Beautiful Storm (San Francisco End Game #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luke - Age Sixteen

I pace my yard, my head reeling from the events of last night—from the fire—and I’m nauseous. What a fucking mess. It was supposed to be a fun night. A way to let off steam while also getting back at Amelia for the bullshit she put me through over the years.

The house wasn’t supposed to go up in flames. I just wanted to challenge her. Nothing more.

A vision of the fire burns my retinas as another wave of guilt hits me.

Blowing out a breath, I run my hands down my face as someone opens the back door, drawing my attention.

Mom.

No doubt coming to check that I’m still here. That I haven’t snuck away like I wish I could.

We stare in silence until she purses her lips and hits me with a look of disappointment before walking inside.

My chest tightens but I deserve it, and I understand where it’s coming from. Her firstborn—the kid that's supposed to be smart—got himself arrested. I’d be disappointed too.

Only I didn’t get myself arrested. That was all Amelia. While I put myself in the line of fire to help her—running directly to the police—she decided she’d screw me over when she got herself caught, and I’m fucked if anyone else speaks out. A lot of people are.

My muscles tense as I think about Amelia again. But instead of the deep hate I want to feel, my stupid mind replays our kiss and my traitorous heart races. What was I thinking? Actually, I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting, and for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself. She’s the only one outside of my family that I’ve ever felt protective of, and this time that led to dangerous territory.

But never again.

I want to hate her. I’ve always wanted to hate her, but no matter how hard I try, there’s something stopping me.

As I pick up my pacing again, waiting for my dad to get home from his business trip so he can give me a piece of his mind, my thoughts stay firmly locked on Amelia. On the feel of her lips pressed against mine. The taste of her. The moans. Her warmth.

In that moment, I wanted her. All of her.

But that feeling has well and truly passed. I will never touch her again.

Unless, of course, I get a chance to fuck with her like she fucked with me.

If that day comes, I’ll bask in the glory.