SYNOPSIS

He’s dangerous. He’s violent. He’s everything I should stay away from.

Viks stormed into my life and he wrecked it.

I know bad men. I know what they think. I know how they act. So trust me when I say, that of all the bad men in Eastpoint, I know Viks is the worst of them all.

I tried to be good. I tried to stay away. He kept pulling me back in.

Once a wicked man, always a wicked man.

FORBIDDEN DEVIANT GAMES

A SICK BOYS PREQUEL

LUCY SMOKE

Copyright © 2022 by LUCY SMOKE LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Original cover design by Dee Garcia

Alternate cover design by Quirah Casey

Editing by Heather Long and Kristen Breanne

Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

1.  Haley

2.  Viks

3.  Haley

4.  Viks

5.  Viks

6.  Haley

7.  Haley

8.  Viks

9.  Haley

10.  Haley

11.  Haley

12.  Viks

13.  Haley

14.  Haley

15.  Viks

16.  Haley

17.  Haley

18.  Haley

19.  Viks

20.  Haley

21.  Haley

22.  Viks

23.  Haley

24.  Viks

Epilogue

Untitled

About the Author

Also by LUCY SMOKE

“In the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.”

― Stephen King

1

HALEY

MITCHELL VIKSON IS A FUCKING DICK.

No, seriously. He is the dickhead to rival all fucking dickheads—and here in Eastpoint, there are a lot of them. I’ve met my share of assholes, but there’s just something about this one that rises above the rest. Maybe it’s the massive, planet-sized ego he carts around. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s got connections in low as well as high places, and he knows exactly how to use them. Whatever the case, he—above the rest of these assholes—is the one who really grates on my nerves.

“Table seventy-five, Hales,” Veronica, Club Outsider’s main bartender, says as she passes me on her way to make yet another load of drinks for the already obnoxiously drunk rich kids piled around her bar top. “He’s asking for you again.”

Of course he is. I curse my fucking luck. Because he knows just how much I can’t fucking stand him. I grind my teeth as I reach across the bar and snag a new tray and round the edge of the counter, heading for the back hall leading up to the second and third floors.

Halfway through the room, I feel someone bump against my back and a hand grabs my ass. I stiffen, biting down on my lower lip hard enough that I taste blood, but there’s no use. The hand leaves just as quickly as it landed. It might have been easier if Viks was like that—a drunken groper. At least, then I could brush him off as a spoiled, entitled rich kid like the rest of the regulars. Even if Viks was the typical sexual harasser, I wouldn’t even be able to report him. Because of all the people in this place to hate, I hate the worst of them all. The boss’s right-hand man.

I take the stairs up to the next floor two at a time, hoping that the sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can just clock out and be done with this place for the night. I pause just before I round the second-floor lounge, and suck in a breath. I paste on an entirely false smile—the kind I’ve spent time in front of the mirror perfecting—and straighten my back.

Table seventy-five—Viks’ preferred throne—isn’t really a table at all, but a long lounge couch with small round stands on either side for drinks to be set. It rests up against the railing that looks out into the rest of the club and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he chooses this place each time because it’s the best spot in the club to look down on everyone else. He’s like a hawk sitting up in his nest watching the peons below.

When I enter, his attention shifts, and my fake smile grows tighter. There’s only so much in my reserves for the customer service facade and he burns through it all in seconds. Electricity races through me. I ignore it.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I say, laying out napkins on each surface where a man rests around the lounge. “What can I get everyone to drink tonight?”

“Are you on the menu?” one man asks with a grin.

Mentally, I make a tally—I think it’s the … third time someone’s asked me that exact question tonight. No? Maybe the fourth. I scribble through the imaginary wall in my mind and make another mark. I doubt it’ll be the last time.

“We’ve got several domestics on tap tonight,” I say instead of answering the annoying question. “Cocktails as per usual and the specials.”

“Captain.” Viks’ deep, rumbling voice slides over my nerves, reigniting that electricity I thought I’d shut down. I shoot a look his way and lose all hint of a smile when I catch him eyeing me up and down with a smirk. Prick.

“Bud.”

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

“Water.”

I jot down the rest of the orders and nod before turning tail and heading back to the first floor. The entire way, the heat of his gunmetal gray eyes sears my ass. It’s just not fucking fair, this attraction I have to the man. Something in my stupid, girly lizard brain just sees him and immediately knows … he would absolutely wreck us. Sexually, that’s hot.

Otherwise, however … I’ve got better things to do than get involved with legal gangsters. And regardless of his suits and job, that’s exactly what he is. A modern-day gangster with everything seemingly aboveboard. I have no doubt, though, that just a little bit of digging and someone would be able to unearth a whole hell of a lot of dirt in his past and businesses.

I storm down the stairs and head back to the bar, punching in the order before I bustle around the counter and start putting it together myself when I spot Veronica down at the opposite end filling what has to be yet another long shot order from the sorority girls giggling in front of the taps. I roll my eyes as I tip up the bottle of whiskey and pour it into a glass of ice as I let my mind wander.

He’s never outright said it, but Viks loves to fucking torture me. He has to know just how much I don’t like him. It’s not like I hide it well. I should probably chalk up my extreme aversion to him to the attraction I don’t want to feel. He’s just like every single one of the assholes here tonight—rich, entitled, and power hungry. He irritates me, and he’s well aware of the fact, enough that he always asks for me as his waitress.

Maybe if Mitchell Vikson was anyone else, I’d give in one of these days. One good fuck would get him out of my system. Right? It would have to. Hot guys always lose a little bit of their shine when you fuck them. They’re either so fucking good in bed that they know it and they let you know in no uncertain terms that all they’re looking for is a warm body to share it with, or they’re shitty and well … that speaks for itself.

Something tells me Viks would not be a shitty lay. In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, he’d probably rock my world. That, too, is dangerous and something I should not try to figure out for myself.

Despite his cut jaw and the expensive clothes, he looks more like he belongs in a Motorcycle Club than working for a notorious billionaire.

I finish filling the order, stack the drinks onto my tray, and head up to the second floor. Masculine voices dwindle into silence as I round the corner. My lips press together. I’m not curious about what they were talking about. In fact, it should say something that they recognize me as an actual human with eyes and ears rather than a wall ornament—enough that they shut their mouths when I enter. Still, it’s unnerving to deliver drinks in near deafening silence with nothing more than the deep bass of the music on the first floor to fill the space.

“Thank you, Haley.” A shiver skates down my spine as Viks says my name. I lift my gaze and meet his head on.

The years of serving, thankfully, don’t fail me. “Is there anything else I can get you?” I say as if on autopilot.

The corner of his mouth tips up into a half smile and he shakes his head. “Unless you’re offering yourself tonight, darling,” he says, “that’ll be all.”

Dick sucking motherfucker! Heat blossoms over my cheeks as the other men laugh at Viks’ comment. You can’t hit him, Haley, I remind myself. You need this fucking job. The scholarship only covers so much.

“I’ll be back to check on you later,” I say through gritted teeth, slamming the last drink—his, of course—down with more force than necessary. Before I can think better of it, my lips are parting, and my last remark shoots out. “But for your information, there’s not a chance in hell I’d ever offer myself to you, Mr. Vikson. Have a good night.”

With that, I turn and practically sprint for the stairs again.

2

VIKS

I CHUCKLE as Haley Montgomery hightails herself right out of Club Outsider’s private lounge after that statement. She doesn’t know it, because if she did, then she’d surely do everything in her power to stop, but when she walks—that round ass of hers sways back and forth. It’s almost hypnotic. It makes a man think of only dirty things—like how to get her to bend over and spread those cheeks so he can sink inside the sweet place between her thighs.

“Feisty one, isn’t she?” Cain Devereux comments as he lifts his whiskey to his lips and swallows a mouthful.

My amusement disperses in a heartbeat as I cut a look his way. “She’s a waitress, Cain,” I reply. “One under my boss’ employ. I recommend keeping your hands to yourself.”

Cain eyes me with what can only be barely repressed amusement. “Perhaps,” he agrees, “but there ain’t nothing saying I can’t look my fill, is there?”

A growl works its way up my throat and it takes all of my willpower to suppress it. Instead of answering, I turn to the rest of the men that have gathered here tonight. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” I state. “What do you know about the new drug on the street?”

“Haze?” Cain sips his whiskey and shakes his head. “Awful stuff. Addictive as shit. I’ve lost quite of few of my own employees to the garbage.” And that’s what separates Cain Devereux from my own boss, Nicholas Carter. While the majority of trust fund kids who grew up to be shockingly not stupid enough to lose their fortune and instead make mountains more of it, Carter is one of the few who raises people like me from the gutter and into the realm of the elite.

Across from me, Andrei, one of Carter’s street watchers, nods. “I’ve gotten my hands on it before,” he says, looking my way. “Not tried it myself, but I know how Mr. Carter likes to be kept up to date on everything new in the area.” I nod, letting him know it’s okay to keep going.

“The dealers are all over and they’re constantly changing,” he continues. “They start off cheap, practically handing the shit out for free and once their clients are hooked, they’re raking in the money. Shit goes for several hundred for a mere gram.”

I curse. That can only mean that the shit is more than addictive. It’s positively fucking enslaving. This is not good.

“What contingencies do we have?” I demand.

A shadow shifts and I look up, meeting the gaze of Troy Rodriguez. He shakes his head. “This is the contingency,” he says.

Fuck. I suck in a breath, lean against the back of the lounge, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m meeting with Carter tomorrow,” I tell them. “I’ll figure out what he wants to do.”

“Viks.” I look back to Troy as he steps forward and drops into his own seat, setting his water down and crossing his arms. “You already know what he’s going to say. He’ll want this taken care of.” I arch a brow, but the next words out of his mouth explain his words. “It’s reached Eastpoint.”

Shock rockets through me. “The campus?” Troy nods.

I grit my teeth at this news, but with how popular Haze has been on the market right now it … it shouldn’t be a surprise. My attention returns to the dance floor below. The cascade of red and white lights that scan across the floor coupled with the various writhing bodies practically turns the scene into the opening of a porno. Young women barely out of their adolescence dressed in thin, sometimes see through dresses and men with too much money and recklessness party their hearts out. None of them knowing what lurks in the shadows that surround them.

