Revenge #4 Read Online Free Page A

Dylan went to a gig, then showed up drunk at my house, with glitter on his cheek.
    A horrible feeling rolls through me.
    Another message comes in while I’m holding the phone.
    I click the attachment.
    This photo is of Dylan and the same woman. She’s sitting on his lap, holding a martini glass to Dylan’s lips. He seems to be having the time of his life.
    We’re at a stop light, so I lean over to hold my screen in front of Dylan’s face.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Player, but who’s this?” I ask. “Is this why you were asking me if I’m the jealous type?”
    He turns to frown at me. “Where’d you get that?”
    “Someone sent it to me. Stop trying to change the subject and tell me who that girl is.”
    “No. Tell me who sent you that picture.”
    I groan in exasperation. He’s stalling for time, and that pretty much confirms my worst thoughts.
    I spit back, “I don’t know who. It came from a blocked number.”
    Still driving, he looks over at me steadily. His brown eyes seem to get darker, bottomless. The temper is back.
    “Jess, don’t fuck with me. What are you doing with those photos? What’s your angle?”
    I shift uncomfortably in my seat and tug down the hem of my dress.
    He asks me again, the same questions. His tone is accusing. As his volume rises, the words blend together. I glance to my right, thinking about opening the car door and getting out right here at the intersection. I’ve been nothing but sweet to Dylan, and he’s going to talk to me like this? He can go fuck himself.
    An angry, barely coherent rant swirls around inside my head, drowning out his words.
    Back when I started going to school, not all the kids were nice to me. A few picked on me, just because I was shy. Some of the boys wanted nothing more than to make girls cry. Yelling back at them didn’t do any good, so I started doing all my yelling inside my head.
    It’s been a while since I did this, but the anger feels good. It feels like power. You can’t cry when you’re feeling powerful and angry.
    Dylan stops asking me about the photos, but I hardly notice the silence over the yelling inside my head.
    The tires squeal. He cranks the steering wheel hard and turns left across traffic. The car dodges into a dark cave, down a ramp and into below-ground level of parking. We’re going slower now, but the turns are sharp as we go down two more levels. The tires keep squealing.
    My breathing is high and shallow. I’m so furious at Dylan for driving recklessly that I can’t even catch my breath, let alone scream at him. This is the last straw. I’m not getting into a vehicle with him again.
    He screeches the car into a spot and kills the engine. There are no other vehicles on this level. Just us.
    “Fine. Let’s talk,” he says.

Chapter 4
    “I’m past wanting to talk,” I say.
    I grab for my door handle, but Dylan reaches over and grabs my wrist.
    “Wait,” he says.
    I wrench my hand from his grasp and slap him across the face in one motion.
    He pulls back over to his side of the car, blinking rapidly.
    “My bad,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s on me. Don’t apologize. I deserved that slap.”
    I spit out terse words. “I wasn’t going to apologize.”
    He clears his throat and slowly holds out his hand, palm up. “May I see your phone?”
    “No. Tell me who that pretty girl is. The photo is from Saturday night.”
    He’s calmer now that we’re in the cool, dark underground parking level. He wiggles his fingers, his hand still outstretched for my phone.
    “Jessica, I had a lot to drink that night.” He doesn’t sound angry now, just mildly annoyed. “How am I supposed to tell you who some girl is if you won’t show me? And what’s with you sticking your fucking phone in front of my face while we’re driving?”
    “We were at a stoplight.”
    He stares into my eyes silently, and then the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Oh, we were at a stoplight. In that case, feel free to stick anything you want