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Ethan ClearyAGAIN, ANGER REARS at Franklin's malice and Ethan's provoking hands padding me down like a criminal. For a moment, I almost lost it, but I didn't let them goad me into an angry display. It would have felt damn good punching both in the face, but with two against one, it's a fight I wouldn't have won. I'd rather keep my front teeth a little longer than give scumbag Emsworth the satisfaction.
Enraged, I leave the house, blazing hotter than D. C.'s heatwave. Placing my cell phone in my satchel, I stomped down the private driveway toward my jeep, when a whirring sound behind me. Over my shoulder, a black Mercedes backs into the street, the car Ethan entered a year ago. I'm sure he's behind the wheel and wonder where he goes when he leaves Franklin. I know nothing about Ethan o
