Chapter 4
He gives me his phone, and I plug my address into his GPS. It's a house we rented for the weekend, on the off chance that he actually brought me home, but I don't see that happening. It hasn't happened yet, and we've been doing this for over a year now.
The valet pulls up in his car, and it's not as flashy as some of the guys' cars, but considering he's also a teacher, it's fitting.
I'm sure Zan would know exactly what it is, but not me; all that matters is that it drives.
Pulling out of the parking lot, I see signs of the guys everywhere, but to someone like Nash, he would never notice.
First of all, he probably doesn't see the issue with what he does.
Most of the time, they don't; no, they believe women are made to be owned or dressed up for them.
Assholes like Randall think of women as possessions, but no worries; after tonight, Nash won't think like that.
"Did you want to stop and get something to eat?" he asks, pulling my attention back to him. I'd been daydreaming about what Zan and I will do to him...
"Absolutely! The food there was nowhere near enough. Everything was so small." I pout, and honestly, I really am starving. Not to mention eating will help with the slight buzz I feel, so that’s another plus.
He chuckles and merges to get off the freeway. "You’re not wrong. I always stop on the way home and grab something. It's like a treat to myself for making it through the night."
Reaching out, I place my hand on his leg and lean toward him, plastering a huge smile on my face. "I love that! I'll have to do that from now on. It might make these events halfway manageable."
His eyes dart down to my hand, where it rests on his leg, before coming up to meet my gaze and quickly jumping back to the road, but I don't move away. His cheeks turn a slight pink, and I see his bulge as his cock begins to harden.
"Um, yeah. So, did you have anything in mind?" he asks as we pull off. Fast food restaurants are on just about every corner, so there are options for days.
Once again, I find myself confused how someone could seem so innocent while being a known rapist, but then again, Randall was the mayor and had the whole city eating out of the palm of his hand while purchasing and fucking me when I was still a teenager.
Not to mention, my uncle hid behind what he did while still facing my parents for years.
It's like the interviews they do on the news after they find out the killer was a suburban father with a normal life. 'He was the nicest guy.'
He always fucking is.
I fall back into my seat as if I didn't even notice what I was doing, and look around at what’s here.
Honestly, I'm not picky; I'll eat most anything, much to Rick's disgust, but what can I say, I just love food.
"I'm not picky," I tell him as much, and he looks at me as if he doesn't believe me. "What?"
"Isn't that what every female says, just for me to pick something and you to not like anything?" He turns his eyes back to the road, but I can't keep the shock from my face.
Who the hell decided that because some girls don’t know what they want, that all of us don’t?
"No! I swear I'm not like that."
He glances back at me as if trying to gauge if I'm telling the truth or not. His eyes narrow, and I shake my head, in a state of shock that this is what he's going to call me on. Of all the damn things I've ever had someone call BS on, this is such a strange one.
"Okay, how about Taco Bell then?" Something about his tone makes me feel like this is a test, but joke's on him, I love Taco Bell.
"Sounds fantastic!"
He suggests we eat inside, and since it's open, I don't mind.
It's not like I'm actually in a hurry to get home or anything.
I ordered two things despite wanting about ten, but it will do for now.
It's enough food that I'm no longer starving and feel the alcohol, though I don't show it. I also get to rub it in his face that I’m not picky, something he seems to find entertaining.
It’s strange. I keep waiting for something to change, for his mood to sour, or for him to start acting like a completely different person, but it never comes. So far, he’s been a bit odd, but no worse than a nervous guy on a date would be.
What the hell is going on?
His eyes dart around the mostly empty eating area, and suddenly, I have an idea.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom before we go.”
His eyes dart back to mine, and he forces a smile as he nods, and I push to stand.
I take my time going into the bathroom, checking my phone and the few messages I have from the guys. Most of them are cryptic the way they should be, just in case Nash sees them, and none of them are important, but it gives me something to do while I wait.
After a few minutes, my phone buzzes, and I know what it will say even before I open it.
Slipped something in your drink.
