Free Hurricane Kiss by Deborah Blumenthal Page A

twenty-five. Even though his right hand was resting back lightly on the handle of his gun, he seemed more amused than anything.
    â€œYou can’t park here,” he said, a smirk on his face. His partner came around to my side and stared at us through the window.
    â€œSorry,” Aidan said, “we’ll leave now.”
    â€œI could take you in … or get your names,” he shook his head, “but I’m a nice guy, so consider this a warning. If I see you here again, I’ll take you in.” They walked back to their car and turned off their lights. It gave us the time we needed.
    â€œShit,” Aidan said, buckling his belt. “Who the hell thought—”
    â€œâ€”We didn’t,” I said, turning away. Hot tears filled my eyes. I stared out the window so he couldn’t see. Why was I crying like a baby? I buttoned my blouse and straightened my skirt, then wiped my eyes. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He started the car and pulled away slowly. Through the rearview mirror, I saw their headlights go on. They drove away after we did.
    â€œWhat do you want to do now?”
    I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Go home, what do you think?”
    He lifted his hands off the wheel, holding them out helplessly. “So now you’re mad at me?”
    â€œI’m tired, Aidan.” But I was mad. Or scared. Or something. Everything felt like it was his fault, or at least I wanted it to be.

Chapter 10
    RIVER
    The people in the car next to us are eating hamburgers. I think back to the two times that Briggs took the team out for steak dinners. It was always quid pro quo with him. You scored, you won, the beast fed you. And they weren’t just dinners, they were over the top, like everything Briggs did.
    We went to the most expensive restaurants in town, all of us dressed up like goons in jackets and ties, even though it was nearly a hundred degrees outside. We ordered up everything on the damn menu, starting with those towers of cold seafood, then lettuce wedges with blue cheese dressing, Caesar salads, rib eyes, filet mignons, onion rings, baked potatoes, and fries. Briggs must have spent half a year’s salary on each dinner, but I doubt he cared. He probably didn’t have anything else to do with his money anyway. No wife, as far as any of us knew. No anyone. He was alone. Always alone. I couldn’t imagine him having friends. Who the hell would choose to hang out with him? I don’t think he ever cracked a smile or laughed, unless it was in a derogatory way, to crush someone.
    I remember those dinners because despite the food, I never forgot that bite by bite, I was entering into an implied bargain. The meal was a payoff for the games we played, but it was also our promise to continue to win. And if we didn’t? He’d demand his pound of flesh. There was no such thing as a free meal, especially when Briggs was footing the bill.
    JILLIAN
    Sometimes I can still glimpse the River I used to know, before he changed 180 degrees. The one who wrote a play that he absentmindedly left on a desk in the drama room because he hoped to join the drama club, not realizing that snoopy me would pick it up and read it. I can’t forget the title: Hypocrite .
    I’m haunted by whatever happened to him. I watch his face, his expressions. There’s so much anger and frustration inside him now. He’s going to bolt from the car, I know it. There’s no way he’ll stay here.
    The question is what do I do? Can I trust him? How can I know if he’s right?
    I text my mom.
    River thinks we’ll never get to Austin. Harlan thinks traffic will start moving. What to do?
    Stay with Harlan
, she answers, almost instantaneously.
You won’t get anywhere on foot. You’re in a car, and you have food and water. Listen to him.
    Before I can blink, my phone rings.
    â€œWhat the hell are you thinking, J?”
    My mom must