Ride Share (The Collective Book 1) by Cari Z & L.A. Witt

Author:Cari Z & L.A. Witt [Z, Cari & Witt, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642301601
Published: 2023-10-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Arlen

I don’t know why the hell I ever thought Mirko was being honest with me about—well, about anything, I guess. He hadn’t been honest with me about more than his pain from the very start of knowing him, but to lie to me about the cop who’d pulled us over… That had freaked me out so much. I’d thought we were going to be pulled out of the backseat and hauled off to jail, and all we really had to do was hunker down in the backseat and not get caught on his dashboard cam.

And the way he’d decided to obscure us, the kisses, the way he’d clung to me and moved in for more…

Son of a bitch.

Fuck him for using me, and fuck me for wanting more. And now, well. Now I was probably in the process of losing my identity, maybe having my apartment building burned down so that I’d be off the radar of people who should never have known about me anyway, and having my entire life nuked because of a single random act of kindness.

“We can fix it,” Mariana had said. I had no idea how, though. It wasn’t like she was dealing with school schedules and grading and demanding professors and my goddamn thesis paper. If I didn’t finish that, if I didn’t finish school and get my PhD and get a job somewhere using it, then what was the whole point of doing it in the first place? How would I ever be able to hold my head up back home, knowing that I’d failed to do the one thing I’d set out to do?

Then again, I might not even be allowed to return back home after all this was said and done. Maybe my family would think I’d died, or that I’d run off or become homeless or something like that. I lay back against the dark green comforter on the sinfully soft bed in this room and went full-on macabre for a moment.

There’d be a funeral, if for no other reason than my mother appreciated people bringin’ her free food. Cold to say, but I knew my mom. Some of them might miss me for a while, but it wasn’t like I was ever home, either. That was my own choice and I didn’t regret it, but…

Lacey would miss me, so at least there was that. Not that I wanted her to have to. I wondered how she was doing, whether she’d ever gotten the money I’d sent on.

That, at least, I could check. Along with the clothes that someone had laid out for my use—and who the fuck stocked these places? How did they know my size?—there was a generic, cheap smartphone in the pile, as well as some toiletries. The phone was basic, probably monitored too, but it wasn’t like I was going to need to break into a bank to check my sister’s Instagram feed. She always posted there on the weekends, usually who she was studying with or whether she was at a party or mixer or…there she was, Laceupboots.

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