Of course the shit has made its way to Eastpoint. That’s the next stop to its real goal—the world. Once these kids get hooked on something like Haze, they’ll take it with them wherever they go and they go every-fucking-where. Paris. Milan. Tokyo. New York. Los Angeles. Haze has its foothold and if it doesn’t get cut off here, it’ll be everywhere before we know it.

“The next school break is coming up,” I muse aloud. “They’re leaving.”

“They’ll take it with them.” Cain’s words mirror my thoughts.

“I’ll meet with Nicholas,” I finally decide. “But as far as you’re concerned, Haze is banned until further notice.”

Cain nods and finishes his glass as he stands. He rebuttons his suit coat. “I’ll make sure my clubs are informed,” he says. “I wish you and Carter luck in catching the distributer.”

I scoff. “You could catch him yourself, you know.”

“Now, why would I do a fool thing like that when I know you’ll take care of it for me?” he says sardonically even as he smiles and steps up to the ledge, locking his hand over the railing as he looks down. My gaze follows his, across the dance floor and to the bar until my whole body stiffens at the sight below. Haley. Her Club Outsider tank top is cut high enough that standing in front of her, it seems appropriate. But from up here, in the nest, I can see straight down into all of the creamy flesh of her tits.

I turn Cain’s way, but the fucker is already looking at me with a knowing smirk. “Keep your eyes on the prize, Viks,” he says. “And maybe, someday, it’ll all be yours.”

The dipshit doesn’t even give me the opportunity to form a reply. He releases the railing, nods to the others, and disappears down the staircase. Andrei and Troy both follow soon after, and I’m left in the relative quiet silence of the lounge, my thoughts returning once more to a fiery brunette with a mouth made for sin.

I’m so fucked and I already know it.

THE MORNING COMES with a hell of a lot of coffee. Straight black so that the bitterness wakes my ass up as I drive from downtown Eastpoint to the outer corners where my boss lives.

Some say the rich have a higher value of themselves than other people. It wasn’t until I met Nicholas Carter that I realized that, regardless of whether or not a man is born with money, true wealth comes from their own actions. And Nicholas Carter is a man of only action.

I park my truck in front of one of the half dozen garage doors, looking up at the massive estate. With its pillars and white semi-Venetian accents, it looks like it belongs in a European city rather than the American countryside. Many of the lavishly wealthy flock to the cities, pouring into already made settlements with their money and their hope of being paid attention to.

Not Eastpoint royalty, though. No. Men like Nicholas Carter and their forefathers preferred their own kingdoms. Eastpoint, though small, is set with wealth and opulence. And while the parents of the children that flock here remain in their far away foreign homes and expensive penthouses in larger metropolitan areas, everyone wants a piece of this place. A connection to the men who built their own legacy.

At the far side of the driveway’s end, at the metal hoop hanging over the top of the last door, a familiar boy bounces an orange and black basketball once, twice, three times before he rears back and shoots for the basket.

“Viks!”

I raise my hand and wave as I exit the vehicle, stopping as he snatches the ball out of the air and makes his way towards me.

An easy smile comes to my face as I greet Nicholas’ son. I wait until he gets close, letting my body remain loose and relaxed until he’s no more than a foot away. Only then do I attack. Locking my arm around the boy’s neck, the basketball drops to the ground and Dean shoves back, reaching up and trying to break the hold. I chuckle and turn, easily evading his grasp even as my arm tightens and he curses.

“Fuck! Viks!”

“Your daddy know you got a mouth like that?” I ask, teasingly.

“Fuck you, man!”

“Hmmmm.” I hum in the back of my throat. “What’s Troy been teaching you, huh?” I ask. “You can’t even slip a simple grab like this?”

His hands lock on my wrist and he twists until I wince and release him. Panting, sweaty, and a little red-faced, Dean Carter glares at me for a moment before he rubs a hand over the dark crop of hair at the top of his head and blows out a breath.

“Abel and Brax were gonna meet me out here in a bit,” he says. “You staying?”

I shake my head. “Just here for work, little man,” I reply, stepping past him and reaching up to knuckle the top of his head. He comes up just past my shoulder now, and within the next year or two, he’ll be even taller than me. I let him go and head for the front door. “Keep up with your training, though. Seems like you need it. Next year’s the orientation, don’t forget that.”

Dean curses and snatches up the basketball that rolls towards the edge of the pavement. “You be careful, Viks,” he calls after me. “One of these days, it’ll be me kicking your ass.”

“In your dreams, little man,” I say with a laugh.

I let myself into the Carter mansion and hang a right to the stairs there. I take them two at a time until I reach the second-floor landing and follow the familiar pattern of hallways until I come to Nicholas Carter’s personal at home office.

I knock once and wait until I hear a response from inside before pushing the door inward and stepping into the dark room. Across from the entryway, the two windows that back the boss’s desk are covered in long thick drapes letting very little natural lighting in. The whole place feels stuffy and somber, but I can understand his reluctance to let the light in. He can never be too sure that someone isn’t watching. Even here in what is supposed to be his safe space, Nicholas Carter is still a man with many secrets and many worries.

“What’s the status?”

I straighten before him, letting go of my own thoughts as I recount the night before, giving him every detail of the conversation I had with Andrei, Cain, and Troy. He pauses and lifts his head from the documents he’s got spread out before him. I know before he speaks what he’s going to say.

“I don’t like this situation,” he states. “It’s par for the course in college, I understand. Things like alcohol, marijuana, even a few prescriptions so long as they don’t get out of hand, but Haze is not something I want in this city. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Someone is doing this on purpose,” he states.

I frown. “Dealing Haze on Eastpoint’s campus?” I clarify.

He sits back, steepling his fingers against his chest as his eyes stare down at his desk in contemplation. “Yes,” he answers. “From what we know, Haze is highly addictive. I’ve had my inside guy at Eastpoint Police keep a watch out and he just sent me some rather disturbing news on this.”

“About the drug?” I reply. “Have there been deaths?”

“Three.” A curse threatens to spill out of my throat at that. I scrub a hand down my face. Nicholas’ attention returns to me. “I want it gone, Viks. I want Haze off my fucking streets and out of my fucking city. I don’t care what you have to do to make it happen, but this is your top priority. Forget the club for now; I’ll have Andrei take it over for the time being. I want the entirety of your attention on this.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Track whoever is selling on my fucking turf, Viks.” Nicholas stands and reaches down, clenching his fist into a few of the documents laying there. The sound of tearing paper is like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room. “And get rid of them.”

There’s no way to misinterpret his meaning. My chest swells with acknowledgment. Death is coming to Eastpoint and this time, I’m the dealer.

3

HALEY

“COME ON, HALEY. JUST ONE DATE?”

I throw my head back and look skyward even as I shove Josh to the side and keep walking.

“I said no,” I repeat for what has to be the millionth time.

Josh jogs to catch up with me as my legs eat up the distance between me and the next classroom building. I check my phone and curse. I’m already going to be late for class and I really don’t have time to deal with him today.

“I just don’t understand why you keep saying that, though,” Josh continues. “Am I ugly?”

I roll my eyes. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but surprisingly this is the first time Josh has tried the ‘pity me’ route. “You don’t have to be ugly for me not to be interested, Josh,” I tell him blandly as I side step a bicycle flying down the campus walkway and keep going. Josh barely manages to dodge it himself as he trails after me, hurrying to meet my stride once more.

“Then give me a reason,” he pleads. “Just one date—”

“No!” I groan as my shoe catches on a crack in the sidewalk and I stumble, going down hard on my knees and spilling the contents of my bag all over the place. “Shit.” I shake my head and hurriedly start grabbing items, stuffing them back into my messenger bag as quickly as my hands can move.

I’m fucking tired from the doubles I pulled at the club over the weekend and in no mood for Josh’s new round of ‘ask Haley out’ questions. Josh stands over me, flittering around me in a circle as he continues talking. It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t offer to help, much less bother to get on his knees next to me as I continue to clean up my mess.

“I’m a nice guy, Haley,” Josh says. “You know I’d never treat you poorly.”

Why won’t I go on a date with him? Things like this. We’re not even dating and he can’t bother to do nice shit unless he gets something out of it. Yeah, he’s such a nice guy. The fucking captain of team nice.

I finish cleaning up my class materials, including my expensive paint brushes, and stand, marching forward and ignoring his continued pleading. Just once, I wish he’d lock on someone else. Someone who might actually give him a chance because that person will never be me.

I round the corner and spot my building halfway down the sidewalk, but unfortunately—and rather surprisingly—I spot something else familiar not far from it. The bane of my fucking existence and part of the reason why I’m so fucking stressed and exhausted.

Mitchell fucking Vikson.

He’s in one of those hundred-dollar suits, sans jacket, as he walks down the sidewalk with a few men dressed similarly—administrators, I assume. Despite the fact that I know I need to hurry up and get to class, I find myself lingering on the sidewalk, watching him. Curious.

It’s odd to see him like this. I’m so used to seeing him in the club’s setting with his sleeves rolled up and his collar undone, sporting all of the ink I know lays beyond the fabric that covers him. I’ve always wondered if that ink went all the way down. Even dipping into his pants. I bet he’s got a few pieces below the belt, but the only way to truly be sure, of course, is to see him naked. I shake my head as my face flames.

Holy shit, was I just thinking of Viks naked? Oh, no no no no. That is such a big fucking no.

“Haley?” Josh’s voice brings me back to reality and I jerk around to face him. “Are you okay? Your cheeks are flushed?” He steps up to me and presses a hand to my forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”

I wave him away, pushing his hand back. “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have to get to class?”

“Oh, shit,” he jerks into action and starts running. I watch him go, relieved, but of course that’s not the last of him. He turns back and calls over his shoulder. “Don’t think this is the last you’ll see of me, Haley!” he yells. “I’ll make it happen. I swear!”

Horror strikes me as every head in the vicinity turns towards me, including the one I really wanted to avoid. When I turn back to my building, my head lifts back to where Viks had been walking and our eyes lock.

Fuck.

I quickly duck into the building, hurrying into the double doors and towards my next class. I make it in time, though just barely skating in before the classroom door slams in my face.

Professor Wilkes stares me down as I skid past him and the door, but I ignore it in favor of grabbing my canvas from the ones stacked against the wall and hurrying towards the only open easel left in the room. Of course, it’s the one with the worst line of sight to what we’re supposed to be working on today, a bowl of fruit.

