His Demand (Dirtier Duet Book 1)(87)

By: Lisa Renee Jones

“I—Mom, I—”

“Go to the main parking lot.” She hangs up.

My cellphone rings with Danielle’s number. “Where are you?” I demand.

“At Jesse’s,” she says. “Where are you? I was asleep and I thought you were in a room with David, but he was with some other girl.”

“You don’t know what happened to me?” I ask.

“No. Jesus. What happened?”

Headlights shine in my direction from a parking lot. “I’ll call you later,” I say. “I have to deal with my mother.” I hang up and start running toward the lights. By the time I’m at the driver’s side of my mother’s Mercedes, she’s there, too, out of the car and reaching for me.

“You have so much to explain,” she attacks, grabbing my arms and hugging me. “I am furious with you. You scared me.”

“I scared me, too,” I say hugging her, starting to cry, the scent of her jasmine perfume, consuming my senses, and calming me. “I don’t know what happened.”

She pulls back. “Did you drink and do drugs?”

“No. I mean—one drink. I’m fine. I—”

“One drink. We both know what that means. This wasn’t the first time.”

“No. Mom. It was. One drink. I don’t know what happened. Someone drugged me. They had to have drugged me.”

Her lips purse. “Get in the car.”


“Get in the car.”

I nod and do as I’m told. I get in the car. The minute she’s in with me, I try to explain. “Mom, I—”

“Do not speak to me until I calm down.” He seatbelt warning beeps.


“Shut up, Hailey,” she says, putting us in motion.

I suck in air at the harsh words that do not fit my mother, who is not just beautiful, but graceful in her actions and words. Perfect, actually, and everything I aspire to be. I click my belt while her warning continues to go off. She turns us onto the highway and I listen to the warning going off, trying to fill the blank space in my head with answers I can give her. But there are none and suddenly she lets out a choked sound and hits the brakes. My eyes jolt open, but everything is spinning. We’re spinning. I can’t see or move. “Mom!” I shout, I think. Or maybe I don’t. Glass shatters. I feel it on my face, cutting me, digging into my skin.

We jolt again, no longer spinning, but the world goes black.

Time is still.

And then there are sirens and I try to catch my breath, but my chest hurts so badly. “Mom,” I whisper, turning to look at her but she’s not there. She’s not there. Panic rises fast and hard and I unhook my belt and ball my fist at my aching chest. Forcing myself to move, I sit up to find my mother on the hood of the car, a huge chunk of steel through her body.

I scream and I can’t stop screaming. I can’t stop screaming.