Chapter Text
My mistake was not checking the peephole like I usual do.
Papa would be disappointed with my lack of awareness.
My apartment has been ambushed by a gaggle of girls wearing short shimmery dresses (with the exception of Cecily wearing her trusty black jeans and dry-humourish white t-shirt stating ‘I’M NOT RUDE. I JUST HAVE THE BALLS TO SAY WHAT EVERYONE IS THINKING’. Stick it to them Ceci), smelling like sweet, overpriced fruits and carrying bags worth of makeup and skincare to prep and beautify their already pretty faces.
I was dozing off for the start of the weekend after an exhausting week of classes, buried under my safe haven a.k.a the thick, fluffy blanket that smells like a mixture of mine and Jeremy’s (fine, I admit, I might be a tad obsess with his scent...just a little) when my doorbell was being abuse with the constant annoying ding, ding, ding sound. Reluctantly, I dragged myself and the blanket out of bed and yawning my way towards the door, lazily shuffling my feet on the wooden floor.
It didn’t take 5 seconds of me opening the door, when a flurry of giggles stampede their way inside before I could even get a single word out, still drowsy and very much unbalanced on my feet. I didn’t even need to turn back to see who was leading the charge of this sudden visit with Ava’s voice demanding for wine, with the sound of my cupboards being raided in the background being apparent. All I could do was close my eyes and pray to all the gods that I know by their names for the patience of a saint.
“Come on in, make yourself at home.” I dryly say to no one after closing the door and walking to the living room where the group have made themselves at home in record time, emphasis on my home.
Annika is already tossing throw pillows onto the floor to “make space” for the mountain of stuff they hauled in before launching herself on the beanbags with a squeal, while Glyndon sprawls across my couch like a cat who’s never paid rent in her life, one leg dangling off the side, one expensive heel I’m imagining burning. Cecily’s taken to the large bookshelf against the wall close to the balcony, arms crossed, surveying my collection of books with a critical eye, specifically the mangas I bought or thrifted from every bookstore on the corner of this island, flipping through a questionable romance manga I intentionally bought as a gag but then decided to read it.
She walks towards the empty 1-seater with the book, passing by me with a helpless expression to this intruding madness like she’s just waiting for it all to implode so she can say I told you so.
“Sorry, I tried to stop them.” Cecily whispers, apologetic and I simply hum in acknowledgement, by now use to these impromptu visits. At least someone is aware that this is trespassing disguised as friendship.
The rest of them? They treat my apartment like it’s a public lounge with free heating and unlimited snacks.
Ava, naturally, is rummaging through my kitchen like she’s been starving for weeks, her voice muffled by the fridge door. “Why don’t you have anything fun? Where’s the brie? Where’s the rosé? Do you even live here, Iris?”
I blink at her. “Yes. Like a functioning adult, which means I have normal food, not an overpriced picnic spread.”
“I brought chips!” Glyndon, always one to hide herself among us, pipes out from couch as she presents us a plastic bag full of pringles, lays chip and other assorted junk food in it. She’s all giggly and flushed, and I’m guessing her extrovert display is the work of pre-game at their own apartment. I’ve noticed Sugar gets easily drunk even after a few sips and she’s not one to drink with the exception of getting rid of her nervs. Hence, the help of liquid courage.
I’m not sure what the girls have plan, but I should look out for Glyn. She’s been off these couple of days, a bit too quiet and distant for my liking. Let's just hope she doesn’t run off like last time. At this point, I’m thinking of following Cecily’s step of placing a tracking app on both Glyndon and Annika.
Intrusive, but a necessary action that is required with the recent situations each of us are experiencing in our own lives.
Cecily, the ever kind mother-figure of our girl squad, pats her head like a puppy before she plucks out a bag of chips and proceeds to eat them while reading the manga she’s been engrossed in for the last minute. Maybe I could share with her my tabooer mangas hidden away behind the other books. Cecily might be into Omegaverse...
She looks like someone who might enjoy them.
“Where’s your wine, woman?” Ava asks loudly, the sound of cupboards opening and closing becoming more of a nuisance. Jeez this girl.
“The left cupboard at the end, behind the plates.” I answer, flopping on the sofa with Glyndon, placing her wiggling bare feet on my lap as I drag the blanket on me between us. My hands instantly go to her foot, massaging the tense sole and rubbing her small toes. She sighs softly, body relaxing and sinking down into the cushions beneath her like a sated purring kitten as I press into her pressure points, making Glyndon melt more to my touch.
Damn cutie patootie this one.
Ava’s voice carries from the kitchen again, this time accompanied by the sound of a wine bottle being uncorked.
“You know.” She calls. “You should really thank us. We’re rescuing you from your hermit lifestyle.”
I adjust the blanket to be more comfortable since Glyndon looks close to falling asleep despite already dolled up, dryly muttering. “Yes, nothing screams ‘rescue’ like breaking into my home and touching my stuff.”
“ Breaking in? ” Ava gasp faux shock without looking back. “You opened the door.”
“Because you rang the bell like serial killers.”
A pouting Annika waves a blush brush at me. “Stop being dramatic. We have work to do.”
“Work?” I arch a brow.
“Operation: Make Iris Presentable.” Ava announces as she finally emerges, holding the wine bottle in one hand and my last clean glass in the other.
Cecily just shakes her head from her seat, flipping a page of the questionable manga. “You know she’s going to bite someone before you two can even get mascara on her, right?”
And judging by the way my left eye is already twitching… Cecily’s probably right.
“Oh~ and what pertains you two into thinking I would be a willing subject to a barbie makeover, huh?” My voice drawls with an edge of warning despite the essence of playfulness lingering at the end.
Annika looks guilty enough, knowing very well about my dislike for spontaneous plans especially on a weekend, which I painstakingly schedule stuff to do to get rid of the boredom in me that is usually fill with getting myself blackout drunk in a psychedelic club, waking up with a massive hangover in a stranger’s bed with the knowledge of doing the walk of shame or me about to carry out the most heinous interrogation in the sleazy part of Europe which might or might not involve blood and gut-wrecking screams of fingernails being remove.
I meticulously plan my schedule, filling it to the brim (honestly it's just 70% of me walking around the island until I see something interesting and 30% sleeping in) to get rid of the innate feeling of emptiness that comes from being bored because boredom is the core that leads to stupid decisions being made that leads to me getting into fucking trouble at every point of my life.
Que the Heathens Initiation, to which Remington is still butthurt about. It's been weeks, let's move on shall we.
Trouble that does not help me in any way since I’m trying not to put any attention on myself, which is begrudgingly difficult due to my recent sightings with Jeremy Volkov.
Apparently, to everyone in both our campuses, I’m his flavor of the week .
Yippie me…
But before Anni could voice out a coherent sentence, Ava with a grace of an elegant swan that’s known to give painful pecks and bites, stands in the middle of the living where all of us are gathered and answers in Annika’s stead with a flourish befitting a queen subjecting her people with her majestic presence.