I blow out a breath as I set my stuff down, catching my friend Alyssa’s gaze from across the room as I do so. She raises her brows and I shake my head. I know she wants to know why I was late, but it’ll have to wait ‘til later.

Professor Wilkes launches into the beginning of his lesson, explaining the difference between types of paintings as we ready our easels and prep our materials. I’ve become so used to his rather bland method of teaching that I find myself tuning out his voice as the class gets to work.

Instead of paying attention to the words of my instructor, my mind shifts and focuses on the man I’d nearly had a run-in with right before class. I can’t say what it is about Mitchell Vikson. He is not a man that I should think about. Technically, he’s my boss. He’s the reason I had to work overtime this weekend, and the reason why I got virtually no sleep between shifts as I prepped for my upcoming showcase.

I swipe white paint around the edges of my canvas, touching up where I’d left off last time and layering it out in soft even strokes. Bits of the paint fleck out and splatter against my hands, but I don’t mind. I’ve never really been able to get all of the paint out of my skin, hair, and clothes since I started doing this—but the fact that I’m able to actually be here, learning the master’s craft of art is amazing.

Another reason why I could never date Josh is because of something like this. Unlike me, who relies on the goodwill of scholarships to attend a place like Eastpoint University, Josh’s money comes from a long family history of wealth and influence. We come from two separate worlds. So, for that matter, do Viks and I.

My strokes become harsher. Despite Professor Wilkes’ boring lectures as we paint, at least he’s not a stickler for style. This class isn’t about realism, it’s about the abstract. He gives us boring, plain points of visuals—the bowl of fruit for example—but the end result of our art is all our own.

My paint brush pulls across the canvas, spreading a reddish orange color across the blank area, forming the bowl. The bowl, however, takes on a new shape—the shape of a lower eyelid. And the fruit suddenly becomes a reflection in the giant iris of a long-lashed eye.

While in reality, the bowl of fruit sitting no more than ten feet away from me reflects a perfect apple, banana, orange, and pile of grapes—in my painting, it becomes withered and old. The apple is a carcass of its former self. The orange is rotted and peeling. The banana is nothing more than brown slush and the grapes have all been picked clean. Around the eye, I paint a mirror—a reflection within a reflection, delving deeper and deeper—forgetting where I am, who I am, what I am as I fall into the idea that seems to stem from nothingness in the back of my subconscious. The part of the woman’s face that is shown inside the painting goes from youthful to old as I begin to crease her skin with lines, adding gray to her lashes and spots to her brow.

Everything is dying. From the fruit to the woman. I add cracks in the mirror surrounding her. Swiping a mixture of gray and white over certain areas to give a worn feeling. What started as new and beautiful has become death incarnate.

Professor Wilkes slaps down a stack of books on his desk, jerking me from my reverie, and I lift my head to realize that everyone is packing up their things. My eyes snap to the single clock hanging above the door. Class has ended.

“Please put your pieces back on the drying wall,” Professor Wilkes commands from across the room. “Make sure to leave your signature. Any unsigned artwork will be discarded and ungraded. I’ll be checking your work later this week. You can expect a response and analysis in your emails by next Friday.”

I hurry to clean up my workstation, wiping down my paintbrushes and rushing over to the sinks to clean them before shoving them back in my bag. I ignore the flecks of paint that dot my hands and arms and clothes—I never wear my good clothes to art class anyway. Halfway through my clean up, Alyssa makes her way over to me and stands to the side, staring at my piece as I rush to grab the rest of my things.

“This is dark,” she comments lightly, looking back at me as I reach for it, holding it up with gentle fingers as I carry it over to the drying wall.

“I just did what came to mind,” I say offhand. “It’s probably not going to get a good grade. It’s not very abstract.”

“Yeah, most people used the fruit colors, you kinda … went off.”

I shrug. “Art isn’t about what it is or what it isn’t. It just … exists.” And I’ve never really been able to follow direction when it comes to painting. I’ve tried—on more than one occasion—but when I put brush to canvas, what comes out is something I never have any control over.

Alyssa hums under her breath and then shrugs as she, too, picks up her bag and follows me out into the hallway. “Why were you almost late, anyway?” she inquires as we pause at the top of the stairs, letting a few of the freshmen take a place in front of us on the way down.

I groan. “Josh.”

She shoots me a raised brow. “Again? Man, that boy does not let up. Why would a rich prick like him even want to date one of the plebeians in Havers anyway?”

I snort, unoffended. After all, she’s one of those same plebeians. Probably the whole reason why we get along so well as roommates too. “Beats me,” I admit. “At first I thought it was because he thought I was easy, but that’s obviously not the case.”

“Rejecting him must have hurt his pride,” she says. “He probably won’t stop until you finally give in and as soon as you do, his interest will wither and die.”

Just like the image in my painting, I think absently. She’s probably right. I could just say yes so he can get over it sooner, but the mere thought of giving Joshua Dupont a hint of hope sits in my chest like a ball of mucus. It makes me feel icky. I shiver and shake my head.

As we exit the building, my thoughts turn back to Viks and my earlier questions arise once more. What was he doing on Eastpoint’s campus? I know that Club Outsider is owned by one of the board of directors of Eastpoint, but I was under the assumption that it was just one of the many businesses of a man like Nicholas Carter who runs a multi-million dollar, if not multi-billion-dollar, conglomerate.

“Uh … Hales?” I pause and look up at Alyssa as she draws to a stop after calling my name, but her attention is elsewhere. I follow her gaze and just as if my thoughts have conjured the man, Viks is there—his eyes locked on me as he walks straight towards us.

I blow out a breath. “Go ahead and head back to the dorm,” I say. “I’ll deal with him.”

“You sure?” I love her for her loyalty, I really do, but Alyssa has no reason to stick around when it comes to my boss.

“Yeah,” I assure her. “I’m sure he probably just wants to ask about shift changes or something. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay…” she agrees, though her tone lets me know she is less than convinced. Thankfully, however, she heads off, tossing a look back as she crosses the street and heads back towards the direction of Havers.

I suck in a breath and turn to face my doom. Watching him stride towards me meaningfully has all manner of thoughts sticking to my brain—such as the way his legs eat up the distance. Or the way his button-down shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his chest. My eyes attach themselves to the dark shadows of inked imagery peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Maybe that’s what I find so attractive about him, I think. The man’s practically a walking piece of art, and art, after all, is practically my life.

I’m addicted—pure and hardcore. Art is my drug. It would be all too easy to switch my addiction to a man like Viks.

“Haley.” The way he says my name as he approaches, stopping just before me, sends chills down my spine, and I’m proud of the way my back straightens and I tip my chin up leisurely as if I feel nothing other than obligation to respond to him. Not sexual attraction. Not fierce, intense need. Nothing. It’s a lie—to myself and to him, hopefully.

“Mr. Vikson.”

He smirks. “Mitchell, Haley,” he replies. “I’m hardly much older than you.”

“Fine.” I lick my lips. “What can I do for you…” I can’t bring myself to say his name. It’s too intimate. Too personal. I chicken out and end up with, “Viks?”

He snorts but doesn’t comment as he pushes his hands into his suit pants, drawing the material tight over his hard thighs. I swallow reflexively. “Have you had lunch?” he inquires.

My brain short circuits. “W-what?”

“Lunch,” he repeats. “I’m asking if you’ve eaten yet today.”

I want to lie. I really do, but when he stares down at me like that with those deep, probing eyes, I almost wonder if he’s already caught onto me. “No,” I finally say, “I haven’t.”

“Wonderful,” he says, gesturing back to the parking lot behind us. “I’d like for you to join me. My car’s just—”

“I don’t think I should,” I interrupt him, looking away. “It’s not—”

“Haley,” he cuts me off and my attention returns to his face at the hardness in his tone, “it wasn’t a request.” My heartbeat rises to the command in his tone and I take a step back. "Don’t.” That single word is a warning and hidden within it is a whole breadth of meaning—meaning that I haven’t yet unraveled. “I have something very important I need to ask you,” he says. “I understand you don’t like me, but I do ask that you come with me. I will use my status as your boss if I have to.”

Of course he would. I grit my teeth and stomp forward, pushing past him. “If that’s the case,” I snap as I go, heading towards the parking lot, “I’d prefer it if you just start out with your demands rather than trying to play the gentleman.”

Mitchell Vikson is the type of man who will use every weapon in his arsenal. I don’t know why I ever expected any different.

4

VIKS

SOME WOMEN ARE EASILY OVERLOOKED. Some attract attention wherever they go. And some … some are sneaky. You don’t realize they’ve captured you until you find yourself doing anything and everything to be in their presence, to make them notice you. Even if it means you’re annoying the hell out of them to the point that they can’t withhold their hatred of you. Doesn’t fucking matter—you’re still on their mind and you’ll take what you can get.

I should have noticed long ago that Haley Montgomery was the last type of woman, and I’ve done exactly that. Maybe it was unintentional at first, but now it’s my one source of pure, unadulterated amusement. Winding her up and watching her go. Clearly, I’ve made her hate me. It’s obvious in the way she keeps herself to the other side of my truck, practically plastering her body against the passenger side door as far away from me as physically possible without actually launching her body from the speeding vehicle. I’m not wholly unconvinced, either, that she won’t do exactly that if I do or say something to push her over the edge. She strikes me as the reckless type and that, too, is attractive.

“No need to be frightened, Haley,” I say, resisting the urge to smile at her antics. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m fine,” she lies, and I force myself not to chuckle at the obvious deception. She’s not very good at hiding her emotions; that’s for sure, and in my world, where no one ever says what they actually mean, it’s refreshing. She’s an honest diamond, shining like a star in the sea of muck and garbage. But her trying to escape me only makes me want to pull this truck over, lock the doors, drag her onto my lap, and…

“You’d be much more comfortable if you adjusted yourself and actually sat on the seat rather than the door handle,” I comment lightly, distracting myself from my own unnecessary thoughts.

She shoots me a dark glare before shifting over ever so slightly. “What's this about, anyway?” she asks. “Why did you have to drag me away from my classes for lunch?”

I roll my eyes. Does she truly think I wouldn’t have checked up on her schedule before I asked her out? I’m not so inconsiderate. “You didn’t have any more classes today,” I tell her factually. “And you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’d rather know now,” she shoots back, wielding her rebellious attitude like a sword directed at me. While other waitresses at Club Outsider practically run the second I step through the door, she was the first to ever look me in the eye and challenge me. It’s why I’ve requested her each and every time I come—that and knowing the fact that I drive her crazy. I do so love to see the wild expressions of irritation flit across her beautiful face and know that she’ll be cursing at me for the rest of the night. Cursing or not, at least she’s thinking about me. That’s fucked up and I know it. I just can’t help it, and I’m not sure I want to.

