You need to get out of the house," Daya concludes,
staring at me with fear and distress swirling in her
sage eyes. I just told her about my mom's visit
yesterday.
By the look on her face, I can tell that she's well andtruly
scared for me.
"I need to finish this manuscript," I argue, my thoughts straying
to the massive plot hole I've fallen into. It doesn't seem to matter
how many times I press the proverbial Life Alert—I can'tget up.
I'm going to have to roll out my whiteboard and sticky notes to
map out the plot tonight, so I can figure out how to solve the issue
once and for all.
Sometimes I wish I could just simplify my books and call it a
day, but then I wouldn't have the readership I have.
"Uh uh," Daya snipes, shaking her head at me. "Get ready.
We're having a girls night."
I slump, the whiteboard and sticky notes going poof. But I don't
argue. I'm an indie author, soI publish when I'm ready to. I hardly
set deadlines for myself because the pressure suppresses my
creativity. I can't write when I'm too ridden with anxiety to get the
book done by a specific time. And as great as my readers are,
there's always that pressure to get the next book out.
Of course, Daya knows this and now wields this knowledge as
a weapon.
Dick.
Groaning, I let her hurdle me up the stairs and into my
bedroom, my eyes immediately finding the mirror and chest—they
always seem to do that now after finding out what really happened
in here.
Those two pieces feel like beacons in the room now, glaring at
me as if to say I know who killed her.
It doesn't matter that I slapped some black paint on them. The
bones are still the same.
The walls and floor are smooth black rock now, with white
ceilings and large white rugs to lighten up the room. I also
installed a heating system in the floors. Otherwise, getting up in
the middle of the night to pee and stepping on ice-cold floors
would just be cruel and unusual punishment.
I decided I love the sconces in the hallway so much that I
wanted a few in my room, too. Placed artfully on the wallmy bed
is against, surrounding a massive, beautiful art piece of a woman.
Straight ahead of the bedroom door is my favorite part—the
balcony. Black double doors open up to a terrace that overlooks
the cliffside. It has a way of making you feel small and insignificant
when you're standing before a sight as beautiful as that.
The entire house has now been modernized, though I kept
most of the original style. The sconces, checkered floors, black
stone fireplace, and black cabinets, just to name a few. Most
importantly, I kept Gigi's red velvet rocking chair.
I'm living in a Victorian gothic dreamhouse.
"We're going to make you look hot and find you a delicious
man to take home tonight. And if the stalker comes around, he
can kill him, too."
I roll my eyes. "Daya, it's hard to find a man these days that
can even fuck right. You think I'm going to find a man that will kill
in my honor, too? That's cute."
"You never know, baby girl. Crazier things have happened."
*************************************
The bass pumping through the speakers vibrates throughout
my body. My black, ripped skinny jeans cling to my curves, and
the plunging low cut red tankshows off my ample cleavage along
with the small glistening beads of sweat between my breasts.It's fucking hotter than Hades's ballsack, and the alcohol
pumping through my veins doesn't help matters.
For a solid hour, Daya and I stick close to each other and
dance. We both briefly separate to dance with a few men, but I
tend to tire of the groping hands quickly and always find my way
back to my best friend.
Suddenly, a heavy presencecrowds into my back, his hands
sliding around my waist and pressing in close. Awhiff of spearmint
and whiskey invades my senses right before I feel his breath on
my ear.
"You're beautiful," he whispers, his spearmint gum stinging my
nose now that he's closer. I wrinkle my nose and turn my head to
see a tall, attractive man leaning over me.
He has strawberry blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, and a killer
smile.
Just my type.
I grin. "Why, thank you," I respond sweetly. Social situations
nearly send me into hibernation, but I've always been skilled at
flirting. Too bad most times, I can't stand to do it.
Men have a unique way of killing my mood every time I come
within ten feet of them.
"Come upstairs with me," he yells over the music. His voice
isn't aggressive by any means, but it's not a question either. It's a
demand that leaves little room for argument.
I like that.
I cock a brow. "And if I don't?" I ask.
His smile widens. "You'll regret it for the rest of your life."
The other brow joins its twin, hiking halfway up my forehead.
"Really," I say demurely. "What kind of plans do you have for
me that I'd regret missing out on for the rest of my life?"
"The kind that leaves you naked and sated in my bed."
"Bitch, let's go already," Dayacuts in. My head turns to her, but
I feel the man'seyes linger on my face, caressing my cheek like a
feather tracing across skin.
Daya isstanding in front ofus, impatiently waving her hand
towards the stairs that lead to the second floor. She must've been
eavesdropping, and she doesn't look the least bit ashamed.
When we both just stare at her, she huffs and rolls her eyes."We get it, you're hot for each other. And she doesn't go
anywhere without me. So, let's go already." She waves her hands
at us more urgently, shooing us towards the stairs.
