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“You’re going to crush my head,” I yell, pinching his ass, but he acts like he doesn’t feel it.

He turns and walks toward the exit.

“Put me down, you brute,” I shout, and everyone bursts into laughter.

“What are you laughing at? He’s going to hurt me,” I bark, exasperated.

“Sierra,” I call out, absolutely serious.

But nobody answers.

I lift my head and see Zayn already standing among them all. “Zayn,” I call. But he just raises his hands in a shrug and laughs.

“Ugh, traitor,” is all I manage to say before Ethan carries me through the entire station. Cops and civilians stop and stare, mouths hanging open.

At his car—a Bugatti, Jesus—he drops me into the passenger seat, straps me in, then slams the door shut.

Okay. He’s probably a little pissed. So I decide to stay quiet.

He gets in, starts the engine without a word, and drives off. I don’t move; I watch the world blur past the window, lost in thought.

Why is he here? Why didn’t he leave with Antonia? Is he mad that he had to come and couldn’t stay with her?

At some point, I realize we’re heading toward the outskirts, in the direction of where we live.

When we reach the gate, he scans his palm and drives into the yard. I brace myself to get out at Theo’s house, so I’m surprised when we stop only in front of his own place instead.

Does he want me to walk to Theo’s? We already passed the house—he could’ve let me out there.

Getting out without a word, he opens my door, takes my hand, and pulls me after him.

THIRTY-SIX

Ethan

I don’t know if I’m more angry because she participated in an illegal—repeat, illegal—street race or because I found her with her head in Zayn’s lap. My chest contracts just thinking about it.

Let’s be clear—I said she could do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted, but not with one of my brothers. I thought that was obvious.

I grab her hand, my fingers lacing with hers, and pull her behind me as we move through the house. The door slams shut behind us with a thud, and I drag her into the living room. The tension between us sparking into electricity.

I let go of her hand, take a few steps away, and stop—my back to her.

My muscles tighten. My jaw locks. I know I need to calm down before I say anything, but it’s impossible. My pulse is hammering in my ears.

I turn toward her, fists barely relaxed, and exhale through my teeth. “What the fuck, Thalia?”

She meets my gaze with a calm face, unshaken, eyes steady and unflinching. Silence stretches between us, almost mocking.

“You’d better talk,” I say, rough and dangerous.

She rolls her eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips, like I’m nothing more than an inconvenience.

“What do you want me to say, Ethan?”

“An illegal race?” I snap, my hands clenching at my sides.

She doesn’t answer. Just watches me. Calm. Infuriatingly calm.