I steer the vehicle through Eastpoint traffic until we make it to a restaurant off the main strip. Her eyes widen at the name hanging above the door as I stop in front of the valet stand and step out. I round the SUV, putting a hand up and glaring at the young man who approaches to open her door. He winces and steps back as I reach for it, popping it open and holding my hand out to help her down from the jacked-up seats.

She frowns at me and ignores my hand as she reaches up, grabbing onto the handle above the door and swinging down all on her own. When she means to take her bag with her, I grab it—pulling it from her shoulder and toss it back into the front seat. "Leave it,” I order. “You won’t need it.”

Her lips part, but I turn and start walking towards the front doors of the restaurant, tossing my keys to the valet as I go. It gives her no time to argue and little chance to get away as well. She has no other option but to follow me. After all, even she has to realize that the valet won’t give those keys to anyone else but me if he knows what’s good for him.

She trails me, cursing me under her breath in what I’m sure she thinks is a whisper—but what she doesn’t know is I have incredibly good hearing. I’m keeping track of each word and each insult. As amusing as it is, her irritation with me only serves to make wicked dark thoughts dance through my head—Haley on her knees, my cock between her lips. Haley on my lap, bouncing up and down on me as her breasts scrape my chest. My dick practically punches at my zipper, demanding we do something to make these daydreams come true. I ignore the bastard and focus on the task at hand.

The hostess greets us at the front stand, smiling brightly as she holds up two menus and leads us back. “A private table,” I say when she pauses in front of a booth at the center of the building.

She flushes and nods, quickly scooting past it as she leads us down another aisle of tables towards one that’s as far from the front and the other patrons as possible. I nod in acknowledgement and turn to the side as Haley comes up behind me.

“Sit,” I order.

She glares at me but follows the command regardless. The hostess lays out the menus and disappears back to the front, giving us some much-needed privacy. As soon as she’s out of sight and earshot, Haley launches into her tirade.

“Do you do this to everyone?” she demands. “Just kidnap them from their daily routines and order them around like your servants?”

I lift my menu with a smirk and arch a brow at her. “Do you speak like this to all of your bosses?” I ask in lieu of an answer.

“Only the ones who drag me away from my life and go out of their way to frustrate me,” she admits as she snaps open her own menu. “Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not at the club. You have no jurisdiction here. You’re only my boss when I’m in uniform or at Club Outsider.”

Her pretty blue eyes spark with irritation. I can’t say why that amuses me the way that it does, but her anger makes me think of passion and passion makes me think of … other, more sensual things. Things I should really have no right to think about a young woman who has no business stepping into my world. Yet, here I am—taking her out to lunch with the excuse of asking her questions regarding the drug going around both the club circuit and campus.

There’s a reason it has to be her, of course. Haley Montgomery is one of the few scholarship students given the privilege of attending an elite university such as Eastpoint. Though her major may be in the fine arts department, her talent one of beauty and creation and not of suspicion and truth seeking, she’s intelligent. In fact, according to her test results and her file, she’s got a photographic memory. She’s also connected to both places this dealer I’m seeking has been. If she’s seen or heard something that could connect, I need to know about it.

Haley turns her gaze downward when I don’t respond to her comment, the corner of her mouth tilting up as if she thinks she’s won whatever non-argument we were having. I can’t stop myself from watching her too. The way her eyes flit up and down the menu, scanning. I know what she’s looking for and it’s even more amusing to know she won’t find it. Her lips pinch when she inevitably realizes there are no prices.

“Order whatever you want,” I say, reading her facial expressions more than her mind. “Take it as compensation for answering my questions.”

Her eyes lift once more and meet mine. “Do you take all of the people you plan to interrogate to fancy restaurants?” she inquires.

My lips twitch on their own accord. “I figured it’d be better to sweeten you up since you’re usually so sour to me, sweetheart.”

Her lips clamp shut and she turns her gaze downward once more. Our waitress appears, setting out glasses of water before she takes our order. Once we’re alone again, Haley reaches for her water and sucks back half the glass before pushing it to the center of the table and crossing her arms over her ample chest. I have to force my gaze to remain steady on her face.

“Alright,” she begins, “what’s this about?”

“I have some important questions I need to ask you,” I inform her. “About the patrons at the club and anyone that you’ve also seen on campus.”

She frowns. “Okay…”

I withdraw my cell and pull up a list of dates that I typed out earlier after my second meeting with Cain and Andrei. Though Andrei is Nicholas’ street man, he also holds a powerful position within Eastpoint. Cain, as part of the board of directors, had asked to be involved with the meeting as well. I have a starting point of dates where major events involving the new drug, Haze, have occurred and my plan is to find a correlation with exchanges around then.

“I need you to think back,” I state as I set the phone down on the table and slide it towards her. “To these dates. Do you recall anyone who was at Club Outsider on each of those date?”

“There were a lot of people in the club on these dates,” she says as she scans the list.

“There might have been one or two people who were at the Club each time,” I clarify.

She considers that, her eyes staring down at the dates on the screen for several long moments. As she thinks back, I watch her. Her nose scrunches in concentration and her lashes flutter as her eyes move back and forth over the list. Objectively, she’s not the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. While she has big, wide eyes and full cheeks that are attractive—she’s got small cosmetic flaws that reflect a life that hasn’t been lived with ease.

There are small scars across her knuckles, likely from working with various art tools—I know that part of her instruction includes working with sculpting. Her freckles are light and scattered across the bridge of her nose and as I peruse them, I note a small mole just under one eye—barely perceptible but still there nonetheless. They’re nothing that might detract from her beauty, but had she been born as one of the elite they would’ve been removed by her parents as early as infancy. There is a certain status and look those of the upper echelon require from their offspring. It’s the type of appearance control that doesn’t lead to the same uniqueness that people like Haley Montgomery have. To me, however, her lack of perfection is beautiful. It is who she is.

“I can’t tell you names,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts, “but a few regulars come to mind.”

“Would you be able to pick them out of a crowd?” I ask, reaching for the phone as she nods.

I flick through the applications on my screen until I come across the club’s security footage. I click on it and scroll back to the list of dates and timestamps, thankful that I had my IT guy pull some stills of suspicious persons from the club on the same dates. I open the file and hand the phone back to her.

“Go through those,” I say. “And tell me if you see who you’re thinking of.”

Haley begins scanning the images on the screen, swiping quickly through them as the waitress returns, setting down our meals, refilling our glasses, and disappearing once more. Money might come with its own set of problems, but I will admit the ability to afford privacy is a perk I never experienced in my past.

It feels like forever before Haley finally stops and turns the phone my way again. “Him,” she says, pointing to a man on the screen. Unfortunately, he’s got his head down and turned away from the camera and all I can see is the wide brimmed white hat and a hint of dark gray hair peeking out from beneath the edge at the base of his skull.

“He was there on most of those dates you had listed,” she says. “I served him a time or two, but he paid only in cash. I never got a name.”

Despite the fact that this is the furthest I’ve come so far in my investigation, irritation simmers inside of me. There’s no clear picture of the man’s face and other than an average build and hair color, without a name or any other identifier, I’m still back at square one.

“Can you think of anything else about him?” I ask as I take the phone back. “You saw his face.”

“He wore sunglasses inside,” she admits with a grimace. “I thought it was kind of weird, but he’s not the first guy to do that—the dance floor lights irritate some people’s eyes. All I can say is that he was older, like way too old to be hanging out with college kids. Maybe forties or fifties. He was definitely Caucasian.”

Each bit of information is like gold and yet, I’m still not happy. I doubt I will be until I catch the motherfucker and get rid of him for good—just as Nicholas ordered.

“Alright,” I finally say. “Thank you.” I slip my phone back into my pocket.

“What’s this all about?” she asks curiously.

I contemplate my response, but she’s an outsider in this. A source of information, nothing more. To get her further involved will do nothing good … for either of us. Yet, somehow, I can’t seem to help myself. “Give me your cell,” I say, reaching my hand out.

She blinks but hands it over willingly. I enter my phone number in her contacts and send a message to myself to ensure that I have her number as well. Once I’m done, I hand the thing back to her and pick up my fork.

“Uh … Viks?” She holds her phone up and frowns at me and I know what she’s expecting. Something I won’t give her—an explanation. Her hopeful expression does nothing but back me into a corner. My jaw clenches. I can’t tell her anything, and I don’t want to pretend with her. Anything more I say will be tainted by the façade I give the rest of the world. She deserves better than that.

“Eat,” I say, “and then I’ll take you back to campus.”

Her expression falls and it guts me.

Even though she didn’t get an answer, at least I didn’t lie to her. Omitting is better than the alternative.

5

VIKS

THOUGH I HAVEN’T DEALT with many hackers in my time, each and every one I meet all seem to have something in common—an aversion to being healthy. Jackson Teller sits at the long L-shaped desk surrounded by a collection of technology. Narrow eyes glassy as he squints at the half a dozen computer screens lit with images that flash back and forth as he clicks and drags them all over the place. Smoke lingers above him as he puffs through what has to be his second pack of the day.

“Well?” I finally say after what feels like an eternity of fucking clicking and silence. “Do you have anything yet?”

“Hold your fucking horses, man,” he pops off, dragging the Marlboro Light from between his lips with a curse. “I’m almost—there!” He mutters something else, setting his cigarette in a nearby overflowing ashtray as his fingers fly across the keyboard. “Got ya, you motherfucker. Thought you could hide from me? Not a chance, dickstain. I get everyone. I’m the fucking king of—”

“Teller,” I cut him off, unwilling and in no fucking mood to let him fall into another one of his ‘I am the king’ deliriums. “Focus. Do you have a clear image of the man’s face?”

“Yeah, I got the motherfucker,” Teller says proudly. “And a name too—Patrick Kennedy.”

“Patrick Kennedy?” I repeat, rounding the desk to get a good look. Teller tightens up and lifts his cigarette back to his mouth, puffing furiously. I don’t give a fuck. I know he hates it when people invade his personal space. With how much he’s getting paid for this fucking job, he can keep his yap shut and deal.