“Well, we can’t have you appearing at the party like this .” She waves a hand over all of me to which I return with an unimpressed look. Ava smirks like she’s the fairy godmother of chaos, eyes glittering with mischief. “Blanket burrito chic isn’t exactly on the dress code, darling.”
I glance down at my oversized shirt (Jeremy’s, not that anyone here needs to know that) and the blanket acting as a barrier between my comfort and the judgement of others. My hair’s still a mess from sleep, sticking up in directions gravity shouldn’t allow. Sure, I’m not exactly party-ready, but the sheer audacity of Ava’s judgment grates on me.
“And what, pray tell, is the dress code?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Short. Shimmery. Distracting enough to make at least five men regret their life choices tonight.” She says without hesitation, sipping from my glass of wine like it belongs to her.
I blink at her slowly, deadpan. “So… you’re telling me you broke into my apartment to make me bait.”
“Not bait.” Annika chimes in, though the way she fiddles with the hem of her purple lacey dress betrays she’s not entirely convinced by her own words. “Just… social. It’ll be fun, Iris. Promise.”
I doubt that.
“What party is this exactly? Because if the Elites were holding a party at their mansion, Remi would be the first to blow up our group chat with the prospect of getting us hammered and wild so he can blackmail us with pics the next day.” Because its Remington Astor. Fun, cheeky, mostly harmless Remi with an aristocracy kink up his ass and a flair of dramatics that could rival any Shakespearean tragedy. “And if so, I really don’t want my face spreading around on Insta looking like an unsightly racoon. Or skunk. I’m already getting comments on how similar I am to them.” For that, I flip my black-greyish hair dramatically for effect earning twin giggles from Glyndon and Annika, a humorless snort from Cecily and a long, agonizing sigh from her pink majesty herself.
Ava arches a brow at me, contemplating how she’s able to twist this into her favor while she twirls the wine glass like a weapon. “Cute deduction, Holmes, but wrong. It’s not an official Elite thing.” She pinches my cheek to which I attempt to bite the offending digit. She avoids it and turns to ruffle my hair, making a mess of my bedhead, the dark-light strands poking out everywhere defying gravity.
Great. I look more like a trash panda.
Ava gives me a one look over, crossing her arms as she scrutinizes my appearance (which really, is unfair since I just woken up) and has the gall to sigh. Rude. Very rude.
“We have our work cut out for us.” She says, unimpressed, waving a hand all over me, again. Really, what is her beef with my usual appearance? Just because I don’t dress up prettily like her, doesn’t mean my usual clothes are bad. “You probably didn’t shower today did you. Really Reed, have you never heard that cleanliness is next to godliness?”
Oh, the sheer audacity of this one.
Though...it is true. I haven’t taken a shower since morning, rather choosing to eat, sleep and repeat like a professional Neet. But still! You can’t just openly expose me like that, Pinkie Pie.
“Well, I’m so far off from God’s radar that I don’t think he’ll mind me funking up my own place for once.” I sass back and almost laugh in Ava’s face at the disgust she directed at me, scrunching up her pointed nose and pursing her glossy lips as if she just swallowed a lemon.
“Oh, you’re disgusting.” Ava balks and quickly grabs a can of dry shampoo as her weapon of choice and to my glee, directing the nozzle towards me as if it will exorcise the frizziness and smell away from her presence.
To make matters worse, or really my luck, Sugar proceeds to move around and crawl on top of me, sweetly nuzzling her face under my chin and nosing my throat.
“Iris smells good~” Glyndon purrs and the rest except for Ava giggle. There is so much giggling in the span of an hour.
It obnoxious...but I don’t mind it for once. Huh, weird.
They want your guard down, doll. Don’t fall for it. You know better than to fall for pretty and shiny things before they eat you alive.
The voices croon, reminding me of a lesson well learnt, an engravement on the back of my mind that has become a fixture to remind me not to trust easily. Trust must be earn, not be given so easily willy nilly.
You know this, Iris. Don’t be stupid.
The hollow voices scratches giving me a headache that I know is just a lingering phantom from the past that still haunts me until now.
That last thought sits heavy in my chest, an anchor trying to drag me down into old habits and familiar shadows.
I know that voice. It's not paranoia exactly, but it’s the scar tissue of it, the instinct that’s kept me alive when people prettier than Ava and gentler than Annika had knives hidden behind their smiles. When those who easily charm with a fleeting smile and those hiding gruesome scars behind fancy suits have an agenda behind every word, controlled and precise in its intention.
And yet, here they are. Glittering, loud, invasive…and infuriatingly real.
Annika’s laugh bubbles out like soda fizz, quick and unfiltered, while Glyndon snuggles closer with the absolute entitlement of a cat who knows she won’t be pushed away. Even Cecily, tucked in the corner with her manga, spares me a half-amused glance like she’s quietly recording evidence for later when she gets to mock me.
And Ava, well…Ava is still trying to fumigate my very existence with the dry shampoo. Not yet, but the threat is there staring me right in my face with a slight press of the nozzle.
It’s chaos. It’s obnoxious. It’s too much.
And yet… the smallest part of me, the one I usually shove down with alcohol or distraction or Jeremy’s dangerous hands on my skin, whispers: this is what normal is supposed to feel like.
But the other part—the louder, sharper, hungrier part—knows better.
Normal is bait. Normal gets you killed.
But isn’t that what you’ve been aiming by coming here, so far away from everything that’s familiar. Weit weg von der Familie. Stupid girl.
Well, I never claim to be consistent with my choices now. A girl can change their mind yah know.
I meet Ava’s wrinkled nose disgust with my best deadpan glare, one corner of my mouth twitching upward. “Keep that up, Pinkie Pie, and I’ll suffocate you with the blanket I haven’t washed in weeks.”
The girls howl.
Ava gasps, scandalized, “WEEKS?!”
I roll my eyes, hiding the twitch of a smile before it betrays me.
Cecily doesn’t even lift her head from my gag-manga, just mutters under her breath. “You all sound like hyenas. Tone it down before the neighbors file a complaint.”
That earns her a cushion hurled in her direction by Annika, which she expertly moves her head to the side without looking up. I envy that level of composure.
Meanwhile, Ava is still circling me like a predator with her damn can of dry shampoo, clicking the nozzle with dramatic flair. “Don’t think I won’t use this. You’re one spritz away from being reborn, Iris Reed.”
I hold up a finger, deadpan. “One, I’ll suffocate before I let you baptize me in talc and artificial lilac. Two, Sugar, get your creepy cheshire grin off my jugular. And three,-” I gesture around my once peaceful apartment, now a giggling sorority zoo. “-all of you need to realize this is breaking and entering with extra steps.”
Annika at least looks abashed, fiddling with the hem of her lacy dress again. “We brought snacks?”
“Unopened?” I ask flatly.
She blinks, then glances down at the half open veggie-chip bag in her hand. “…No.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
Ava finally sprays the damn nozzle once, the sharp floral mist clouding the air between us. I cough violently, waving it off. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to fumigate me?”
