Kristen

Kendall doesn’t look my way. She doesn’t chastise me for yelling. Instead, she immediately pulls onto the street, driving me from Hartford, away from the hell Zane put me through. Minutes pass before either of us speak.

“I’m so glad you are okay,” Kendall informs me, her right hand taking mine.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I counter.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the highway.

“Take me to your parents,” I ...