Sure enough, there are several grainy images of the man from the security camera—this time from different angles. Each one ripped in pieces and placed together to get a full profile. He was good, I’ll have to hand it to him. From the looks of it, Teller had to splice the images all together since there wasn’t a damn one we could use with a full frontal view of him. That tells me another thing—he’s a professional.

“He’s got a rap sheet a mile long,” Teller states. It’s not shocking.

“Print it,” I order. “As well as all the images including the one you put together.” My phone buzzes in my pocket and I know, without looking, who it is. I’m already late. Nicholas is expecting me and he is not a man who likes to be kept waiting.

I hang around long enough for Teller to finish printing what I asked him to. I grab the stacks of paper, warm off the press, and shove them into a folder before heading for the door. “Keep your phone on,” I call over my shoulder as I book it out of the five hundred square foot apartment he claims makes him feel safe. How anyone can feel safe living in a goddamn box, I’ll never know.

Several minutes later, I pull into the Carter mansion driveway, shucking my jacket to try and rid myself of the damn cigarette smell from Teller’s apartment, and grab the materials I just collected before heading up to meet Nicholas. Unfortunately, as I enter the estate, pushing through the front door, I spot him coming down the staircase, followed by a tall, leggy brunette that is most certainly not Mrs. Carter.

Nicholas spots me. “Viks,” he says, “I apologize, but you’ll have to update me later on that project I have you working on. I’ve got a prior engagement with Ms. Bairns.”

I step to the side, letting the door hang open as a butler hurries out from the shadows with a jacket, holding it up for him as he slips inside before taking the woman’s arm and leading her outside. “Of course, sir,” I say, nodding as he passes me by.

The door closes with a quiet snick at his back and I release a breath, reaching up and scrubbing a hand down my face. Rushing over here only to be left waiting—that’s so fucking like him. The butler disappears and I’m left alone in the foyer with the file in my hand.

“What’d you think?” a soft voice intrudes on my solitude and I look up to see Dean descending the staircase, a gym bag thrown over his shoulder.

I arch a brow up at him. “About what, kid?” I ask.

“His new toy,” he says, finishing his descent. Fuck, this kid’s gonna be a big guy. Only sixteen and already he’s almost my fucking height. I can damn near look him in the eyes when most grown men are beneath me.

“You think he’s fucking her?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

Dean shrugs, hefting his bag up further along his arm. “Probably yeah. She’s over here all the time.”

I press my lips together. Though I know it may seem like Nicholas is fucking Ms. Bairns to his son—who knows nothing of the woman’s actual job—I know the truth. I quietly debate on telling him. On one hand, relieving Nicholas’ son’s worries that his father might be cheating on his mother isn’t any of my fucking business and definitely not in my job description. Yet, on the other, I know Dean is a good kid. Even if he doesn’t have the greatest relationship with either parent—no kid wants to grow up thinking he was born out of anything but care and love.

I release a sigh and shake my head, reaching up to rub over the top of his head. “Don’t worry about it too much,” I say. “He’s not fucking her.”

Dean ducks away from my hand, his brow creasing with irritation. “Yeah? How the hell would you know?” he demands.

I chuckle. “I know a lot more than you, kiddo.”

“I fucking bet you do,” he grumbles, turning towards the front door.

Oh, hell no. In the next second, I’m on him like a leech, wrapping one muscled arm around the boy’s neck and latching him into a headlock. “What was that?” I ask, holding him tight even as I reach out and slap my file down on the nearby foyer table.

Dean drops his bag onto the floor and shoves up against my arm, trying to break free, but all I do is tighten my hold. “Oh? Is that all you got?” I taunt. “Little brat like you thinks you can be all angsty teen on me?”

“Fuck, man!” Dean curses and then surprises me when he stops fighting and drops his weight, nearly slipping out of my hold. I barely manage to keep him locked into my side as he wraps his own arms around my middle and drags me sideways.

“You got something else on your mind, kid?” I persist. “Maybe you wanna tell Big Bro about it?”

“You’re not my big brother, dickwad! We’re not even related!”

I laugh. “You know as well as I that loyalty don’t got nothing to do with blood, boy,” I reply.

That shuts him up and after a few more failed attempts at escaping, he finally releases a harsh breath and slaps my arm twice. “Alright, I concede,” he huffs. “I was being an ass. I’m fucking sorry, okay?”

I release him without a second thought. “As long as you know it,” I say, straightening my shirt as he scrambles away from me—red-faced and panting. Even with the irritated look he shoots my way, though, at least now the darkness in his eyes has receded. For the time being anyway.

My chest tightens at that thought. No matter how much I try and fight for this kid, he’ll always have that darkness in him. He’s a Carter. More than that, he’s an Eastpoint heir. Loyalty may not always have anything to do with blood, but love does. Love and loyalty is something that Nicholas doesn’t have between his generation of heirs, but Dean is different.

I’ve seen him with Abel and Braxton. What they have is far different than what their fathers did or do. If anyone can escape this cycle of damage their families are locked into, it’ll be them. God, I hope it will be them.

“What’s the attitude about anyway?” I prompt, reaching for the file I set aside. I fold it up and then quietly stick it into the inner pocket of my jacket as Dean retrieves his fallen gym bag. “It can’t just be about your old man. Got girl troubles or something?” He scoffs and I know I’ve hit the mark right on the money. “Want to talk about it?” I offer.

Dean’s quiet for a moment, his head tilting towards the front door as if he wants to run away from this conversation. I never push him, though. I just stand there and wait—letting the silence stretch between us. For some people, silence is uncomfortable, but between us, it never is. It’s an opening. An invitation. If he wants to talk, I’ve got ears and I’ll listen.

“I’m just fucking tired,” he finally confesses.

“Yeah?” I watch him carefully. From the tightness in his shoulders to the way he grips the strap of his bag until his knuckles grow white. “‘Bout what?”

“They fawn over me,” he says.

I snort. “Never heard a teenage boy talk about how hard it is to be liked by members of the opposite sex before,” I say with a small chuckle. “You might be the first one, and from what I hear Abel has it twice as bad as you.”

Dean doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does, it’s with a forced tone that mimics boredom—which, for him, can only mean the opposite. “Yeah,” he admits, “he does. But it’s not about being liked. It’s the fact that I know they only like me because I’m a Carter.”

“Ahhh,” I nod slowly. “I see.”

Dean’s head jerks up and he looks at me almost hopefully—as if all of his problems could be solved by whatever comes out of my mouth next. Unfortunately for him, though, I don’t have a quick fix for this. Hell, I don’t even have a long-term fix. The fact is—he’s right. I’m not surprised that he’s recognized it already. People will want him, not because of who he is, but because of what he is.

“Listen, kid,” I start, stepping up to him and swinging my arm around his shoulders. “This world is full of people who are going to try and take advantage of you. This is true for everyone—regardless of gender or race or status or wealth. It’s part of human nature. It’s not something you can control.” That just bites him in the ass. If ever there were someone more of a control freak than Nicholas Carter, it’s his son, but I don’t say that.

“You’re a sun, Dean, and you’ve got all these planets revolving around you—me, Abel, Brax, your dad. A sun doesn’t get distracted by meteors flying by. A sun just keeps doing what they’re doing—providing light.”

He scoffs. “Me?” he snaps, looking at me sideways like I’m crazy. “Provide light?”

“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor for you. What I’m trying to say is, yeah, people will want you because of what you have. Money. Infamy. The Carter name.” I poke him in the chest. Hard. “But one day, you’ll find someone who comes along who doesn’t give a shit about any of that. All she’ll care about is who you are, who you prove yourself to be.”

His brows draw down low over his eyes and he frowns. “When the hell is that gonna happen?”

I laugh, pulling my arm away. “Hell, kid, I don’t fucking know. I was a psychology major, not a damn psychic. There ain’t no way I could predict the when or where or even how you’ll meet her.”

“Then how do you even know I will?” he demands.

“Because it happens for everyone,” I say. For Nicholas, it’d been a friend—a fellow Eastpoint heir. For me … the image of a fiery brunette with a ready scowl and paint splattered fingers comes to mind. “You’ll find them, someday,” I promise. “And when you do, you better hold on tight. Don’t let them get away.”

“What about you?” Dean asks. “Have you met a girl like that?”

This time, when I laugh, it’s louder than before and fuller too. “Yeah,” I say honestly. “I have.” I turn towards the front door and as I reach for the handle, I pause and look back. “The best girls—the ones that drive you crazy and you know are going to end up being the death of you—are usually the ones that hate you at first too.”

Just like mine does.

6

HALEY

EVERYONE LIES. It’s just a fact of life. The trick of it, though, is to figure out how much someone is lying. I think I’ve finally figured Viks out.

Viks is a dichotomy, one I’m itching to put down on paper. I want to draw him out. Trace over the shape of his brow, down the long slope of his aristocratic nose, and brush paint over canvas to stretch the reality of his purely masculine mouth into an image no one else will ever have.

With every word he speaks, he tells both a truth and a lie.

There’s no need to be frightened, Haley. I don’t bite.

Lie.

Translation: there’s every reason to be frightened and I do bite, but I don’t want you to be frightened of me, and I intend to make you enjoy the bite.

The way he says my name should be a crime. One worth being locked up for all eternity so I can finally escape this stranglehold he has over me and be free enough to run away. My fingers clench around the chalky charcoal pencil in my grasp. Black stains the underside of my nails. I blow out a breath and give up on working on the damn bird I’m supposed to be drawing and finally leave my mind to its own devices, letting it wander.

Long, thick lines appear on the page—etching a face turned away. A flop of longer than is currently popular hair hangs over the man’s forehead. His eyes take on an almond shape, lashes stretching down and throwing shadows over perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Bits of charcoal fly off the page as I work faster and faster. Now that I’ve finally released myself to focus on the subject I actually want to see on the page, I can’t get it down fast enough.

Once I start, though, I can’t seem to stop. Even when my hand starts cramping and my wrist bones scrape against each other, begging for a reprieve—I can’t. My mind and body won’t let me. I need to see it. To see the truth that only I can find.

Viks’ face takes more than shape before me. It takes on life. His shadowed eyes stare up at me despite the downward turn of his face. He glares at me through his lashes, beneath his brow—daring me to continue. And I do. I don’t stop until my body aches and I’ve got something akin to the devil watching me from pure black and white charcoal markings.