“Consider it pest control.” Ava smirks, satisfied.
I glare at her, but Glyndon just laughs softly into my neck and murmurs, “Better pest than prey.”
The voices in my head hum in agreement, dark and slick. Prey doesn’t last. Don’t forget.
And yet, when the girls collapse into laughter again, filling the room with warmth and noise, something small and traitorous in my chest loosens. Just a little.
“Ok, ok! Enough of this. Can we get a move on to the real reason we’re here.” Cecily, being the voice of reason within our group, claps her hands once to bring our attention back into focus, like a kindergarten teacher handling toddlers to line up before going to the playground. With her non-nonsense expression and the seriousness of her voice, we straighten up and even Ava finally settles down next to Annika looking smug.
“Alright, party. Whose?” I ask and the girls, except a mewling Glyndon, look at one another, communicating with their eyes and then Ava finally gives me an answer.
“Well, the Heathens are holding a party at their mansion and I have been told it's the party of the era.” She excitedly proclaims, grinning brightly as she shares the sentiment to Annika who is laughing nervously, her eyes on her lap as she plays with the makeup brush.
I blink. Once. Twice. Then very slowly tilt my head like an owl sizing up its prey.
“The Heathens ?” I echo, my tone so flat you could serve sushi on it. “As in, drink-until-you-blackout, set-something-on-fire, occasionally-accused-of-felonies Heathens?”
Annika winces, giving me a sheepish smile that does nothing to soften the impending migraine pulsing at my temples. Ava, of course, beams like the cat who not only caught the canary but dressed it up and took it dancing.
“Yes, those Heathens.” She purrs, swirling her wine glass for emphasis. “And trust me, this isn’t just a party. It’s the party. The kind people will be talking about for the rest of the semester.”
I cross my arms, unimpressed. “The kind where half the attendees end up in the ER and the other half in bed with someone they won’t remember come sunrise?”
“Exactly!” Ava chirps, like I just solved a riddle.
I let out a low whistle and flop back against the couch dramatically. “Wow. Congratulations, ladies. Out of all the possible parties on this island, you picked the one hosted by the four horsemen of the collegiate apocalypse. Wait, five. Whatever. What’s next, a séance with Satan? Or should I RSVP now?”
Annika tries, bless her heart, to soften the blow. “It won’t be that bad, Iris. It’s… tradition. Everyone goes.”
“Everyone who has a death wish.” I mutter under my breath, my intense gaze directed at her, judging perhaps. Hypocrite Iris. “You just started studying here, you don’t know what's tradition yet. And your brother would beg to differ if he found out Annika. I’m guessing since all of you are rallying to go, he doesn’t know you’re attending this party?” I lowly question and she squeaks before hiding behind Ava who is protecting her as she glares at me with that damning pout.
Cecily nods in reluctance, arms crossed. “You’re not wrong. But it’s also the perfect place to get free booze and it’s a party, you know Ava isn’t letting that opportunity slip through her manicured fingers.” Our silver hair Athena sighs in resignation. “I tried, really I did but it's like arguing with a bull.”
“Damn right I’m not slipping out on a party!” Ava says smugly, swirling what’s left of her wine as if she’s already picturing herself queen of the debauchery. “And don’t blame our Anni for this, she just told us about it. I’m the one who decided all of us should go so stop berating on her.” The princess huffs as she defended Annika and I’m not sure whether to continue arguing with this stubborn girl when she gets all hype up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. The voices in my head stir with an unsettling hum, low and warning. I ignore them like usual, pushing them to the back of my mind.
And yet, I can already tell, I’m going to get dragged along whether I like it or not.
“Fantastic.” I deadpan. “Party of the era, hosted by feral sociopaths. Someone remind me to update my will before we leave.”
"Wait...you’re going?” Annika softly gasps, looking at me with those large doe eyes. Urgh, too freaking cute...
I lazily nod. “Someone has to look out for all of you, even if it means I have to face the devil himself.” I muttered under my breath, not looking forward to seeing Jeremy.
My thighs trembling when I’m reminded of him that day...breakfast in the living room...right here...in between my legs...
I glance at the poor beanbags Annika is sitting on and instantly flush when that particular memory turns vivid.
Shit...
I haven’t talk to Annika properly in regard to her listening to me getting my crotch devoured by her shameless, unrestraint older brother through the phone. Not that she had a chance to ‘listen in’, since I cut the call short, but she isn’t stupid.
Annika is an observant one. She might act all innocent and ditzy, but she’s not stupid. She survived being a mafia princess this far, I’m not stupid to underestimate a pretty, innocent face.
“Chop, chop! Up now.” Ava pulls me up and I almost stumble face first to her chest. Glyndon had, luckily, thudded softly on the floor due to the help of the blanket wrapped around her, whining at the lost heat and impact. I didn’t have the chance to check on her before I’m being herded into the bathroom and closed in, unable to get a word out. “Don't come out until you’re all scrub down and wash properly! You better be smelling like roses when I check up on you. Now, closet. Time to raid, girls!” She says loudly enough for my ears and I’m already imagining them raiding my closet for clothes deem worthy for a party.
I can’t help but roll my eyes, leaning back against the bathroom door with a long-suffering sigh.
“Yeah, sure. Raid away. Just don’t touch the top shelf or the bottom drawer unless you’re prepared to bleach your corneas.”
Predictably, a chorus of delighted gasps erupts on the other side. Ava’s shriek of “Ohhh, what do we have here?” makes me slam my head against the door once, twice, like maybe I’ll concuss myself into another dimension where I’m not friends with lunatics.
Annika, bless her innocence, squeaks, “A-Ava! Put that back! That’s private!”
Which only fuels Ava’s unholy glee. “Private my arse, this is vintage lingerie gold, Iris! You’ve been holding out on us.”
I bury my face in my hands. Why me, God? Out of all the people on this island, why did you saddle me with this circus act of friends?
Through the door, I hear the chaos already unfolding; closet doors swinging open, hangers clattering, Ava’s voice rising above the fray like some blonde war general barking orders.
“Absolutely not ! Who in their right mind wears this to a party? Cecily, toss it. Annika, check for sequins. We’re going for dangerous but approachable, not grandma chic.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “That’s vintage you harpy!”
Ava’s laugh, sharp and delighted, cuts through. “Sweetheart, it’s donations pile vintage . You’re welcome.”
Meanwhile, Glyndon’s muffled giggles float in with the distinct sound of fabric rustling. “Oooh, this one’s soft… maybe too soft. Iris will just curl up and nap in a corner.”
“Don’t give them ideas!” I yell back, but I know it’s pointless.
I catch my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, my bedhead still sticking out like I’d wrestled a raccoon and lost. I sigh, turning on the water. “Roses, huh? She’s lucky I don’t come out smelling like bleach and spite.”
The voices in my head chuckle darkly. Better bleach and spite than weakness, doll. Don’t let them make you pretty just to be prey.
