Page 61 of Brutal
“Have I ever not behaved?” I respond flatly. He scowls, and I suppress a small smile.
Maybe I do get a small kick out of annoying him. I might as well enjoy my small rebellions, since I can’t prevent him from doing worse things to me.
“Did you ever think of being a lawyer instead of a shrink?” he asks sourly. “Because you sure do like the loopholes.”
I don’t say anything, although I can tell Drake wants me to.
After a few moments, he scoffs and turns away from me. “Okay, come on. It’s a two-hour drive.”
I follow him to the elevator, and we ride all the way down to the garage. His convertible is parked in a semi-private area of the garage. Well, one of his cars—I assume at least one or two others on the same floor are also his.
He lowers the top on the car and turns on music, then drives us out onto the streets of New Bristol.
It’s strange to think that I haven’t been outside properly for ages. I stare up at the tall building, the penthouse only barely visible from down here.
“We’re going to Mer d’Or,” Drake says, as if I’d asked.
I glance over to him, squinting against the harsh sunlight. “The casino town?”
“It’s not just casinos,” Drake mutters. “They’ve got a nice boardwalk. We could do a boat tour. Go sailing. Enjoy the beach. Get tickets to whatever show is going on.”
“But you also want to go to the casinos,” I say.
“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Do you have a problem with casinos?” His smile is a little nasty as he asks, “Parents used to gamble?”
“I don’t know if they did,” I say honestly. “I don’t have the money to gamble. Irene and I were living frugally.”
“You know Chase’s bitch? Her daddy got her in a pickle because he gambled too much,” Drake says, offering the information casually. “Seems like all of you end up punished for other people’s fuck-ups, huh?”
Apparently so. I wonder if Irene regrets putting me into this position—if she even knows what became of me.
I hope she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since that day.
“You’ll have to be careful not to end up like him, then,” I answer. “Or somebody will repossess me to pay off your debt.”
Drake’s head turns sharply in my direction, and I’m about to tell him to look back at the road when he does. “No one is taking you from me,” he snarls. “I don’t care what happens. You’re mine.”
I cover my mouth to suppress a laugh. I don’t know why his sudden possessiveness is amusing me. It was surprising, that night of the hunting game, but now that I know to expect it, it’s strangely endearing.
Maybe it helps that he always looks so upset when he says anything remotely hinting that he cares about what happens to me.
“Don’t gamble me away then,” I answer, forcing my voice to stay deadpan. “That’s a thing men like you do, right? Put your sex slaves into the betting pool?”
He scowls again. “Only the ones we don’t like,” he says. “So you’d better be on your best behavior, or I will bet your ass.”
I somehow doubt he’d do it no matter how many times he threatens it.
We pull onto the highway, and the increased speed means my hair is whipping behind me. I’m glad for the sweater and the leggings—and the seat warmers. It’s late August, so it’s still warm enough, but the wind is strong.
He turns the music up louder so we can hear it, and I’m not sure why it startles me so much when he starts singing along — downright belting the words out to some rock song I don’t even recognize. It makes him animated, his eyes bright, and it’s like I’m looking at another person entirely.
I don’t talk to him during the trip to Mer d’Or, but it doesn’t feel awkward. This is what it would be like to road trip with anyone, really. If I had a book or a phone, I’d be reading during the trip. Instead, I’m focused on the landscape as we go from the city to the forested areas and then closer and closer to the coast. The air turns more humid, and the scent of the breeze changes.
“I’ve never been to the ocean,” I admit as we enter the town. The wind dies down, making it easier to talk.
Drake glances at me. “Really? Even living this close?”
“It’s a two-hour drive,” I point out. “I don’t have a car. Neither does Irene, and either way she was always… working.”