“Holy shit.” I jump at the sound of Alyssa’s voice as she leans over me at my desk. “Is that who I think it is?”

“No.” Lie. I quickly slam my notebook shut and jump up from my desk. “I have to go wash my hands,” I say, abandoning her as I hurry out into the hall and down the corridor towards the shared bathroom.

Once inside, I stop in front of the sinks and look up at the cracked, stained mirrors for a moment—noting the swipes of black charcoal on my cheeks where I’d insistently shoved back my hair time and time again while working. It’s almost funny. I look like a halfway decent Viking woman—with black on my skin and wild unkempt hair fluttering around my face.

Turning the faucet, I shove my hands under the lukewarm water and bow over the porcelain sink as the charcoal turns smeary. I scrub and scrub, grabbing globs of the foamy soap from the dorm dispenser as I try to clean away the evidence of my obsession.

This is wrong, I think. I can’t be obsessed with Mitchell Vikson.

He’s a walking ad for what not to like. Dangerous. Attached to the elite that run Eastpoint. A fucking monster lurks behind his eyes. I know because that was what I’d drawn. The glare of his intentions—dark and haunting. What scares me more than anything else, though, is … that monster is what I’m attracted to.

I finish washing away the charcoal until there’s virtually nothing left but a few specs and a little line of black under my nails that I couldn’t get to. My hands aren’t beautiful anyway—they’re scarred and dried out from all of the art I create. I walk back to my room, slower than I left and when I step inside, Alyssa is spread out on her own bed with a familiar notebook open as she peruses it.

“Lyss!” I practically dive across the room as I reach out to snatch the damn thing from her grasp as she flips the page.

With a grin, she rolls—easily avoiding me as she flips the page again. “What’s up, Hales?” she asks innocently.

“Give me back the fucking notebook!” I growl.

She chuckles and snaps it shut before waving it in my face. “Oh this?” I reach for it only to have her yank it out of my grasp at the last second.

“Yes. That!”

“What are you scared of?” she asks, setting it on the edge of my desk that works as her nightstand. “That I’ll see the real way you feel about your boss?”

My shoulders tighten up and I reach for the notebook, grabbing it and shoving it into the top drawer before slamming it shut. “It’s not like that.” Lie. Lie. Another fucking lie.

And just because Alyssa is who she is, she snorts and shakes her head. “Yeah, right. You’re in deep if you drew him like that. I might just be fucking around with these art classes because they’re electives for me, but you take them seriously.”

“I was just practicing with my charcoals.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a good idea,” she says.

As if I don’t already know that. I know Mitchell Vikson isn’t a good idea. He’s not good for me and I hate him. I hate his stupid face. I hate his arrogant attitude. I hate the way he commands attention from everyone—including me. We’re like oil and water. We just don’t mix. And still, yet, there’s this craving inside of me. A want. A need that I can’t deny.

Turning away from her, I crawl onto my own twin mattress and flop down, burying my head into the pillow. Tomorrow is Friday and I’ll be back at work. Tomorrow I’ll have to see him again. I don’t want to.

Liar. Liar. Pants on fucking fire.

I groan, lifting my pillow up and smothering it over my face. Across the room, Alyssa chuckles. “Why don’t you just fuck him and get it out of your system?”

“Because I’m not you,” I say accusingly. I can’t just spread my legs for someone I’ve spent the past couple of years hating with every fiber of my being. I’m not untouchable like she is. I don’t walk around with armor thicker than the Great Wall of China to keep me from being hurt. My flesh is all I’ve got and it’s so fucking weak. Weak to bad boys like Mitchell Vikson who could do more than break my heart—they could get me killed.

I’m not so stupid that I didn’t realize the questions he was asking me aren’t pertaining to what’s happening at the club and on campus lately. Everyone knows about it. No one says anything, though. About the new drug that’s been circulating.

Though Viks hadn’t said so much in words, it was clear in his mannerisms what he wanted from me—he wants me to keep my nose out of it. It’s probably the least asshole thing he’s ever done for me, but that still doesn’t make me any less irritated that he called me out, practically dragged me away on a forced date, and then made me answer a million and one questions—all while never giving me the respect of treating me like an adult with a brain.

My fingers clench on the outside of my pillow as I contemplate that. His number sits in my phone now—did he really think I wouldn’t notice that? I could help him. I’m at the club more than him. If I see that guy again…

What? I ask myself. What am I going to do?

I’m not a cop. Not a trained fighter. But I could tell him. I could alert him. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. The next time I see that man, I’ll call Viks. It’ll be resolved and then … he’ll never have another reason to bother me again.

“Wow.” I lift the pillow up and look over at my friend and roommate as she whistles through her teeth.

“What?” I grump.

“I can see the steam coming up through that damn pillow of yours,” she says.

I shake my head. “What do you know?”

She scoots to the edge of her mattress and turns her legs so they’re hanging over the side. “I know you’re stuck,” she says almost gently. I refuse to look at her, but that doesn’t seem to deter her at all. “Don’t think too hard about it, Hales,” she suggests. “If you’re attracted to him and he’s attracted to you, it won’t do you any good to fight it. Just give in. What’s the worst that could happen?”

So much. So fucking much.

7

HALEY

MY FOOT TAPS REPEATEDLY, a nervous tick that I thought I got rid of long ago. Veronica shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye as I nearly drop yet another glass—the fourth one tonight—but thankfully, I slam it down just in time, only managing to slosh a few drops over the rim. I breathe out a sigh of relief and finally give in, admitting that the cause of my nervousness is none other than Viks.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking of him all week. Not since that strange non-date lunch he’d forced me on. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t want to pull it out because I know who it is—the subject of my recent obsession. My phone buzzes again and with a growl, I rip it from the back pocket of my black shorts and flick the screen on, grunting in renewed irritation when I realize my assumption was correct.

Asshole Boss: I’m coming in tonight.

Asshole Boss: I want a word with you.

What the hell could he want to talk to me about this time?

“Hales?” Veronica calls me back from my phone and I quickly shove it back into my pocket, lifting my head to give her my full attention. She arches a brow. “You’re not usually one to be on your phone during a shift,” she says. “You need to be careful that the big boss doesn’t catch you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes because it’s the big boss making me pull out my phone halfway through a shift. Instead of saying as much, though, I just give her a firm nod. “You’re right. Sorry.”

She gives me an apologetic look. “I’m not trying to be a stickler. I just don’t want to see my best waitress get in trouble.”

The muscles in my face soften, and I reach for the drink I’d nearly spilled earlier, stacking it along with two others onto a tray. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal. You know I can handle anything this place throws at me.”

She laughs. “True that. We’ve had too many quitters since you started. The turnover rate is too high right now.”

I pause, the tray half lifted into my arms. I gently set it back down and turn back to her. “What do you mean?” I ask curiously.

Veronica turns away as another ticket spits out of her order machine and she gets to work, pulling glasses from their places. “Every month it seems like another waitress goes AWOL,” she huffs out. “I don’t know what’s going on, but more than a few have just stopped coming in for their shifts and we can’t reach them by phone or anything.”

“They just … disappear?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not exactly. It’s stupid—there’s this new drug on the scene and you know a lot of girls who work in clubs get a little too close to a few regulars—they promise things and suddenly they’re off working ‘private parties.’” I wince at her comment, knowing exactly what she means and it has nothing to do with alcohol.

What really concerns me is that if Veronica is aware of this new drug and Viks is investigating it … then it’s bigger than I thought. But I can’t dwell on it anymore now. Veronica runs through her drinks and I move back to my tray, lifting it half onto my shoulder and holding it on the other side with the flat of my palm as I move out from behind the bar and through the room.

I deliver the drinks and step sideways, narrowly avoiding a cluster of familiar-faced sorority girls that I have no doubt go to Eastpoint. I scrub a hand down my face, truly exhausted and I’m barely halfway through my shift. I’m so focused on avoiding colliding with the already drunk girls, that I nearly miss the man standing against the wall wearing a familiar pair of sunglasses.

Oh my fucking god. It’s him. He’s here. I freeze right where I’m standing and almost as soon as I do, someone slams into my back and I go careening towards the ground, the tray in my grasp flying out of my hand.

No one stops as my knees hit the hard floor of the club, but even if they had my mind is short-circuiting. The dealer—the guy that I pointed out to Viks—is here. What do I do?

Absently, I recognize that I’m moving. Reaching for my tray once more and tucking it under my arm as I climb back to my feet. I know I’m doing it, but I don’t feel it. All I can feel is the prickling sensation under my skin.

Do I tell Viks? He said he was coming tonight. Will he come faster if I tell him that the guy is here? What if he disappears before he gets here? Even knowing that Veronica is probably going to get swamped with customers demanding drinks if I don’t hurry back, I can’t help but stop and contemplate my options.

In the end, there really is only one option to choose. I hurry to a small alcove on the bottom floor of Club Outsider—somewhere nearby, just out of people’s path, but not so far that I can’t see the man standing against the wall of the club talking to another man with a baseball cap drawn down low over his eyes. Who the fuck wears a baseball cap to a club? Someone with something to hide.

I yank my phone out of my pocket and quickly type a reply back to Viks.

Haley: Dealer is here. What do you want me to do?

Not even thirty seconds go by before there’s a reply.

Asshole Boss: I’m on my way. DO NOT DO ANYTHING. Stay the fuck away from him.

Stay away from him? Is he serious? What if he moves? I have to keep my eyes on him. I grit my teeth and peek out of the alcove to make sure the man hasn’t moved. He hasn’t, but I can tell by the shuffling of feet of his companion that their conversation is ending soon. There’s no telling how long he’ll remain there.

Haley: What if he leaves?

Again, there’s virtually no time between when I send my message to when he texts back. I fucking hope he’s not texting and driving.

Asshole Boss: Do not fucking approach him, Haley. I mean it.

I bite down on my thumbnail, my heart hammering in my chest. Viks sends another text.

Asshole Boss: Haley?

I groan and send a reply.

Haley: Fine. I won’t approach him, but you should hurry. I think he’s leaving soon.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and continue to chew on my nail. My mind is rioting with all sorts of scenarios. What if Viks doesn’t get here in time and this guy just disappears? What can I even do to stop him? I stare across the room, watching the man wearing the baseball cap nod to the man in the sunglasses and then stalk off. Shit. He’s leaving.