I shove the thought away, stripping down. The sooner I shower, the sooner I can prepare myself for the godforsaken circus that is the Heathens’ party.
“Fine!” I shout toward the door over the running water. “But if I come out and see one single sequin, I’m committing arson.”
That earns a chorus of laughter; Ava’s loudest, Cecily’s dry, Annika’s soft, Glyndon’s like little bells.
Yeah. I’m doomed.
***
I’m already regretting being here.
The first image burned into my mind upon arriving on the compound was a naked, drunk frat-boy (judging from the Kappa-Sigma cap he is wearing, the only piece of clothing he’s wearing) screaming from the top of his lungs before jumping from the balcony (thankfully, just the first floor and not too tall) and into the bushes, legs up and cock flopping in the cold air.
Peachy...
“I need bleach.” I say dryly as I’m being drag in by a trembling-in-excitement Annika while being surrounded by our friends with Ava in the lead, strutting her stuff with a flirtatious smile and the kind of aloofness only popular girls can pull off, like she owned the place knowing the guys hanging outside the mansion was unabashedly staring at her. One even whistled. Classy, dude. Real classy...
“Come on, Iris. Smile. Please, for me.” Annika tugs at my arm with those imploring eyes that could guilt-trip even the devil into Sunday service.
“For you, maybe.” I mutter, forcing the barest twitch of my lips upward. It feels less like a smile and more like a grimace, but Annika beams anyway as if I’d just gifted her the moon.
Meanwhile, Ava is already basking in the spotlight like some unholy deity of chaos and gloss, tossing her blonde hair back so that the porch light catches every golden strand. She’s speaking to no one and everyone at once, her laugh spilling like champagne, her presence an open invitation to ruin.
She’s too open, no cautiousness at all and fuck, I’m wired enough to worry about her. Cecily did say she was reckless, but I don’t know how reckless we’re talking about, aside from the times I hanged out with her drinking and club-hopping.
Ava Nash was trouble glamoured in pink silk and shiny gloss, and that spelled trouble with a capital T. And I’m kinda tied to her due to my promise with Eli King. I could ditch the promise, not really like he’ll notice, but knowing the bastard, he might have eyes everywhere.
Plus, I did receive a message from him before we reached the party to “Keep a damn eye on Ava, Reed”. It's like he knows. Scary damn bastard.
Cecily, ever the analyst, leans closer to me, her gaze already cataloguing everything from the clusters of people stumbling around to the line of expensive cars parked outside. She frowns upon hearing the loud music as we get close to the mansion, the inside probably looking like a hellhole from the booming bass and vibrations throughout the ground threatening to split open under them. “Keep count. I want to know how many bad decisions we’re walking into tonight.”
“One too many.” I reply flatly, stepping over a red Solo cup abandoned on the grass like a corpse.
Then Glyndon flutters beside me, half-spun from her pre-party buzz, wrapping herself around my arm, thus squishing me in between her and Annika. “Oh, don’t be such a killjoy, Iris. It’s fun!” She says this as someone vomits loudly into a hedge not ten feet away.
I level her with a look. “Yeah, barrel of laughs.”
Annika squeezes my hand tighter, maybe sensing my patience thinning, maybe just trying to anchor me here before I make a break for it. And that’s when Ava glances back over her shoulder with a wicked grin, eyes gleaming like she’s already orchestrated my downfall.
“Reed.” She calls sweetly. “Try not to glare a hole through the first person who talks to you. At least let them get you a drink first.”
I roll my eyes, but something in my chest shifts uneasily, like a warning bell. Because if Jeremy Volkov is anywhere in this crowd—and knowing my luck, he absolutely is since it's his party—I won’t need a drink.
I’ll need a goddamn exorcism.
I look around before we enter the front door.
“Where are our other two disasters?” And like a hectic sudden whirlwind, I’m being spin and dip unceremoniously by one of two of those so-called disasters, mischievous light brown eyes gleaming at me as his hands skillfully handled me in our impromptu waltz.
“You called, ma chérie .” Remington Astor purrs to my ears and jeez, this boy. But instead of pushing him off me, I move to his step, he un-dips me and guides us around our friends, twirling me in circles around them. “Such radiance, dove! You clean up nicely for his lordship.”
I snort, fondly. “Not for you, Jester, but thank you for the praise. I know how difficult it is for you to find beauty in others beside your own.”
“Ah, la trahison ! You wound me, Iris. I thought we found camaraderie after going through the hurdles of psycho infested hunting ground and you dare mock me?” Remington clutches his chest like I’ve stabbed him straight through the heart, staggering backward with an overdramatic gasp. Our little circle parts for his theatrics, half the crowd outside already glancing over with varying degrees of amusement and annoyance.
“You’re ridiculous.” I deadpan, though I can’t help the small curl of a smile tugging at my lips.
“Ridiculous? No, no, ma belle , I am art.” He straightens, snapping his fingers as if summoning an invisible orchestra, his bow so deep I half expect him to kiss my hand. “And you-” he spins me again without permission, my hair (combed neatly for once) drifts lightly in the air “-are my reluctant muse.”
“Emphasis on reluctant.” Cecily mutters dryly, crossing her arms. “Enough already, we’re in TKU territory. We don’t need to bring attention to ourselves now, especially when we’re not exactly welcome.” She sternly reminds us, watching the partygoers who are mostly TKU students, eyeing us warily, ones that recognize REU students from a mile.
It’s well known our universities have this friendly rivalry going on and based on what I heard so far, with the involvement of the three clubs terrorizing the island its only gotten worse.
Remington finally releases me back to Annika and Glyndon’s welcoming arms as he faces an unimpressed Cecily with a cheeky smile and an elegant quirk brow.
“Ah, the cougar is here. Finally allowing yourself to let loose huh- ouch!” Remi dramatically gasps when he gets punch in the arm by Cecily. “You savage woman! You bruised me. Hurting his lordship, how dare- ouch! Stop punching me!” He ended up hiding behind Creighton, pointing an accusing finger at Cecily. “Spawn, attack!”
Creighton merely rolls his eyes and stood there unmoving. Wrong move, Jester. Everyone knows Creighton adores Cecily. Our emotionally constipated robot who thrives on food and fist ain’t got time to entertain Remi’s dramatics, especially when Cecily’s involved.
Creighton doesn’t even look at Remi as he plants his hands in his hoodie pocket, shifting slightly to block Cecily from any more of Remi’s nonsense. A silent wall of muscle and loyalty.
For that, I sneakily sneak in a few chocolate bars into his hoodie and a soft grunt from Creighton is the only acknowledgement I gotten from our big boy.
Remi gasps louder, clutching at his pearls or well, the silk scarf tucked into his shirt. “Traitor! My very own spawn turns against me for a woman’s affection?” He peeks from behind Creighton, pouting. “Cecily, what witchcraft have you used to snatch away the cheeky bastard?”
“Shut up before I really bruise you.” Cecily snaps and it takes Ava chiding at the two to get our group moving inside where the base gives our bodies an idea of bad decisions and the place smelling of next day regret.
