Page 183 of Chaos

I could be wrong, and I kind of hope I am, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty damn sure I know exactly where my oldfriendshave been hiding out, and the closer I get to the trailer that shouldn’t be here, the more sure I get.

The lights are on. Thundering music disturbs the peaceful night. There’s a car parked outside, one I unfortunately recognize, and I don’t feel any kind of triumph at being right.

Stopping a couple hundred feet shy of the trailer, I dismount Gaia and leave her to blend into the darkness before sprinting the rest of the way.

I don’t knock. Why the fuck would I? If I could break the door down, I would, but I settle for throwing it open so hard, it bangs against the wall almost as loudly as I demand, “Get the fuck out.”

No one moves.

Ricky, Vic, and Ethan stare at me, stunned into silence by my sudden appearance. There’s no sign of anyone with the last name Weber, and my grip on the shotgun strap loosens—after all, it certainly wasn’t the thought of finding Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and Tweedlefuckwit that spurred me into taking it.

“Right fucking now.” Propping one hand on my hip, I stab my pointer finger out the door. “Get the fuck off my land.”

That snaps at least one of them from their stupor. It’s Vic who snickers, who slumps deeper against the couch cushions, who sneers, “Your land. Rich bitch.”

“Armedrich bitch,” I correct, already itching with the urge to point said arm in their direction. Scare them into taking me seriously. Only I don’t because that’s exactly what the Webers would do, that’s exactly what theydodo, and fuck me big time if I’m ever going to be like them. “I knew you three were morons, but Jesus. You really don’t know how ranchers handle trespassers?”

Ethan scoffs. “You’re not gonna shoot us.”

“Do you want to fucking bet?”

“Woah.” Ricky leans forward, blocking my view of his brother and holding his hands up in surrender. “Relax, okay?” He pats his knee, and if his red eyes didn’t give away his altered state, the cock of his jaw would. “Come sit.”

I do no such fucking thing.

“Right.” Ricky snickers, resentment contorting the face I can’t believe I used to think of as handsome. “I forgot you’re all hung up on that pussy-ass cowboy now.”

Jesus. Again with that. My eyes water with the stench of his insecurity. “What exactly makes him a pussy, Ricky?”

Rolling his lips together, he doesn’t answer.

“Go on.” I gesture erratically for him to continue. “What is it, huh? What’s sopussyabout him? Is it that he’s nice to me? He supports me? He hasn’t, hewouldn’t, leave me in a fucking wrecked car or break into my house?”

Ricky groans, dropping his head backward so it hits the trailer wall with a thud. “You’re still caught up on that?”

That. Like it was nothing. So fucking dismissive of the fact I got hurt, that I continued to be hurt for months, that I still hurt sometimes. “Yeah, funnily enough, I am.”

He sways as he stands, so drunk or high or who knows what that he doesn’t think twice about stumbling towards the very angry woman wielding a gun, that he thinks reaching for me is wise. “Listen, babe—”

The moment his fingers graze my arm, I rip it from his grasp. “Do not touch me.”

Scoffing at the rejection, his hand balls into a fist. “You should bethankingme. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t done that. You wouldn’t be back with your perfect family and your perfect life and your perfectpussyboyfriend.”

“Y’know what.” I laugh, shaking my head before nodding. “Yeah. Actually, thank you. Thank you for showing me exactly what I don’t want. Thank youso muchfor throwing a brickthrough my window and reminding me how much you fucking suck.”

Vic snorts, backhanding her boyfriend’s chest. “Told you it was hers.”

I’m not a violent person. I can be aggressive, sure, but that’s always been more of an emotional trait than a physical one. But shit, Vic and her smirk, that self-satisfied sense of superiority she’s so ironically always accusedmeof having, are testing me to my damn limits.

Screw it.

Fuck me big time, I guess.

In a split second, I’m holding the shotgun the way I was taught when I was teenager, when I was naive and stupid enough to think guns were as cool as the jackass who wielded it. I point it at Vic, and I can immediately tell the girl’s never handled a gun in her life—completely oblivious to the fact the safety is still on and my finger isn’t anywhere near the trigger, she turns white. “You think that’s funny, Vic?”

I take a step forward, and she becomes a particularly heinous shade of green.

“You fuck with me, fine. Whatever. God knows I can handle a piece of shit like you. But you do not fuck with my friends, do you hear me? And if you even think about my family…” I trail off, shifting my gaze to Ricky, looking him right in the eye to make sure he can see damn well howdeadlyserious I am. “Iwillshoot you. Got it?”

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