Page 31 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

I want to yell,He isn’t your friend!

“I just want to know why he hasn’t come back for me.”

“Don’t cry over someone who . . .”

“Who what, Brennan? He saved my damn life, okay? He is the only person in my miserable existence that has ever given a shit about me.”

“That’s not true, Jolie.” I touch her arm, and she rips it away. She fixes me with a glare that could cut glass.

“What! You care about me? You don’t. I’m just a fucking charity case to you. Trace cares. He pulled me from the wreckage, he was by my side when they had to fix me, and he was the one who kept me safe fromthem. Not you.”

Her tears run down her face, causing anger to flare up—at myself, at Trace, and at the organisation.

“If he cares so much about you, where the hell is he now?”

A loud crack lands against my cheek, and Jolie runs from the room. I feel like shit. I know I shouldn’t have said it as soon as the words left my mouth. Especially when I know the truth and I’m just being a jealous asshole.

Now I need to call the guys back from training and have a meeting. It’s about time I work with them.

We are a team, and I’m done with being a puppet.

Chapter Twelve

Jolie

Storming up the stairs, I feel the steam coming from my ears. How dare he think he knows anything about Trace!

I shoot off a text to Danika and ask if she knows of any parties in the area tonight. I need to get out of here—to remind myself why I never let my walls down. The fight I had earlier has made me weak around Brennan, and I will not make that mistake again. Danika messages back within a couple of minutes.

Danika

Kelly Bishop, total skank, so lots of guys.

Robbie Anderson is throwing a beach party. Oh, and Mitchel Aston is also having a party but it is invite only and he is a bit sketch.

I text back straight away—girls like me don’t need an invite.

Me

Mitchel’s party it is, send me the address.

Danika

Be careful, those guys have a rep.

With that, she pings me the address on maps.

I look and it isn’t that far from here at all; Aston is possibly a rich boy I can have some fun with. I feed Rathew before jumping into the shower.

Showering and getting ready should have given me time to cool down. Instead, I’m still mad as hell. I admire myself in the mirror. The tight, short dress hugs the minimal curves I have, and a stick-on bra—that looks like chicken fillets—gives the illusion I have tits. I match the black dress with a pair of Louis Vuitton heels that were on the list of “must own” shoes for residents of the Myers household. Everything here screams money, even the dress I’m wearing that barely has ten bucks worth of material, yet costs three hundred—and that was marked down.

Smoky eye shadow finishes the look, and I know I look hot. I leave everything behind after calling for an Uber; sneaking out isn’t new to me.

Heels in hand, I tiptoe down the stairs, listening for any movement. The house is dead silent, so I make a quick exit. By the time I reach the end of the driveway, the Uber is pulling up. I want one night where I don’t have to think about Trace, why I’m at the Myers, or who the guys are. I just want to be a normal teenage girl and totryto get wasted—even though I know that part is pointless. Where is Marlow when I need his super weed?

The drive takes less than ten minutes. The Uber drops me at the gate, and I watch kids holding out their phones at the door, getting them scanned. I waste no time walking to the front of theline, causing heads to turn as I skip the queue. The young guy at the door looks me up and down, and with a smile, he steps aside and lets me through. This isn’t my first rodeo. Skimpy clothes don’t guarantee entry, confidence does.

Following the crowd, I find an outside bar and scan the area, taking in my exit points. Being outside means I’m not so on edge. I watch how everyone interacts; finding the host is usually easy. He won’t be in the pool with the lights flashing and hordes of easy girls swimming around half naked, as he wouldn’t be able to greet people or keep an eye on things. But Danika had mentioned he was a bit sketch, so there will be girls. Someone screams, and I look up as some kid jumps from the first story glass balcony straight into the pool, the large splash making me jump backwards. Bile in my throat is the first sign someone has caught me as I crash into them, hands gripping my waist in a fake attempt to stabilise me.

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