Fuck, is there a chance for me to slip away?
A group of guys whistle as we walk pass them hanging out against the wall of the stairs and heading into the living room where the drinks are being served by a guy who looked like he been drinking on the job, which probably is true from the way he cheers loudly when a red solo cup slips from his hand and spills all over the counter. He doesn’t even bother cleaning it up, just refills another cup and shoves it into the hands of the nearest pretty girl who walks by.
It's no surprise we’re getting looks when our two princesses are dressed like they belong to royalty that puts them on top of the university popularity food-chain, twin beauties in pink and purple; the sexy enchanting blonde in pink body fitting spaghetti-string dress with blonde curls bouncing with every stiletto sharp step while walking side by side with our innocent cutie-patootie brunette with her lacy yet modest purple dress, looking extra presentable tonight with that effortless look that every girl craves to achieve.
Glyndon had steer clear of her usual shorts and tank top, instead wearing a daring short red dress that suits her petite figure and black heels with long straps that reach below her knees giving illusion of long soul-snatching legs. Her hair chestnut hair flows gracefully with the lights giving attention to her blonde highlight and her makeup, simple yet eye-catching. Definitely the work of Ava and Annika. Cecily was in her usually black jeans and tee but she too was getting looks from people. It's hard not to when her silver hair is one of her main features people can’t help but turn and look. Plus, she’s pretty despite the less effort.
And me, well I’m the designated cryptid of the group. The “how did she sneak past security” girl. The “she’s definitely just here for the free food” girl.
My black skirt is too short to be practical, my sheer tights (purposely ripped with a fork) already snagged at the ankle, and the oversized dark emerald blazer Annika forced on me is slipping off my shoulder like it’s staging its own escape. My hair, despite Ava’s dictatorship with a curling iron, has rebelled into some hybrid between beach waves and accidental electrocution. At least they let me wear my boots. There is something comforting about having my usual accessory to wear. They did put makeup on me; too much smokey eye and dark liner as they smack gloss on my lips. Voila and we’re done for the day.
The bass rattles the walls hard enough that I feel it in my ribs, the smell of sweat, booze, and smoke already clinging to my clothes like a curse. My friends blend in seamlessly—Annika wide-eyed but glowing under the attention, Ava thriving in it like a shark in blood-filled waters, Cecily’s scowl doing little to stop the looks she’s getting, Glyndon half-sober looking around with wide eyes as she stands close to me, looking like she seen a ghost and Remi… well, Remi’s bowing dramatically at a group of strangers who are too drunk to question why he’s kissing their hands like some Victorian lord while Creighton acts like our protective knight in baggy hoodie and scarred knuckles.
Me? I just want an exit route.
The living room is pack, bodies pressing close, laughter too loud, the kind that’s one bad decision away from violence. TKU students make up most of the crowd, their gazes sharp and territorial whenever they clock our group. We don’t belong here, and it shows.
“Drink?” Cecily offers flatly, snatching two cups from the counter and shoving one in my hand.
I eye the murky liquid suspiciously. “…Is it poisoned?”
“Probably.” She deadpans, then takes a sip of hers anyway before frowning deeply and pushing the cup into a passerby’s hand, who takes it without question and starts chugging it.
These people, totally defenseless.
Before I can argue a reason for us to leave despite only being here less than a minute, a low ripple runs through the crowd, like someone just shifted the air itself. Conversations stutter, laughter dims, heads turn toward the grand staircase curving down into the living room.
I don’t need to look. I already know.
Jeremy Volkov doesn’t just walk into a room, he claims it. And from the heavy silence that follows, from the way the air crackles like static before a storm, I know he’s here.
My pulse betrays me, thundering under my skin, heat crawling down my spine as I finally look up.
And there he is.
Jeremy, descending the stairs slowly, like he has all the time in the world, like he knows every pair of eyes belongs to him. His gaze sweeps the crowd lazily, predatory in its indifference, until it collides with mine.
Fuck.
“Abort, abort! Devil incoming!” I whisper rush and everyone looks confuse especially Annika but the moment her eyes turn to where I was looking, she turns pale and panic, exclaiming a soft “Shit!” under her breath.
Our group is still in that ‘What?’ stage and I quickly react as I hound them to the other direction.
“Spread out! Now!”
Cecily, confuse, looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Wha-“
“Spread. Out. Now.” I gritted out and finally they move; Ava pulls Remi by the back of his shirt heading outside where I could see a swimming pool fill with floaties and people diving into them from the rooftop, Creighton without a word leading Annika and Glyndon towards the entertainment area where a group of people were playing at the pool table, thus leaving me with Cecily.
I grin at Cecily who gawks at me at the quick change of attitude, chugging my solo cup (internally grimacing at the bitterness of the alcohol mixture) before chucking it behind me as I drag her towards the makeshift dancefloor, the tight space of people pressed against one another and that’s exactly what I need: bodies as shields, sound as cover, chaos as camouflage.
Cecily digs her heels in, jerking me back by the wrist. “Iris, what the-”
“Play along.” I hiss through clenched teeth, plastering on a crooked smile as I tug her deeper into the press of swaying, sweating students. The bass rattles my ribs, and I let it guide my movement; arms raised, head tossed back like I’m here to lose myself to the music instead of lose Jeremy’s line of sight.
Cecily stares at me like I’ve just asked her to murder someone with interpretive dance. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”
“Not yet.” I murmur, sliding into the rhythm, brushing shoulders with strangers, faking ease. “I need him distracted.”
For a moment, I let myself glance back through the crowd. The staircase is clear now. Jeremy is no longer there.
Which is worse.
Much worse.
Because if I can’t see him, that means he’s already moving.
Already hunting.
And when Jeremy Volkov decides to hunt, there is no hiding.
“Come on Ceci~” I steady my thumping heart as I ease her into dancing with me, our bodies press tightly together like a coiled spring as the people around us push themselves to our backs.
Cecily was uncomfortable judging from her expression (who can blame her when being cramped against drunk, sweaty college kids who looked like one bad decision away from damning their life, me included) as she flinches when a rowdy guy pushes up against her. Her fingers against my shoulders tremble, stubbornly being brave despite the restlessness in her eyes. I feel it in the way her grip tightens, like she’s not sure if she’s holding me steady or holding herself.
I lean closer, lips grazing her ear, the music drowning my words to anyone but her. “Eyes on me. Not them.”
Cecily shoots me a glare—half disbelief, half reluctant trust—but she does it. She locks onto me, even if her jaw is tense and her shoulders stiff.
My hands move, one to her waist and the other on the back of her nape. I bring us closer, the proximity of our bodies leaving no room to doubt. I feel bed for getting her involve with this but if allows Annika to escape from her brother’s watchful eye even for a short moment, then yeah, I’ll offer myself as tribute.
It’s the least I can do for traumatizing the kid hearing my moans through the phone.
