He shakes his head, dropping down onto the sofa while exhaling. His knee jiggles from beneath his elbow as his head hangs between his shoulders. “You were right when you called me a liar.” His voice is smooth but thick like cognac. Easy enough to slide down your throat, but with the right amount of dosage, it could kill you.
“What do you mean?” I ask, kneeling in front of him and bringing my hand to his arms.
He looks up at me. “I do fuckin’ want you, P. I’ve wanted you since I was an adolescent child, and as sick as that sounds, I don’t give a fuck. I fucking want you.”
“I’m here,” I plead softly, needing him to wrap me in his arms and tell me everything is going to disappear or work out. Our lives will figure themselves out. Only I know that’s not going to happen. I know he’s not going to tell me that, because truthfully, I know this can’t happen.
My heart snaps in my chest. “I can’t lose you again, King.”
He hisses out a deep breath and leans back in his chair, flinging his hoodie over his head. The night is drifting in, darkening the inside. “I can’t fuckin’ share you, P. Ever. Even when you’re not mine officially, you’re still mine. That’s how it’s always going to be. I can’t fuckin’ function knowing you’re walking this earth, and it’s not me you’re walking it with. I can’t fuckin’ share you.”
“What?” I rear back. “What has that got to do with anything?”
He stands and searches through the cupboards. He takes out a clear bottle of Grey Goose, pouring some into a glass.
He turns, facing me and bringing it to his mouth, shooting it back. “The final act. We always have to participate. You really think I want other men salivating over you and seeing you in questionable positions, even if you’re just with me? It turns me into a feral fucking maniac just thinking of that.” I stand and walk toward him.
Toe to toe.
Converse to military.
My hand snakes around the back of his neck, and instead of his touch coaxing my pain, it only fuels my empty pit with easily digestible contents. “We can work through it.”
He pushes me away.
I snatch his face back to mine, my fingers around his cheek. “Fuck you if you give up on me again, King. Fuck. You.”
He laughs sarcastically. “You think me doing this is giving up on you, P? Quite the fucking opposite.”
“How so?”
The door slams open behind us, but neither of us turns to pay it any attention. Music pours through our empty silence. “How, King?”
He steps forward, leaning down until his lips touch mine.
I stop breathing.
“Because you get to live a life without me.” Then he walks out of the RV, leaving me breathless on the spot.
“Are you okay, Perse?” Saskia says, and I turn to face her.
She’s dressed in a tight crop top and skinny jeans, her makeup done to the nines, making her crazy blue eyes stand out. “Yes.” I exhale. “I have to be.” Though I’m angry. Like angry as fuck that I feel like we’ve done a complete one-eighty.
He wants me. I know he does. Not because he says the words, but because of the way the energy in the room crackles anytime we’re near. Like an explosion ready to collide. He’s ice and I’m fire, and every other element in-between doesn’t matter.
She hands me a drink, and I take it, sipping straight away. It tastes good. Like ginger ale only with vodka.
“Come. We’re all out in the middle. I think it’s called the pit?” Her perfect eyebrow is arched.
“Yes.” I chuckle, hooking my arm in hers. “Party pit.”
“So, how are you liking your first week with Mayhem?”
“To be honest, I’m not digging it.”
I laugh as we head out of The Brothers’ RV, making our way to where the loud music is coming from. A fire pit is blazing in the middle with people seated in a circle.
I drink the rest of the alcohol and then make Saskia tell me where I can get more.
She takes a seat of her own, away from the crowd. When Killian tries to sit next to her, she moves. I watch and laugh as Killian sits there confused.
“Yo!” He nudges me as I drink my second glass and make my third. “What’s her deal? How have I never been able to lay a girl?”
“You won’t lay that one,” I answer, studying Saskia as she sits on a rock, peacefully okay with being alone and watching the fire.
“But whyyyyyy?” he groans like a child.
“Ew.” I slap him. “Stop that right now and go one night without fucking someone.”
He drops his lip and I know it’s supposed to look ridiculous, but because it’s Kill, it only looks slightly adorable. I say “slightly” because he’s also annoying. Once I’ve drunk my third glass and filled my fourth, ignoring the laughter behind me, I take a seat between Maya and Rose.
“Hello, ladies!”
Rose rolls her eyes. “You throwing shade at me since you have new friends?”
I shove her playfully. “Shut up. I am not.”
Rose giggles, taking a sip of her drink. “Damn. I so can’t wait for Christmas at the Axtons’.”
I drink two more and steal Maya’s vodka bottle, taking swigs out of that. “Please don’t say that. It gives me anxiety.”
Maya snatches the bottle back. “I need this more than you.”
My eyes go up to what she’s looking at. Killian now talking with Callan.
“Oh God…”
Maya shrugs. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“What is up with you two anyway? I’m confused.”
She laughs, looking between my glass and me. “Because you’re drunk, or because of Killian and me?”
“Not sure.” I sink the rest of my drink. “Both, I think.”
“Well.” She exhales. “He and I have been best friends since we were babies. Inseparable, that’s us. Only we’re just friends. There was this one time when I was younger that we had sex. He wanted to be my first, and I wanted him to be my first, but after that, he shifted me back into the friendzone, and I him. He scares everyone off me, but I sit there and take him with everyone else.”
“Sounds like these boys have a pattern.”
Maya smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Kill doesn’t. He just doesn’t care.”
“Yo! Perse!” Keaton waves me over with his big, burly, inked, demonic arm. I notice a lot of things about Keaton, and one is that he talks to no one. I mean no one. Except for The Brothers and Delila. He sneers at everyone else. I’m thankful I have never seen his feral side, because he’s scary enough to look at, and that five o’clock shadow is not helping.
“Yes, brother dearest.” I drop down beside him.
He shakes his head. “Wanna sing?”
My eyes go up to King, who’s sitting in a chair opposite us with his hoodie drawn. He has a bottle of whiskey dangling between his fingers, his dead eyes drawing all of the energy out of the room and throwing it into my chest.
“Sure!’ I answer recklessly.
He starts singing the opening to Billie Eilish’s “Ocean Eyes.” It throws me off because I wish he would have played something else, something with him singing too, not just me alone. I sing through the lyrics anyway, and when the chorus hits, I can’t help but find my eyes on King.