Punk 57 (Page 79)

I pick up my phone and check to see if I have any messages. I’m hoping for anything. A rant. Insults. A bitchy text, telling me to fuck off.

But nothing. I know I should leave her alone and give her space. There are just so many things yet to say, so much she doesn’t know, and I need to tell her before she pushes me away for good.

Maybe she’ll meet me. Tomorrow at my house, and I can tell her everything. I don’t want to ambush her, but maybe she’ll give me a chance if I open myself up and lay everything on the line.

Clicking my Facebook app, I type in her name and go to her profile, deciding I’ll just send her a message and leave the ball in her court. I have to try. If she doesn’t go for it, then I’ll wait for as long as I need to.

But when her profile pops up, I see a video she’s tagged in, and I hesitate. Without giving myself time to think, I click on it, noticing it was only posted a few minutes ago.

Ryen is standing by a pool, surrounded by people drinking and dancing, with one of her thighs turned out as some guy kneels between her legs.

What the fuck?

I watch as he dives in, licking a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, as she breaks into laughter and everyone cheers.

The asshole has his back to the camera, tips back a shot as the crowd eggs him on, and Ryen laughs, sticking a lemon wedge in her mouth and inviting him in to suck it from her.

The music is blaring, and Ryen wraps her arms around him, their mouths touching before she breaks away and starts shaking her body to the music.

“Son of a bitch.” I squeeze the phone in my hand, scrolling the comments to see the party is at Trey’s house. She’s at his house?

And people are sharing this video of some guy licking her, too.

“What’s up?” Dane asks.

I grab my keys off the table and stuff the cell in my pocket. How the fuck is she at a party at that asshole’s house, and who the hell is she screwing off with?

“Let’s go,” I bark at the guys.

“Where?”

“I’ll explain in the truck.”

I head through the pool hall, hearing them put their instruments down and run after me. Once outside, I hop in the cab. Dane climbs in the passenger side, and Lotus and Malcolm jump in the bed behind us.

Firing up the engine, I speed away from Sticks and hop onto the highway. I lay on the gas, determined to make the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes. Is she actually drinking at his house? She has to know how stupid that is.

She wants to party? Fine. She wants some space? Okay. But going anywhere near that asshole or being entertainment for some horny little shit who wants to touch her is pushing me too far. Ryen doesn’t do fucking body shots. She’s trying to piss me off, and it’s working.

And I think of Annie and what she did to herself, because she wasn’t thinking straight, either.

By the time we make it to Trey Burrowes’ house, I’m more worked up than I’ve ever been, but I know if I go in there half-cocked, she’ll just fight back, and I’ll walk out of there without her.

We climb out of the truck, and I can feel the vibrations of the music out to the street. “Bad Girlfriend” plays, and I glance around, seeing the houses all a good distance away from each other, but some of them have to be able to hear this noise. I’m tempted to call the cops myself, if they haven’t been called already, just to break it up and send Ryen home. But no. I’ll let her choose.

As we walk into the house, a group of girls runs past us to the stairs, laughing and falling into the wall as they stumble up the steps.

“Nice,” Lotus laughs, making like he’s going to follow them.

But I grab his black ponytail and pull him back. We’re not here for that.

“Hey, man.” J.D. comes up, shaking my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. You going to set off some fireworks?”

I laugh to myself, knowing he knows I would rather swallow needles than be in this house. “I wasn’t planning on it. Have you seen Ryen?”

He shakes his head. “Not in the last fifteen minutes.” And then he narrows his eyes on me. “You going to tell me what’s going on between you two?”

“No.”

He snorts. “Okay.” And then he moves around me toward the family room. “I’ll be close. If you need me.”

I nod and look back at the party, scanning the crowd as we step down into the living room.

“Well, well, well,” Trey says, stepping through the crowd and approaching me. “What the fuck do we have here?”

He’s flanked by a couple of his friends, and I steel my spine, keeping my expression hard as I stare at him.

“You want trouble?” he says. “We can give you trouble.”

I feel my bandmates inch in closer, and Trey’s eyes flash to them as if finally realizing I’m not alone.

“Not in my parents’ house, though,” he clarifies, suddenly nervous.

Enough. “Where’s Ryen?” I demand.

He laughs. “Have you checked in one of the rooms upstairs? Little cock tease had some liquor tonight, so she might finally be giving up that pussy. I can’t wait for my turn.”

I lunge out and grab him by the collar of his T-shirt, both of our crews moving in.

But I catch sight of something to my left, and I look down, seeing a cuff wrapped around Trey’s wrist.

And on the cuff, secured by two straps, is an antique Jaeger-LeCoultre timepiece.

My heart pounds in my ears. “Where the hell did you get that watch?”

His eyebrows dig in, and I shake him, feeling a thick swell of bile rise in my throat. He didn’t get it from her. She wouldn’t have given it to him. No.