I laughed, a note of hysteria creeping out. “Only half? Don’t insult me, Dante.” I dragged in a deep breath and released it on a heavy sigh. “I’ll take the risk. Mommy dearest is already going to beat the living shit out of me, might as well make the most of my night of freedom.”

Dante froze. “Don’t let her fucking hurt you, Riles. Do whatever the hell it takes to make sure she doesn’t. I’ll figure out a way to get you out quicker, I just need some time.”

I shrugged. I could take a few beatings if it meant I’d eventually be free of this family. I did not want to have to run and look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

He dropped a phone into my lap then. “Call her. Tell her what’s happening. Maybe she won’t be so angry.”

I doubted that, but since he apparently had her number … somehow, like that wasn’t fishy as fuck. I stored that in my brain to hit him up over later, and hit dial. Two rings. “Where are you?”

She knew it was me. Everyone here had far too much in the way of information.

“I want to spend this one night with my friend,” I said, getting to the point. “Give me tonight and I won’t fight you on anything else. I will dress in your clothes,” especially those heels, “and follow your rules.”

I held my breath, hoping she couldn’t sense how badly I needed this.

“You have one night,” she finally said, and I could practically feel the ice in her voice. “Tomorrow you belong to me.”

The line went dead, and I let out all the air from my lungs. “Holy fuck she’s scary,” I choked out before handing the phone back to Dante.

He shook his head. “Keep it, I want to be able to stay in touch with you.”

I shrugged before slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. The engine roared to life a moment later, and I could have cried at the familiar feel of this car under my hands. Well, hand, for now, because one of them was broken.

“You’re going to have to be careful tonight,” Dante warned me as I swung her around and took off. I had no idea where we were going, but there was only one path from this estate. “You won’t have the same level of control with a broken arm.”

My speed picked up, and I didn’t even bother to reply. The flash of the butterfly symbol across the back of the car caught my eye in the mirror. It was my calling card, the butterfly. I wouldn’t let a broken arm stop me from flying, especially not tonight.

Dante muttered something about a death wish before settling back and letting me do my thing.

After we reached the edge of town, he started to direct me along a dark and deserted part of the county.

At least it seemed deserted until I drove around a sharp bend and through a small pocket of trees. When I emerged on the other side, all the tension in my body eased.

This was my happy place. Illegal street racing. Except this one was somewhat different from the ones Dante usually took me to back home.

“Damn,” Dante breathed as I rolled past some of the most expensive cars on this planet. “Was that a Bugatti Veyron?”

I glanced in the direction he was gaping and spotted that same gorgeous car that had come out of the gated compound Mrs. Deboise lived in. These kids really did have too much damn money if those were the cars they were choosing to race in.

“Over there,” Dante directed me, pointing to a guy in a ball cap who was receiving a fat wad of cash from a pimple faced kid in an obnoxious striped blazer, white pants and loafers. Fucking loafers.

Hat-dude was clearly the one in charge. They were usually easy to spot—the ones with their pockets bursting with money. I pulled my—er, Dante’s—car to a stop and popped my seatbelt before pausing with my hands on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know if we can really afford this one, Dante,” I murmured, eyeing the crowd assembled. They were all clearly “locals” in the sense that their shoes probably cost more than my mom earned in a year.

The thought of my mom stabbed grief through me, and I smothered it with anger. It was the only way I knew how to handle it. Anger at life for taking my parents away from me. Anger at myself for not putting up more of a fight at CPS. Anger at Catherine fucking Deboise for thinking it was okay to throw me away as a baby then just pick me up again now that she needed me.

“Whatever their asking price, I’ve got us covered,” Dante assured me with a mysterious smile. He had new ink on his neck, just below his ear, and I reached out to trace the raised lines with my fingertip. It was a little butterfly. Totally out of place amongst his skulls, guns, bleeding roses and gang symbols, and I got the feeling he’d gotten it for me.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, then someone rapped on my window, making me jump with fright. Blushing, and dodging Dante’s way too intense stare, I pressed the electric window down and gave the sandy blond guy who’d knocked a tight smile.

