Page 2 of Maddox
Draven is effortlessly beautiful with long lashes, pretty eyes, and high cheekbones but the shit she piles on her face detracts from it, shrouding it in a montage of stuff you can’t see past.
“You’re late,” she says, dropping her feet to the floor.
Eyeing her red, fishnet stockings, I say, “It’s five after. I had to walk from class.”
Shrugging, she analyzes her talons, the deep crimson color a complement to the stockings. “I don’t care. You think I’m paying you extra? Bullshit.”
Leaning back, I silently sigh and say, “So deduct five minutes.”
Her eyes narrow and I widen mine. I have no intention of showing my fear even though I know she'd kick my ass for less.
Girls like her rest on their badassery. I suspect because she has nothing else to cling to.
Here, she’s just the daughter of a no-good thug and she’s been fighting her way through the judgement her whole life.
Since my dad is no better, I’d feel sorry for her, but she’s never shown a bit of empathy to anyone, so it’s lost on me.
“Whatever,” she snarls.
Ignoring her petulant attitude, I splay my hands over the table. “What do you need help with?”
She huffs and looks away, her scowl returning when Cheryl Ross smiles from a nearby table.
These two have hated each other forever and Cheryl’s glittering stare portends nothing good. She’s cataloging us together as we speak, all in a bid to get under Draven’s skin.
That’s the problem with living in a smaller town, your sins, or I guess those of your father follow you everywhere.
My silence has protected me so far.
Still, I don’t understand why Draven continues to let Cheryl rattle her. As far as I can see, Draven takes shit from no one.
“Not here,” Draven says, grabbing her bag.
“I’m sorry. What?” I mumble.
“Not here. Let’s go.”
Her impatient tone flies right over my head as I frown and say, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
When her mouth curls, I grip the table because I hate that fucking smirk. Besides, cruel amusement does not bode well for me.
“You want the cash, right?” She raises her brow, and I drop my gaze.
I do want the money. With every dollar earned, I get closer and closer. I can practically taste it…freedom.
All of which sours when I meet her triumphant gaze and grab my bag, saying, “Where?”
“My house. Let’s go.”
She doesn’t wait around for me to follow, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling before trailing after her.
I can’t contain a tingle of curiosity at the mention of her home though. As far as I know, she’s never invited anyone over, rumors of which abound as to the reason why. The worst being she hides dead bodies there.
I’m quite sure it’s because her dad is in a motorcycle gang and those types tend to stick together.
Ignoring the strange looks as we get in her car, a sweet Camaro with tinted windows, I glance around the interior. The sight of us leaving together must surely be blowing their minds. I know mine is.
The music blasts from the speakers as soon as she starts the car and silently, I stare out the window while she blows from the lot.