The message is only there for a few seconds before it disappears as if it were never there.
It's some fancy app Spencer put on all our phones for exactly these kinds of situations, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't both handy and cool as hell.
He might be an ass, but he's smart as shit, and maybe not as much of an ass anymore.
I give it just a minute more before I pocket my phone and slip back out into the main restaurant.
Hopefully, he had more than enough time.
If not, well, that's on him. It wouldn't be the first time Vengeance business had to be handled in public, and while it's sloppy and runs the risk of people seeing more than we want, you'd be surprised how easy it is to keep people quiet.
When I make it back to the table, everything is clear with the exception of our drinks, and it's not weird that he picked up while I was gone, but I feel like I can almost feel his discomfort as he fiddles with his fingers and looks anywhere but my face.
It hadn't really dawned on me until recently that he's a coward. He acts like a guy who’s never been on a real date or really talked to a woman because he hasn't.
His target is teenagers—girls in middle school.
He hadn't been able to resist me, which was the plan, but he's so far out of his element that I'm not sure he would have tried something if I hadn't given him the perfect opening.
If only he knew he was the actual victim here.
No worries; soon he will.
"Are you ready to go?" he asks, pushing to stand before I even reach the table.
"Ready when you are." I smile at him in hopes of calming his nerves.
It doesn't seem to do shit, and I take pity on him.
I reach for my drink and take a big gulp, smacking a hand to my mouth when a burp works its way out and breaking down in a fit of giggles.
It takes him a second, but he chuckles as well, and I get the feeling whatever he slipped in my drink he's never used before.
Either that, or he's stupider than he looks because it tasted like shit.
It would be a dead giveaway that something was wrong, but sadly, by then it would have already been ingested.
The idea of some poor teenage girl falling victim to him makes my blood boil, but I keep my smile plastered on my face with a silent reminder to myself that he won't ever get that chance again.
After tonight, he'll just be another pinkie in the collection.
"Yeah, I'm good."
The drive to the house is about forty-five minutes, and, of course, we made it that way, so we have to pass his house on the way.
There isn't much we don't consider when doing this.
But even if we hadn't, I could always go for passed out and see what he does, or just throw myself at him and beg him to take me to his place.
Thankfully, I don't have to, though, and everything continues to go as planned.
Stretching, I yawn and curl up on the seat, laying my head on his arm, where it rests on the center console.
"Damn, now I know why they don't feed you much. With the alcohol and the food, it's like a food coma waiting to happen." I keep my voice low and slightly slur my words. He's either going to think it's because I'm tired or the drug; either works just fine for me.
"Yeah, I can't imagine they want to be in charge of a bunch of sleeping people when the night ends. Better to send them all home and let them deal with their hangovers." I feel his chuckle from where I lie on his arm, and I do the same.
"How much longer?" I ask, yawning again.
"Um, twenty-seven minutes," he says, and I wait because it doesn't sound like that was all he was going to say.
"Um, if you want, ugh, you could always come back to my place for the night.
" He stutters and stumbles over his words, and I let him sweat for a second.
"I mean, it's just that it's closer, only about five minutes from here, but you don't have to. "
I'm tempted to see what he would say or do if I said no thanks, but it doesn't fucking matter.
"Are you sure it wouldn't be too much of a hassle? I feel like I've been such a burden all night. I could always Uber home from your place," I offer, but it's half-assed.
"Nah, I mean, you can if you want, but it's not necessary. Just sleep it off, and I can take you home in the morning, first thing." His words are a little more certain now, and I nod instead of responding. The closer I get to unconsciousness, the more confident he is.
Pussy.
The deep rumble of a motorcycle engine almost has me bolting upright, but I catch myself at the last moment, and instead I simply turn my head toward the passenger window.
It's too dark to see much more than the bike lights, but I don't need to see more.
I know those bikes just as well as I know the men on them.
"Fuck, those guys are going to end up like flies on a windshield with how fast they're going."
I don't comment; instead, I pretend I'm asleep, which isn't too hard, considering he can't see my face and can't do much to check while he's driving.