“Relax. Dance with me, Cecily.” I whisper, my breath hitting her ear, my tone a promise of unintended debauchery as I cradle her head to mine, our foreheads touching and our twin green eyes staring into one another, hers a vibrant light green that dims mine for the better. Here we are, just two friends drunk on the music. “Breathe. He can’t know we’re hiding if we look like we’re not.”
Cecily exhales shakily, but she listens. Her fingers finally unclench from my shoulders, sliding instead to anchor against my arms, and she moves, not gracefully, but enough. Enough to sell the picture. To anyone watching, we’re just another pair tangled up in the music, bodies pressed tight, swaying like we mean it.
The beat throbs around us, sticky heat pressing in from every side. I let myself fall into it, let the crowd swallow us, and for a brief second, I almost believe it. That we could vanish here. That Jeremy wouldn’t notice.
But the weight of him finds me anyway.
It’s not sight, not sound, just a pull, magnetic and merciless, dragging my pulse down into my stomach. He’s close. Too close. My skin prickles, every nerve screaming that he’s near, watching, choosing the moment to strike.
I keep Cecily locked to me, my lips ghosting against her temple as I murmur, “Good. Just like that. Don’t look. Don’t flinch.”
She mutters back, voice like a steel trap about to snap, “If I end up in a shallow grave because of this, Iris, I’m haunting you.”
I huff a laugh I don’t feel, one hand sliding lower on her back to keep her from bolting. “Fair. But he’s not after you.”
“And you think that’s not a problem? Because from what I’m seeing Iris, you are just enabling him further, to what I’m not sure.” Cecily, always one to not mince her words. Its endearing, really, but if she sticks her nose more into things that isn’t her concern, I’m afraid she’ll chew more than she can afford to.
I smile at her, a subtle sly smile meant to distract from the sharp tug of gravity behind me. That pull, heavy and magnetic, the one my body betrays itself by recognizing before my brain even admits it.
Cecily doesn’t notice it yet, not fully, but I do.
The crowd isn’t pressing anymore. It’s shifting. Like the sea bending around a predator cutting through the waves, subtle but undeniable. People don’t even realize they’re moving aside; they just do. That’s what Jeremy does. He doesn’t shove, doesn’t demand.
He commands without a word.
I curl my fingers more firmly into Cecily’s waist, pulling her flush against me, forcing her into my rhythm. A wicked grin stretches across my face, all for show. All distraction.
“You’re so pretty, Cecily. Makes me want to bite .” I playfully click my teeth close to her lips, just enough to look like a quick, sweet peck. The slight redness to the apple of her cheeks makes an appearance and that makes her cuter but she doesn’t let her guard down even from me. And that what makes Cecily so attractive, well in that tortoise shell stubbornness mix with spikes kind of way.
If I wasn’t so into Jeremy, I would have taken a gander at our Athena here.
“You’re hiding something.” She mutters, her eyes narrowing, but I tilt my head, brushing a loose strand of her silver hair back as if this is just a performance. As if we’re two friends dancing too close, trying too hard to look unbothered.
“Shhh, Ceci.” I whisper, lips curving in a mockery of carelessness, though my pulse is hammering against her palm where it rests at my shoulder. “Smile for me. Just this once. Let him think we’re untouchable.”
“Untouchable…you’re delusional. No one is that all mighty.”
That’s the problem.
Because I feel it then. A shift behind me—air displaced, crowd yielding—and before I can stop myself, my breath stutters.
The ghost of a hand brushes the small of my back. A touch so fleeting it could be accidental…except nothing about Jeremy Volkov is accidental.
My spine locks, my grip on Cecily tightens. She feels it instantly, her eyes widening, her lips parting with the silent question she doesn’t dare voice.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Because Jeremy is here.
“Lunichka, interesting choice of partner.”
His deep voice purrs into my ear as I felt a strong arm wrap around my belly, pulling me back and taking my breath away, as easy as breathing the air he consumes.
I smell him before I felt him.
That subtle sweet citrus, the smoky intoxicating woodsy scent wrap around him like trailing shadow, one that’s been mark in every inch of clothing item of mine he touches and the one of his that he leaves scattered in every room in my apartment. He leaves his mark so unabashedly that I don’t question it anymore when I find a black shirt hidden underneath my pillow, one glove of a pair between the cushion sofa, an ashtray outside my balcony with his initials J.V. clearly on the white circular marble, his cigarette carton—sometimes Marlboro Red (harsh, strong scent that hits you in the face), sometimes those Sobranie Black Russian (this one smells like him, doesn’t overwhelm his current citrus and wood scents. I like this one, doesn’t mean I’m going to tell him, hmph)—and my fridge fully stocked with fresh groceries I intentionally thought of going out to buy.
The bastard is controlling, has no sense of personal space and is clearly out of line when it comes to boundaries.
Jeremy Volkov doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t wait. He just takes , like the world exists on borrowed time and he’s entitled to every second of it. To every inch of me.
Simply put, Jeremy Volkov overwhelms my every nerve and I welcome it like forgotten prayer.
Overwhelming…
That is what he is to me.
His arm tightens against my stomach, dragging me flush against the steel of his body, and Cecily goes rigid in front of me, frozen like prey caught in headlights. Her wide green eyes dart from me to him, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe.
Smart girl.
Because no one challenges Jeremy Volkov and walks away unscathed.
“Interesting. I didn’t expect to see you here, lunichka, especially with her.” The threat hangs low before he noses the side of my neck, inhaling deeply as a low growl rumbles out from his chest, fingers digging into the meat of my hip. His teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine whenever his teeth lay victim on familiar territory. “You smell divine, sweetheart.”
“Jeremy.” I breathe, not meaning to, his name slipping past my lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
“Mm.” His hum vibrates against my spine, low and satisfied, as if my voice belongs to him too. “You even sound sweet tonight too.” The bastard chuckles, enjoying himself as he sways us slowly side-to-side. He’s being extra gentle. Suspicious… “You’re gonna be my good girl and tell me why you’re here without my permission.”
Ah, there we go. I was wondering where my controlling wolf was.
I roll my eyes and turn my head, nipping his jaw like a disgruntled puppy. As expected, he growls in return, fondness mix with warning (the butterflies in my stomach making havoc at the sound) as our eyes met.
Calculative, sharp, intense grays with a hint of curiosity, that’s my Jeremy. Always unabashedly too much, yet a welcoming intensity I crave very much.
So, so much.
“Really Volkov, I didn’t think I signed up being questioned just because we’ve seen each other naked.” I cheekily grin at him, kissing his jaw at the place I nipped. “I don’t need permission to go to a party, especially when the Heathens didn’t specify who can or can’t attend this party.” I finish, my grin tilted sharp, daring. My tone is airy but my pulse is betraying me, thrumming wild where his thumb presses into my hip like he owns the rhythm. “I’m not yours, wolf~”
Jeremy’s eyes narrow, his wolfish smile never reaching them. That dangerous curve of his mouth is just for show. What lives behind it is hunger, and I’ve been in its jaws before.
