he lunges for Jace, but Cole and Oakley grab him.

While Jace grabs me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I scream as he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like a rag doll.

Oh, boy. The ground looks way too far down from up here.

“Have fun,” Oakley says as Jace turns us around. “We’ll take care of the dogs for you.”

I have no idea what that means, and I don’t have time to wonder because Jace charges out of the living room like a man on a mission.

I slap at his back as he walks out the front door. “Can you put me down?”

“No.”

That’s it. That’s all I get.

“Oakley has my purse.”

“Oh well.”

“It’s my birthday,” I remind him, hoping he’ll concede.

He checks his watch. “Not anymore.”

Bastard.

“Can I at least have another shot before we leave?”

I’m gonna need it to survive another car ride with him.

“You’ve had more than enough already.”

“Then you should probably put me down before I puke on you.”

He chuckles darkly. “Knock yourself out.”

“I’d much rather knock you out,” I mumble as he opens the passenger door of his car and drops me into the seat.

A vulgar smile curves his mouth. “I bet you would.”

Then he slams the door.

I’m grumpy, a little dizzy, and very confused as Jace reverses into his driveway.

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed in your house?” I chirp in a taunting voice.

His expression is impassive. “You’re not.”

I’m perplexed when he gets out of the car and comes around to my side.

I mock gasp when he opens my door. “Wow, who said chivalry was de—”

I yelp when his hands fasten around my waist, and over his shoulder I go for the second time tonight.

“I can walk, you know,” I tell his lower back.

He grunts.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask when his movements come to a halt and I hear the click of a latch.

Silence.

However, the opening and closing of his gate, along with the grass below us, tells me we’re in his backyard.

“What, did you dig a grave for me or something? Planning on burying me next to Bianca’s rabbit?”

Nerves crawl in my belly, mingling with the alcohol. Oh, shit.

Why else would he be carrying me against my will into his backyard? In the middle of the night no less.

“Holy shit, you freaking psycho. Do not kill me and bury me in your yard.”

He doesn’t say a damn thing to ease my anxiety.

A moment later, the grass turns to cobblestone.

“Jace! I swear to God!” I pound on his back as the pretty teal glow from his inground pool comes into view. “Put me down, asshole—”

I scream when he lets go of me and I plummet into a chasm of cold water.

I sputter and cough as I come up to the surface. “What the fuck?”

Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he shrugs innocently. “You told me to put you down.”

Narrowing my eyes, I prepare to tell him off, but then a horrifying realization hits me.