“This could go very right, or very wrong. Time to reveal our cards, Spencer.”

I opened my mouth just as the door burst open and in walked Pope, Len’s arm thrown over his shoulder. Her feet shuffled along the floor, and she dragged like a rag doll. Her eyes were half-shut, out of focus. I could smell the alcohol on her breath from across the fucking room.

Called it. Vodka chick.

“Oy, we seem to have a bit of a problem here.” Pope stopped by the table, trying to steady Good Girl on her feet. She collapsed into his arms, slithering down his body like smeared Jell-O. He held her upright, letting out a nervous chuckle and looking sideways.

She wasn’t a cute drunk.

She wasn’t even a sad drunk.

She was straight-to-ER-then-rehab plastered, and my mood turned from sour to murderous.

I stepped forward, leaving Harry hanging and brushing past Arabella, who was biting down a vicious grin, and Poppy, who’d slapped a hand to her mouth, giving Lady Macbeth a run for her money in the melodramatic department.

Edgar beat me to his daughter, holding her arms to keep her upright.

Shock filled every wrinkle of his face. Guess he wasn’t used to his younger kid fucking up. For all the black shit she’d smeared on her face and worn, Lenora wasn’t a bad kid. A straight-A student who never said a word when she’d been through hell her entire senior year. No boy trouble. No drugs or alcohol.

Perfect, but not in a boring-ass way, like her sister.

She stumbled backward, squinting to try to bring him into focus. Her back hit the wall, and Rafferty and her dad both reached to help her. She swatted their hands away.

“Lenny, have you been drinking?” Edgar asked.

“Not as much as I should have, Sherlock.”

Edgar glowered. Arabella giggled in the corner, covering her mirth with her manicured nails that hadn’t seen a day of work. My eyes snapped from Len to Arabella, from Arabella to Edgar, then back to Len.

Fuck.

“She’s been slipping shots when I wasn’t looking, sir,” Pope said, excusing himself of any responsibility.

Breaking his nose was going to be the height of my year. Maybe even decade.

“You’re completely hammered.” Edgar ignored Rafferty, barely restraining himself from shaking Lenora.

Everybody stood back. Even Pope took a step away from the shitshow unfolding in front of us. I stayed close. I wasn’t in a trusting mood, especially where her father was concerned.

“Quite observant.” Good Girl zigzagged her way to the head of the table and fell into a seat with a sigh.

She reached for a tower of triangle-cut BLTs, popping one into her mouth without chewing. She knocked over three plastic cups and a burning candle in the process. Poppy was quick to pick up the candle before it burned a hole through the tablecloth.

“Quite, quite observant. I guess that’s one thing I didn’t inherit from you.” She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling, her favorite thing to do.

I made a mental note to ask her why she was looking at ceilings all the damn time.

“What are you on about?” Edgar blinked, his stance still rigid. He stared at his daughter like she was mad.

And she was, I realized.

At him.

I glanced at Arabella, whose face was draining of color, even under her three pounds of foundation, blush, and bullshit fake smile.

“I’m talking about the fact that you’re a pig.” Len looked up and managed to somehow hold her father’s gaze before her eyes rolled in their sockets involuntarily, crossing then zoning out.

The room sucked in a collective breath. I advanced toward her, yanking her up by the arm, and tugging her to the door.

“Show’s over. Come on.”

She shook me off, slapping my hand away, hard.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she screamed.

I turned around and glared at her. My teeth clenched in anger, and I took a deep breath before hissing, “Your ass needs a shower, water, and a loaf of bread. You’re saying shit you won’t be able to take back tomorrow. Unless you have a time machine handy, I’d strongly advise you let me handle this.”

She thrust herself at me, and maybe if she hadn’t been as drunk as an 18th-century sailor, people would’ve suspected we were banging, but she was so sloshed, I bet they chocked our familiarity up to sloppy drinking.

She whispered in my ear, “You knew and you didn’t tell me. We’re over, Spencer. Go find another unassuming girl to suck your blood and take your virginity. I won’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

My eyes flared in rage at her words. At my own stupidity.

Count to ten, I heard my mom’s voice pleading in my head.

Then a hundred. Then a thousand. Do not react.

Good Girl turned around and stumbled through the door, but the minute she rounded the hallway, I grabbed her arm and shoved her through a side door.