“Not mine?” He repeats softly, like I’ve just said something blasphemous. The scar on his neck identical to mine (well-hidden of course) says otherwise, the promise mix with blood between us. His nose drags along my cheek, voice velvet and steel. “Everything you step into becomes mine, lunichka. Don’t you know that by now?”
My smirk falters for half a second. Just half. “Mm, that sounds like an ego problem to me. Maybe you should have that checked.”
The bastard laughs, low and genuine, the kind that curls through my bones and settles where I don’t want it to.
“Fuck lunichka, stop making me go crazy.” Jeremy’s hands trail down my hips, pressing me to him until I let out a flustered gasp as he subtle rolls his hips, letting me feel his hardness pressing eagerly against me, my skirt not helping to act as a barrier to his shamelessness.
Really, this is the scary, unhinged Jeremy Volkov people are scared of?
Hmph. Nonsense. He’s nothing but a horny dog.
“Pay attention to me, lunichka.” Jeremy whines in that gruff-like tone, craving my acknowledgement to his predicament .
Such obscenity…
‘Well…the pup does need to be fed once in a while.’ I mused, a smile making itself known on my lips.
My lips make their way to the corner of his lips, the feeling of his rough stubble lingering on my skin, prickling like sparks threatening to catch fire. His breath stutters, and I feel the smug swell of triumph in my chest. Jeremy Volkov, the man who commands silence from a room with just a glance, undone by the faintest brush of my mouth.
I linger there, not giving him what he wants, savoring the way his body tightens, coiled restraint barely leashed under my fingertips. His hand tightens at my hip, the other splaying across my back like he wants to brand me through the thin fabric.
“Lunichka…” His voice is rough, warning, but there’s a tremor beneath it…a plea. He doesn’t beg, not with words. He begs with the way he holds me like I’m both salvation and sin.
I let my lips ghost just shy of his, a cruel tease. “You wanted me to pay attention, no?”
His answering growl vibrates through me, more felt than heard, rattling my bones. The kind of sound that says he’s this close to snapping.
Snapping me in half, snapping the fragile control he tries to maintain in public.
And God, the wicked part of me wants to see him lose it.
But, eyes are everywhere. I catch Cecily watching, stiff in the crowd, her gaze flicking between us like she’s trying to decide if she should throw a punch or drag me out by my hair.
Jeremy notices too. Of course he does. His smirk sharpens as his gaze slides past me, landing on Cecily with all the grace of a wolf scenting another intruder near his meal.
“She’s watching.” He murmurs, his lips brushing my cheek trailing to my ear, as if telling me a secret, though it’s meant for her.
A threat that’s disguise as an amused observation.
His voice is low, velvety, dangerous. “Should I give her a show, hm? Let her see how pretty you look when you fall apart on my hands?”
Always possessive this one, I should have known by now.
I’m just not sure how far it goes.
“Maybe after the fifth drink, Jeremy.” I joke, patting his cheek fondly as our eyes meet once again.
“What, Iris really, him?” Cecily cuts the tension, her voice seems louder than the music playing throughout the mansion. She’s looking at me as if I lost my mind at the very thought of me being with Jeremy Volkov. That expression of disbelieve is quite something. “Annika did gossip about it but I thought you were smarter than this, and well, I turned a blind eye because it didn’t seem you were interested but if this is serious-”
“It's not.” Jeremy stated, quite firmly as he glares at Cecily. “We’re not together, in that sense. Just…fun.”
Ouch...
Hearing him openly say this slices sharper than I expect.
It’s stupid, really. Stupid . I should be relieved, should want that distance publicly drawn between us. No strings, no labels, no suffocating expectations. That’s safer. That’s smarter.
But my chest still twists like someone just wrung it out, leaving me raw.
Cecily narrows her eyes, looking between us, clearly unconvinced but biting her tongue for now. Her silver hair catches the flashing lights, giving her an almost ethereal sharpness as she mutters. “Good. Because if you were serious, I’d have to knock some sense into you.”
Jeremy doesn’t even flinch. His gaze never leaves me, a storm I can’t look away from, though I desperately want to. His hand slides lower at my waist, grounding and claiming in the same motion.
“Fun.” He repeats, but his tone has edges. Darker, heavier, laced with a promise only I can hear.
His definition of fun is nothing like anyone else’s.
I force a laugh, brittle around the edges. “See? Nothing to worry about, Ceci. Just two idiots making bad decisions.”
But Jeremy’s eyes flash, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
Because to him, this—us—isn’t just a bad decision. It’s ownership.
And if Cecily caught even half of that truth in his voice, she’d drag me out of here by force.
Instead, she studies me, lips pressed thin, then looks at him again, eyes narrowing in silent warning. She doesn’t trust him.
Again, smart girl.
Jeremy, of course, smirks at the challenge.
And I…I want to vanish, because standing between these two feels like standing in the middle of a lit fuse.
Something crashes and we turn towards the sound coming from the other conjoined area to see a huge, muscled guy with messy long hair, bangs pull back with a bandana and his upper torso free for display cheering loudly with his fists up in the air while the rest awkwardly joins in his cheering. There’s a guy passed out lying flat on his back on a broken table. Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.
“Nikolai. That idiot…” Jeremy growls under his breath before charging towards the giant, with me in hand.
I let out a yelp when I’m being pull away from Cecily who is caught off guard and quickly swallowed behind me by the press of bodies of the people dancing around us. I didn’t notice a few moments ago but apparently the second Jeremy’s hand clamps around mine, the crowd reacts like the sea parting for Moses. Bodies shift, footsteps stumble back, conversations stutter to silence in his wake. It’s not just him. It’s the weight he carries, the kind of presence that demands space without asking.
I trip trying to keep up, my boots scraping the sticky floor as he cuts a clean path through the crowd. My protest is swallow by the music, my voice too small against the bass, against the way my pulse deafens me.
Jeremy doesn’t even glance at me. His eyes are lock on the towering man ahead, Nikolai who is still grinning like a wild thing, banging his fists against his chest as if he’s just claimed victory instead of nearly sending someone to the ER.
He doesn’t slow. Not when Nikolai, with his broad chest gleaming in sweat, throws his arm wide and bellows, “Za pobedu!” like some warlord at a feast.
The crowd laughs, chants, drinks. They adore Nikolai in his destruction.
Jeremy does not.
The storm brewing in his rigid shoulders, in the way his jaw ticks as he approaches his idiot friend, is enough to make the people nearest them shrink back.
Upon reaching Nikolai, Jeremy slaps the back of his head hard, earning a sharp curse from the interrupted warlord who turns to snarl at his assaulter but when he sees who, the fangs are pull back and Nikolai, like a puppy dose in a ray of sunshine, brightly grins at Jeremy.
“Jer, bro! Did you see what I did?” He excitedly exclaimed and points to the poor dude, still laying their unconscious with no sign of waking up and no one helping them out, afraid if they invoke the wrath of the bare-chested barbarian. “He fucking cheated in beer pong and I knock his ass out!” Nikolai proudly proclaims, pounding a fist on his chest.
