Page 33 of That Girl is Trouble

“Dude, close that,” Graves says, reaching for the heat knob. “It’s fuckin’ freezing out there.”

“You smell like shit. It’s giving me a headache.”

“You smell like shit. And it wouldn’t be an issue if you hadn’t spilled that jerrycan all over my fuckin’ shoes. Any cop with half a brain cell will know it was us who lit that blaze this morning if they catch a whiff of this. You better hope we don’t get pulled over.”

“Then stop fucking speeding.”

He lifts his hand off the wheel to check the speedometer and pulls his foot off the gas. Only idiots break the law while they’re breaking the law. Would be fucking embarrassing, getting pinched for doing eighty in a fifty and then winding up getting booked for arson, all because I forgot to put the lid on a damn gas can and Graves can’t manage to drive the fucking speed limit.

It’s not like me, being so reckless, so disorganized, but Graves wanted blood this morning.

Some suit-wearing prick decided it would be a good idea to put his hand on Graves’s woman. He marked her up, left bruises, and scared the hell out of her. Graves went absolutely nuts when he saw the state of Triss’s arm. No one touches what’s his and lives to tell about it.

I caught him loading gas cans into a truck at the crack of dawn. When the man sets his mind to something, he’s not easily deterred, and knowing it would be impossible to dissuade him from vengeance, I grabbed a couple cans myself and jumped into the truck with him.

That fuck would pay for what he did. Burn for it.

We drove out to his house with the intent of setting it on fire—with him in it—but the asshole wasn’t there. So we did the next best thing. We took a trip out to Eden Hills, to the property owned by the company he works for, and burned down every single free-standing building we could get close to.

Two birds, one stone. The guy didn’t just touch Triss; he threatened the club. He told her he was coming for us. That he, and whoever he works for, wouldn’t tolerate the Sinners in South Bay. They were gonna take us down. Acting like this is their town, even though they’re just fucking guests here.

Somehow, the threats are connected to some new development. This company is already building a resort on land out in Eden Hills—the property we just torched—and rumour is they want to do the same in South Bay.

Only, problem? The Sinners fucking run this town.

It’s bad for business. We’re bad for business. But if someone’s come to take South Bay, I won’t be givin’ it up easy.

“Motherfucker.” Graves swerves to the side of the road and fully undoes my window with an angry press of a button. “Hey!” he yells, zeroing in on a dark-haired girl leaning against the front window of Jetti’s Convenience. “Why the fuck aren’t you in class?”

Kat freezes and looks up from her phone, affecting a bored expression. Her only response is silence.

Graves swears. “Get your ass over here.”

She rolls her eyes but pushes off the building and stomps over to the truck. Leaning through the window, she pulls her headphones down around her neck, wrinkling her nose when she smells the gas. “What kind of shit did you two get into this morning?”

“Not your business,” Graves snaps. “What did I tell you about skipping school?”

“Maybe I have a free period.”

“Or maybe you should be in Chemistry.”

She narrows her eyes. “It’s really weird that you’ve memorized my schedule, Graves. My sister hasn’t even done that.”

“Yeah? Well, your sister expects me to watch out for you. Now get in the fuckin’ truck. I’m taking you back.”

“But—”

“Now, Kat.”

Pursing her lips, she mutters a string of curses under her breath, then yanks my door open and clambers over me. She grips my shoulder with one hand as she drops into the back bucket seat. “Can’t you just take me back to the clubhouse? The cops left it a mess. I could clean it up.”

A fucking mess is right. Two nights ago, the whole of the South Bay Police Department was on us. I’m talking guns, zip ties, Kevlar vests. A full-on search and seizure. They left the clubhouse a disaster. Left me with a brand-new bruise on my fucking face too.

Graves glares at her through his rear-view mirror. “No.”

“Graves, please—”

“No.”

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