Before I can think better of it, I launch myself out of the alcove as the dealer turns and starts to head off. Don’t approach. Don’t approach. Don’t approach. Viks’ warning circles in my head. Fine, I think. I won’t approach him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t follow him and just keep him in my sights.

So, I do exactly that. As the dealer weaves in and out of the crowd, making his way across the club, I start to trail him—shifting through parties of people and pausing every so often as more than one group of people cuts off my path.

The man slips towards a back hallway—the same one that leads to the back exit and the bathrooms. I bite down on my lower lip, glancing around. There are still clubbers around, though not as many. My chances of getting caught rise significantly the second I step into that hallway. I pray Viks gets here sooner rather than later because there’s no fucking way I can just let this guy get away.

Rounding the corner, I scan the hallway in surprise. The man’s already fucking gone. Without thinking, I start to run towards the exit. I get about halfway down the hallway when a hand whips out, grabbing me by the hair and yanking me into one of the storage rooms across from the bathrooms.

A startled scream erupts from my throat only to be cut off a moment later as a leather encased hand slaps over it. He’s wearing gloves and as he pinches down on my nose and covers my mouth in one go, my eyes widen in shock and panic as my air is cut off.

“What have I caught here?” The man’s voice is deep and gravelly, almost a rasp—as if he’s smoked more than half a pack of cigarettes every day of his entire life. “A little mouse trying to follow me home?”

My back hits a wall between two storage shelves and I blink against the darkness inside the small, cramped room. I shake my head vigorously. The man’s hand leaves my mouth and nose and I gasp for breath.

“No!” I say quickly, sucking in as much air as I can manage. “I’m sorry, I was just heading to the bathroom to—”

“You passed the bathroom up the hall, dear,” The man interrupts as his hand lowers and clamps around my throat. “Try again.”

“I-I wasn’t—” His fingers contract, once again cutting off my oxygen.

Shit fuck. His free hand moves up and into my hair, wrapping my ponytail around his fist; he uses his hold to push my head back even further as I reach up, clawing at his wrist as spots start to dance in front of my vision. He’s a lot stronger than he looks.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth, sweetheart?” he suggests.

I start to struggle in earnest now, panic eating away at my rationality. I can’t fucking breathe and that, itself, is making me panic more than anything else. The man keeps his hand clamped down on my neck as I fight against him, pushing at his chest, clawing at the arms that hold me up against the wall.

I hate to admit it, but Viks was right. I should’ve just kept to myself and not followed this man. I didn’t consider the consequences—consequences that are now staring me right in the face with a toothy grin as the older man slips his sunglasses up his face to rest on top of his head and now I realize why he’s wearing them—he’s half blind.

One eye is completely milky white, while the other is a clear brown. It’s disconcerting to someone who’s slowly being suffocated to death. “Pretty little mouse,” he says, leaning forward. I stiffen when I feel the long bridge of his nose against the thrumming pulse in my throat. “You smell good. Come on, why don’t you tell me what you were doing following me, eh? Did your friends tell you about what I have?” The hand in my hair disappears as he slips it into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of what looks like white powder stamped into tiny pills. “You want some of this? All you had to do was ask, sweetheart. I give one for free to all my new clients. The rest, though…” He presses himself against me and my eyes widen at the unwelcome sensation of a hard cock rubbing against my lower stomach. “The rest you’ll have to pay for, but I think we can work something out if you don’t have the money. I’m generous after all.”

Despite the pressure against my neck, I shake my head. “No,” I try to croak out.

“No? You don’t want this?” He shakes the bag in front of my face as my nails sink down even harder into his arms. He doesn’t even react. The spots in front of my vision grow wider, fuzzier. “Then why were you following me, hmmm?”

The bag crinkles as he puts the end between his rotting teeth and pops it open, reaching inside to pull out one of the tiny pills. Tears begin to leak out of the corners of my eyes. It’s getting harder and harder to fight him. My eyelids lower as my mouth gapes open, gasping for air.

“That’s a good girl, it’s alright.” The man’s soothing tone is more frightening than anything else. I can guess what he’s doing, but I can’t stop it. There’s no stopping it for me.

I should’ve listened to Viks. That thought turns over and over in my mind and though a part of me hates the bastard—I wish he were here. If he were here, this wouldn’t be happening. More tears continue to pour down my cheeks as the man shoves the pill against my mouth. I snap my lips shut in an effort to ward him off.

He chuckles. “Now, now, don’t be like that,” he says. His hand releases my throat and without thinking, my lips part on a gasp as oxygen rushes back into my lungs. A heady feeling snaps through my head as clarity returns for a split-second— but it’s too late, the pill is shoved into my mouth.

I turn, intending to spit it right back out, but his hand clamps down over my nose and mouth once more as he quickly seals the bag with his mouth and then drops it back into his pocket. His now free arm bands around my head, holding me in place. I shove the pill to the front of my mouth with my tongue, but it’s already starting to dissolve.

“It’s fast, isn’t it?” The man chuckles as my mind grows fuzzy again, and this time, I know it’s not the lack of oxygen.

I scream against the hand covering my mouth and nose. I scream and scream—begging for the universe to not be so cruel. But the universe is indifferent and soon my screams stop and my muscles grow lax as calm descends over me.

As if sensing my lack of fight, the man releases me and even helps me down as my body collapses and my legs go numb. I sink to the floor and he cups my cheek almost kindly.

“There we are,” he says, the sound of his voice hypnotic. “Feeling good, now, aren’t we?” I can’t respond. My whole body is numb with relaxation and I start to wonder why I was even fighting him in the first place. I can’t remember.

The man’s hands go to my shorts and I feel something pulled out from my pocket—my cell. He sets it aside and then reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and off. “You lay just like that sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll take my payment and you can have a few more pills. Just one always gets ‘em hooked.”

He kneads my breasts, fingers pinching down on my nipples through my bra. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. I should be fighting him, but I can’t.

In the dim room, a light penetrates the darkness along with an incessant buzzing noise. The man growls and looks to the source of it. I sway back and forth, the only sense of gravity coming from the wall at my back. My face is wet. I feel like a broken doll and I’m so tired. So very tired…

“Fuck…” The man’s curse rouses me just a bit, enough to realize that I’ve closed my eyes. I fight to open them once more. He’s holding up my phone, staring at the screen with an angry expression. His eyes jerk up to meet mine. “Not a little mouse after all, I see,” he says, dropping my phone into my lap.

He stands and straightens his coat, pulling his glasses back down to cover his eyes. “Maybe next time, then,” he says and I watch—with a mixture of confusion and relief—as he opens the door and then disappears into the hallway, taking my phone with him as he leaves me laying there, shirt off and darkness encroaching on my hazy mind.

8

VIKS

MY GUT IS SCREAMING at me as I enter Club Outsider. I just know Haley didn’t listen to me. When has she ever?

I cut through the crowds and lines at the front, waving a hand to the bouncer as I make my way towards Haley’s usual section. When all I see is the blonde at the bar, flitting back and forth as she makes drinks, and no sign of Haley, something in me sinks with dread.

“Hey,” I stop at the bar, “where’s your waitress?” I demand.

The girl—Valerie or Victoria or something—freezes at the sight of me and as if she can conjure her friend up with sheer willpower, she scans to the side and then looks back at me. “She was right here,” she says. “She’ll be back soon. Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Vikson?”

I shake my head. “Don’t cover for her,” I snap. “When was the last time you saw her. I need to know—it’s important.”

The woman’s face falls. “Twenty minutes ago,” she says. “She doesn’t normally stay away this long.”

My dread only grows. My instincts are rarely ever fucking wrong and right now, they’re telling me that Haley fucked up. She’s in trouble. I lift a hand, calling over the same bouncer that I bypassed. For a big man, he makes it to me in no time at all.

“Yes, Mr. Vikson?”

“Find Haley Montgomery,” I snap. “And get this girl another waitress to cover this section.”

The man glances at the bartender and then nods. “Yes, sir.”

I turn and pull open my phone, pressing the button to call her. It rings for several long seconds before it finally cuts through. “Haley?”

“Is that what her name was?” Ice freezes my veins as an unfamiliar, but very male voice answers. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, Mr. Vikson. Or shall I call you what she has you labeled as in her phone? Asshole Boss?” The man clicks his tongue. “You must not be very good to your employees.”

Before I can stop it, a growl erupts from my throat. “Where is she?”

“Who? Your waitress?” The man laughs. “She’s fine. Wish I could’ve taken her with me. In fact, had you not called, I would’ve been having a grand time with her right now. I’m quite peeved that you ruined it. I suppose you calling, though, means you’re in the club.”

“Where the fuck is the girl?” I demand again even as my eyes start to scan the room. Twenty minutes. If it’s only been that long since her partner has seen her, there’s no way she could’ve been dragged off site in that time … right? But even as I think that, experience tells me the truth. She absolutely could have. The man’s words, thankfully, tell me the truth. He’s left her and taken her phone with him which means she must still be in the club.

“Why talk about the girl when we could talk about why you’re really here, Viks?” he asks. “Tracking down your drug dealer? In other words … me.”

Tension flows through my veins, tightening up every muscle in my body at the man’s words. How careless had I been for this man to not only know who I am, but he knows that I’m onto him? I force myself to move, scanning the crowd as I hunt through the club, searching—in spite of myself—for a hint of Haley’s whereabouts. Were it anyone else, I would be focused solely on the conversation happening in my ear. I’d be listening for a hint of where he is. Not her.

“My employer doesn’t take too kindly to lowlifes such as yourself intruding on his territory,” I comment, keeping my voice even, though my anxiety is mounting with each passing second.

The man on the phone chuckles and I hear a door open and close, the sound of noise on the other end I hadn’t even noticed cut off. He’s outside, I realize. He’s gone. In the wind. But that, too, is a clue.

Now, I’ve got a choice—I can choose an exit and go after him or I can take this information and search for Haley.

It’s not even a competition. If he’s leaving, then Haley is still in the building and I’ll look for her. There’s no telling what he did to her before taking her cell.

“Nicholas Carter is still a pup behind his ears,” the dealer says. “I’ve been in this business for a long time—maybe not on his level, but still.” There’s a brief pause and in that time, I cut through a group of drunken girls heading to the dancefloor and make my way into a back hallway, eyes roving down the empty space. I spot a door to a storage room hanging slightly open and head towards it, heart jack hammering inside my chest.