“You here to race?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion then looking straight past me to Dante. “That’s brave of you to let your girlfriend drive your car, bro. I wouldn’t trust any chick behind the wheel of a nice car.” He gave an annoying little guffaw, like he was sharing some sort of private man-joke with Dante. I pitied this dude’s girlfriend—if he had one.

“She’s not my girlfriend, this is her car and I’m not your bro,” Dante replied in a voice cold enough to give Catherine a run for her money. He clicked his seatbelt off and stepped out of the car, coming around to my side.

The guy who’d knocked on my window looked at a loss for words, but Dante just pushed him out of the way and opened my door for me to get out and join him.

“That’s uh,” the blonde dude stuttered, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a group of guys leaned against cars near the ball-cap guy. “I don’t think we allow chicks to race,” he finally spat out, then paled when Dante folded his tattooed arms over his muscular chest and glared. “But hey, I’m not the one in charge. You’re welcome to check with Jimmy.”

Blond guy scurried away as quickly as he’d appeared, and I exchanged a look with Dante.

“You want to kick their rich-kid asses even more now, huh?” He asked me with a small smile, and I grinned my response. The only thing better than winning a race like this: rubbing it in their faces that they got beat by a girl.

Holding my plastered arm against my body, I wandered across the gravel to where Jimmy was counting out a sickeningly thick wad of cash. “Jimmy?” I called out when I got within a few paces of him.

The guy looked up, then tilted his cap up a bit when he spotted me standing there. “You’re new,” he commented with an odd tone. Excitement? Curiosity? “Come to place a bet on your newest crush, darling?” he asked me with severe condescension.

Dante snickered a laugh beside me but didn’t try and speak for me. This wasn’t the first time we’d come up against this attitude, but it had definitely been a while. I’d been driving since I was twelve, and racing Dante’s cars since I was fourteen. Back home, I’d earned a name for myself. People knew how good I was. How good my baby, the Butterfly, was.

It was almost thrilling that I would get to prove that all over again to this bunch of posers.

“I’m actually here to race,” I informed him, stuffing my good hand into the back pocket of my jeans. For the first time in a long ass while, I felt totally out of place. My jeans were worn and ripped—and not in a designer sort of way—and my sneakers had definitely seen better days. In fact, I think my mom had gotten them from goodwill. My purple sweater was too small, and the top of my electric blue bra was showing.

Jimmy tilted his hat up even further, peering at me with mossy green eyes as he stepped closer. His gaze ran up and down me, judging, before a small smile touched his lips. “You’re definitely new around here, sweetheart. We don’t allow girls to race.”

My eyes narrowed at him. A light smattering of freckles decorated his nose, and the hair poking out of his hat was mouse brown. If it wasn’t for that arrogant air of money he carried, he would be totally unassuming. “Why?” I challenged. “Because your egos can’t handle it?”

Jimmy smiled back, but it wasn’t a kind one. “No. Because girls can’t drive for shit.” He dismissed me with a shrug, turning away and starting to head back to his friends before someone else spoke up.

“Let her race, Jimmy,” a deep, husky voice said, and my attention jerked to the left where a tall figure leaned against—ugh, against that sexy as fuck Bugatti. When had he arrived? We’d driven past him some hundred or so yards back. “She can take Jasper’s place.”

“Whoa, what? No way, man!” A guy with platinum blond hair protested from where he sat on the hood of a canary yellow Lamborghini Aventador. As fast as he reacted, though, he backtracked. “I mean, sure, whatever. I didn’t want to drive tonight anyway.”

I squinted into the shadows at the guy who’d spoken up for me, but all I could make out was his broad frame and a flash of a wristwatch. If only he would step a foot to the right, I could see his face...