The man laughs and seizes the opportunity provided by my
dear best friend. Grabbing my hand, he leads me towards the
black metal stairs at the back of the club.
But not before I shoot Dayaa narrow-eyed look. One which
she dutifully cackles at.
Upstairs is for VIPmembers only. The stairs lead up to a
balcony that overlooks the entirety of the club. It's where the rich,
important people drink, staring out at us like a bunch of bugs
trapped in a science experiment.
The atmosphere up here is darker, denser, and has a vibe that
has myinstincts flaring red. Walking up here feels like sticking my
head into a hornet's nest. And the bastards won't stop stinging
until they tire of you, or you're dead.
Four men are draped acrossa black leather booth formed in a
half-moon. In the center is a black marble table occupied by
several glasses of amber liquid, along with a few crystal ashtrays.
There's barelya hint of color in here, the décor reminding me of
Parsons Manor.
Aman eyes the both of us with a predatory and calculated
gleam. He looks eerily similar to the man who has his hand
wrapped around mine. Same strawberry blonde hair and blue
eyes, though this one appears younger and a tad more wicked.
The other three men are equally handsome, all sporting the
same dark and dangerous type. One man appears European with
white-blonde hair, fair, pale skin, and sharp angular features. His
hooded icy blue eyes are locked on Daya as hers sweep across
the small, intimate room. Hisgaze is already tracing the dips and
curves of her body hungrily. My instincts spike again, telling me to
pop theman'seyes out of their sockets and throw them over the
balcony.
The remainingtwo men are twins with tanned skin, darkhair
and eyes and killer bodies. Their suits can barely contain the
muscles threatening to rip the expensive fabric at the seams.
One twin has long hair tied back in a bun and several rings
adorning his fingers, while the other has his hair cropped close to his head and a diamond nose ring.
All four of them could easily ruin my life. And I would be
hesitant to stop them.
"So, you finally grew the balls and got her," the blonde man
says, grinning devilishly at me. He's the only one out of the four
that isn't eye-fucking us. Honestly, he looks like he'd be far more
interested in eating babies for dinner.
There's a dark aura around him. If I could guess, the unsettling
atmosphere uphere derives directly from him. His energy sprouts
and festers until it makes you feel like you're trapped in a room
breathing in black smoke.
"Quiet, Connor," the man says from beside me, his tonelow
and full of warning.
I nearly roll myeyes. He lookslike a Connor.The frat boy that
hangs around unoccupied drinks and sneaks his phone under
girls' skirts to take pictures.
"Ladies, sorry for his rude behavior," my new friend says, his
smile not quite reaching his eyes. "That's my brother, Connor. The
twins, Landon and Luke. And then Max."
He points to each man respectively. Landon being the twin with
the manbun, and Luke the one with a nose ring. I train my gaze
on my companion with an expectant brow raised.
"And your name?"
"I'm Archibald Talaverra III. You can call me Arch."
"Sounds pretentious," I muse, smiling at the fact that he gave
me his full name.
Who actually introduces themselves to a stranger that way?
Archibald Talaverra, the third. Just call me your Royal Highn-ass.
His brother, Connor, laughs in response, seeming to agree.
Arch opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "I'm Addie. And this is
Daya," I introduce, pointing towards my best friend. She offers a
smile, but her stare is sharp and assessing. She's too keen and
intelligent to get sucked into danger like I tend to do.
"Nice to meet you, ladies," Max murmurs, his attention still
glued to Daya. Matter of fact, the twins have hardly looked away
from her since the moment she walked into the room, either.
Every bit of me wants to step in front of her and protect her
from the prying, feral eyes. But Daya can handle her own, so I stay beside her. Ready to attack if needed.
"Sit, please," Arch urges. There's plenty of room on the booth
but the two of us decide to sit on the end, closest to Max.
My phone buzzes as soon as my ass hits the soft leather.
Noticing that Daya has been immediately sucked into a
conversation with Max, and Arch is filling up a glass of expensive
bourbon, I sneak a peek at the text.
UNKNOWN: Sneaking off with random men, little mouse?
If I catch his hands anywhere near you, they'll end up in your mailbox by morning.
My heart stills in my chest. This is the first time he has actually
communicated with me outside of an ominous note.
My eyes snap up towards the balcony. No one can see us from
here. We're too far back from the railing. But yet, someone is clearly watching me.
But how?
And how the hell did he get my number? Scratch that, that was
a stupid question. He's a fucking stalker, for god's sake. Of course, he has my number.
Arch walks over and hands me a drink, a smile on his face. He thinks he's getting laid tonight.
Normally, he might have. But it looks like I might have tosave
his life instead and get the hell away from him.