…Okay, honestly, adorable. It's like I’m looking at a teddy bear. Well…said teddy bear with a temper and fist first, talk second.
“I told you to not make trouble. One night, Nikolai. Just one fucking night.” Jeremy hisses and Nikolai just shrugs, unbothered by the scolding.
“I ain’t making any trouble here, Jer. Just cleaning up dumb pests who think they can get away with cheating right to my face.” Nikolai smirks and crosses his arms, his muscles bulging, looking bulkier this up close and I’m unabashedly staring, to which teddy bear notices me looking, specifically at the hard rock abs and impressive pecs. They’re quite… tempting .
“Eyes up here, sweet cheeks.” Nikolai teases with a roguish grin, a curl of his dark brown hair falling over a mischievous blue eye. “I know I’m good looking. Difficult to resist, da.” He winks and I’m stun for a moment before my cheeks redden.
Huh. I guess I’m not that immune to other pretty boys…
Jeremy moves before Nikolai can finish that smug sentence.
The sharp crack of Jeremy’s palm colliding with the back of Nikolai’s skull rings out like gunfire over the bass. Nikolai jerks forward, nearly stumbling, and the crowd collectively winces.
“Do not.” Jeremy’s voice is low, lethal, the kind of command that doesn’t need volume to be heard. His glare could strip paint off the walls. “Flirt. With. Her.”
The grin falters. For half a heartbeat, the great Nikolai looks like a chastised schoolboy, caught red-handed. “Didn’t mean anything by it.” Nikolai mutters, rolling his shoulders before they droop down weakly, the bear suddenly tamed. “Just playing around.”
“Then let me make this clear. She’s-” Jeremy yanks me flush against him, his palm spanning my waist, pulling until the breath stutters in my throat. His voice drops low, meant only for Nikolai, but the growl rumbles through me like a threat etched into bone. “- off-limits .”
The crowd doesn’t need translation. They see the way his hand brands me, the way I’m pinned to his chest like a mark of ownership.
Nikolai raises both hands in surrender, grin wobbling into a sheepish wince. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. Jeez Jer, you’re such a hardass.” He scratches the back of his neck, mumbling something that might be an apology, though he can’t meet Jeremy’s eyes.
Jeremy doesn’t care. He doesn’t even glance at Nikolai again. His attention is solely on me; burning, heavy, suffocating. My heart skitters, caught somewhere between defiance and dread as he tilts his head, lips brushing my temple like a brand-new lock clicking into place.
The crowd goes back to laughing, to drinking, to pretending they weren’t just watching a lion warn another beast away from his prey.
But I feel it.
The unshakable truth in the way Jeremy Volkov holds me.
It doesn’t matter if I resist. Doesn’t matter if I pretend.
Because in his eyes, I’m already his.
Fuck…I’m so close to the edge, I might as well be falling. This devil is relentless in his hunt and I’m here letting myself easily be capture by him, tear into bit by bit despite the pain that I’m stupidly welcoming.
His hold on me is bruising, and I’m sure I’ll be left with nasty finger marks on my skin marking me blue, but…damn it, my fuck up mind likes it, loves it . To have him leave his pain on me.
Didn’t we tell you, pretty doll? Run away as far as you can, you can’t deny the dirty, filthy doll we created in you.
The cruel, crooning voices reminded and the surge of anger that’s been bubbling in me starts to slip out from its crack. The voices, Jeremy, the inability to stop fucking with my head as I lose control of my own mobility because then I’ll have to admit, that dirty part of me out loud.
That a deeper, heinous part of me wants to be told what to do, wants to be blanket by filthy praises and gentle degradation, wants to be touch in places I dare not go both physically and in mind.
Wants to be own.
Letting myself trust someone with me...its fucking scary. But I yearn for that fall, that deep sink that differs from getting lost in my mind due to running from past memories. No, what I want is to allow someone to take control. To let me feel safe while allowing the ugly parts of me to be shown.
And Jeremy is getting close. Too close...
And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Who told you to be weak Iris. No one. So get through that head of yours and buck up. No one is here to save you. You only have yourself. Wake the fucking up.
With a firm pull, I break the hold Jeremy has on my arm, ignoring the throbbing pain as I smile sharply at him, taking in the role I’m used to getting my way. All aloof and reckless. All smiles and sharp word.
“Ease up on the claws, Volkov. Do I need to call the police to report abuse hmm~?” I lazily purr, the warning hiding behind playful fluttered lashes and a smile to wide for his liking as I watch Jeremy’s expression close off. Good.
I turn around and smile at a wide eye Nikolai who looks stun for a second with my change of attitude, which I flippantly ignore as I take a few steps to him until he has to bow his head to look down at me.
“Hi! I’m Iris. You must be Nikolai then.” I straight away take his hand and give it a shake, grinning wildly as our arm goes up and down. “Ignore the bastard. He likes to hit on things without permission.”
That earns me an amuse snort from Nikolai who warily eyes at Jeremy who has been awfully quiet behind me. But being the menace that I’ve heard and seen him be (wink, wink Yellow Mask, I recognize that damning chest from a mile), he handsomely grins at me and returns the shake, my feet lunging forward with the rough handshake.
“Don’t I know it. Jer here is so bossy, it's a wonder anyone can keep up with him.” He gives me a knowing look, something sly full of mischief. “Thank fuck my head in made out of steel and concrete.” He gives a few playful knocks on the head with his fist. “So far, I haven’t gotten a concussion from getting hit by the head, by him or any stupid people who dare. Especially those fucking Serpents.” Nikolai says with contempt, sneering at the very word but that quickly disappears into the cheery, wild expression he had on, leaning his face close to mine until I can smell the scent of cheap beer lingering in his mouth. “Hey, you play beer pong?”
I glance at the unconscious guy on the floor who is finally being lifted away from the area by his friends probably, the crush table and the red solo cups scattered on the floor with its content.
“Did you beat up the guy because he cheated in beer pong?”
Nikolai huffs, nostrils flaring as he crosses his arms and again my eyes linger to those muscles. Can you blame me? Teehee.
“Asshole deserves it. So, you wanna play? Or~ you have to get permission from Mr Grumpy Pants there.”
I glance back and oh, if looks could kill.
Jeremy was watching us, me with that intensity that could burn off metal. His glare was menacing and his expression, cold and blank, one that's difficult to read but i know what it meant.
I overstepped. I touch someone without his permission. I didn’t follow his orders.
It's a dangerous look, one that meant I was going to get a hell of trouble as the night goes on.
But I’ve always been one to seek trouble. And Jeremy Volkov, was a delicious kind I keep licking up.
Just have to remind myself not to fall. Easy-peasy.
(Yeah right. I’m fooling myself. Shoot me.)
I turn back to Nikolai and nod eagerly, anything to make the noise in my head and the painful thumps of my heart stop. Anything to make my attention waver from Jeremy.
“Sure. Let's play!”