Adrenaline races through my system. What the fuck am I doing? I need to track the dealer. I need to find him, but the all of my focus lands on that door and I know. I just fucking know she’s behind it. What state she’s in, though … I’m fucking terrified to find out.

I’ve never been this scared in my life. Not since I was a child, learning that adults don’t always want to take care of you. That sometimes, all they want is for you to die so they can go back to how things were before you were ever born.

“Well, enjoy my little gift, Mr. Vikson,” the man on the other end of the phone says. “It’s too bad I couldn’t enjoy my time with her more.”

The line goes dead as I push into the storage room. The first thing I see are her legs, strewn out as she’s collapsed over on her side, eyes closed. I drop the phone and go to my knees, shaking hands moving to her throat as I check for a pulse. A soft, repetitive thump finally gives me what I need—relief and the knowledge that she’s still alive.

“Haley?” I heft her against me, gritting my teeth as I realize that her shirt has been removed and she lays there, her shorts undone, half naked. She doesn’t react. I tap her face lightly. “Come on, sweetheart,” I urge, “wake up and call me an asshole. I know you want to.”

Still nothing.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I lean back, releasing her briefly as I rip off my shirt and drape it over her. My hand reaches for my discarded phone. I type out a quick succession of texts before shoving it back in my pocket and lifting Haley against my chest, getting to my feet.

I’m going to catch hell for this later, but there’s nowhere else I could be now. No fucking way I can leave her like this. Already, my mind is trying to supply a number of excuses I can give to Carter when he inevitably asks, but the only thing I can think is—she needs me.

I shoulder the door to the storage room open and step out into the hallway as a gaggle of girls comes around the corner, giggling in their drunken stupor as they head to the bathrooms. They don’t even spare me a glance. Who the fuck knows what could have happened to Haley back here? She could’ve been … hell, she might have already been—no, the dealer said he wasn’t able to finish.

Gritting my teeth, I shove those thoughts aside and head towards the end of the hall and the waiting exit door. Just as I step outside, a dark sedan comes careening to a stop at the curb and Andrei pops open the driver’s side door. I was right to leave him with the vehicle when I first arrived. "What happened?” he demands as I hurry to the back door.

“I’ll fill you in later,” I snap. “First, we need to get her to a hospital.”

Andrei looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind, and shit, maybe I have. “Call an ambulance,” he says. “They’ll take the girl. What happened with the dealer?”

I settle Haley firmly in the backseat, reaching across her chest to buckle her in before quietly shutting the door and turning to face Andrei. “If you’re not driving,” I grit out, “then fucking move.”

His eyes widen as I shove him aside, gripping the driver’s side door with a fist and lowering myself inside. Just before I shut the door, he grabs ahold of it, stopping me. “Nicholas is going to want to know what happened,” he warns.

I nod. “I know.” I don’t know what he sees on my face, what expression I must be making, but it’s enough to have his brows lifting and his hand releasing the door as he steps onto the curb and away from the vehicle. I shut the door and press my foot to the gas.

My gaze snaps to the rearview mirror and Haley’s pale face. “It’s okay,” I say. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

The words sound hollow even to my own ears. I say them, but I’m not sure I believe them. I don’t know what saying them will do, or who I’m trying to convince. The unconscious woman in my backseat … or myself.

9

HALEY

WAKING up from being drugged is like slowly rising to the surface of the deepest pool in the world. I’m aware of things around me before I’m ever actually awake. I can hear the beeping of machines. The sound of a man talking gruffly, though not who he’s talking to.

I shiver, the feeling of cold intruding on my slow ascent to the world of the living once more. That’s how I know I’m in the hospital. Only hospitals are this fucking cold. I crack my eyes open and sure enough, the sight of a hospital gown greets me as it hangs down my chest, covering my body halfway until a plain white sheet takes over for the rest of me.

My head is fucking pounding. My mouth feels like I’ve swallowed a dozen cotton balls and they left some sort of strange fuzziness on my tongue. Most of all, though, it feels as though my whole body was stretched out and flattened while I was asleep. I don’t feel particularly bad other than the headache thrumming at the base of my skull, but I do feel exhausted.

I turn my cheek, seeking out the source of the male voice. My eyes widen at what I see.

Mitchell Vikson is standing in my hospital room, framed by the light of early morning coming in through the double windows to the side of my hospital bed. He hasn’t noticed that I’m awake yet and for a brief moment in time, I’m given a rare opportunity to observe him while he’s not completely focused on me.

Shit. Life just isn’t fair to us regular people. I scan him up and down. How the hell can someone look so fucking good so early in the morning?

He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, tied at the waist, as well as a plain black shirt with the sleeves cut off. Gray sweatpants—God’s greatest gift to womankind, really. I bite down on my lower lip when he turns slightly, but it’s not enough, and just as quickly he turns away—looking out the window. I want to scream.

Come the fuck on, I think. If I’m going to be laid up in the hospital after being attacked by a drug dealer, the least the universe can do is show me a little something.

I sigh in disappointment and return to my earlier perusal of Viks’ body. His tattoos stretch down his arms all the way to his wrists, and though I know that when he’s all dressed up in one of those thousand-dollar suits of his, they cover everything, it’s kind of hard to imagine.

“I don’t care how much it’ll fucking cost.” Viks’ angry tone has me looking up towards his face in surprise. He never gets angry. At least, he never shows it. But now the muscles of his biceps bulge as he clenches his phone in his fist. “I want the new cameras installed by the end of today. End of story.”

Viks hangs up the phone and blows out a breath before turning back to me, his eyes widening when he realizes I’m awake. “Haley.” He slips his phone into the pocket of his sweats and steps up to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was drugged by a crazy man,” I reply bluntly, wincing as my voice comes out raspy and dry. I swallow roughly before glancing around the room. “How long have I been here?”

“Only a few hours,” he answers. “They had to pump your stomach in the ER but when you didn’t wake up, I had a room arranged. Now that you’re awake, though, we can probably get you checked out. Are you in any pain?”

I reach up, frowning at the array of cords attached to my arm, before scratching at my neck. “No,” I lie, ignoring the pounding in my head and the soreness over most of my body, specifically my throat, chest, and arms. I’ll take that soreness any day because as I take stock of my body, I realize one very important thing. There’s no telltale soreness between my legs that means I was raped. There’d be soreness if I was … right? I don’t want to consider the possibility that there wouldn’t be. “I just want to go home.”

He nods and heads towards the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it taken care of,” he says before he disappears into the hallway.

Two seconds. That’s all it takes before the reality of what happened finally fucking hits me. The door to my room slides shut and the outside sounds of people talking and working in the hall are muffled. My chest tightens at the same time my fingers do in the sheets covering my legs.

I don’t feel any different. Not really. I reach down beneath the sheets, pushing them away as I pull up my hospital gown. I don’t know where my clothes are but there are no bruises on my thighs. If they pumped my stomach … does that mean they cleaned me up? Did something actually happen and Viks just doesn’t want to tell me?

I remember being drugged. I remember being held against the wall in the storage room. The dealer’s face wavers in my memory like a haunting ghost and I shake my head to try and rid myself of the image. Bile rises up my throat, but I choke it back down.

“Don’t,” I warn myself, my voice a whisper in the quiet room. “Don’t fucking think about it.”

The door opens and my thoughts recede as Viks walks in, practically dragging a tall, skinny man old enough to be my grandfather in a white lab coat. “Check her out,” he orders, releasing the old doctor. “Make sure she’s fine.”

I blink as the disgruntled man takes a step away from Viks and straightens his coat. His eyes move to me. “Miss Montgomery,” he says in what I assume is a professional manner—as professional as a man can be while obviously avoiding looking at the massive tattooed monster in the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to go home,” I repeat.

The doctor steps up to the side of my bed. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange that,” he assures me as his fingers press into my arm.

I sit there what feels like forever as the doctor checks me over. I remain silent, intensely aware of the man standing against the wall as he watches on with ill-contained emotion. The second the doctor pronounces me perfectly fit to leave, Viks leans over and opens the door.

“Out,” he growls. The doctor doesn’t say another word as he practically bolts from the room, leaving me alone with him.

I wait, but several seconds pass without another word as Viks lets the door swing shut. “Are you going to say something?” I ask after a moment.

He crosses his arms. “Eventually,” he hedges. “First, I’m debating on what your punishment should be.”

“My punishment?” I gape at him. “For what?”

“I believe I told you explicitly not to approach him,” Viks states.

“I wasn’t—”

He doesn’t let me finish. “But do you listen to me? No. You don’t.”

“I was just going—”

Viks takes a step towards the end of my bed. “Do you have any fucking idea what it was like?” he demands. “Walking into that room, not fucking knowing what I was going to find? You could’ve fucking died last night, Haley.”

“You think I don’t know that?” My hands start to tremble, fine little shakes. I ball them into fists and shove them under my thighs as I try to formulate a response.

“No. I don’t think you know,” Viks replies. “Because if you did, then you wouldn’t have done exactly what I told you not to.”

Silence stretches between us. I don’t know what the fuck to say, but that’s probably because I recognize that he has a point. I fucked up.

A knock sounds on the door, disrupting the uncomfortable, awkward quiet in the room. Viks opens the door and steps to the side as an older woman bustles inside with a clipboard and round glasses perched on her nose.

“Alright, sweetie,” she says, rounding the bed, “let’s get you all ready to go, shall we?”

I look up as Viks turns and takes a step into the hall. “Where are you going?” I say before I can think better of it.

He pauses and looks back. My eyes must be playing tricks on me or something because I swear I see just a small fraction of compassion enter his eyes as his face softens for a brief moment. “I’ll be right out here,” he says. “When you’re done, I’ll take you home.”

With that, he lets the door shut behind him, leaving me alone with the nurse. “Protective one, isn’t he?” she smirks my way.

“Oh, no,” I start. “We’re not like that.”

She chuckles. “Sweetie, if you’re not yet, you will be soon.”

“What?”

She shakes her head as she turns my arm over and begins the process of extracting the IV. “That man has been all out of sorts since he brought you in last night.”

“He has?” I can’t imagine it. Mitchell Vikson taking care of someone? But then … he had been here when I woke up. Even if he’s not my favorite person in the world, it’s better to wake up to someone in the room rather than be all alone. Even I have to admit, it was kind of him. I shake my head, warding off the confusing thoughts entering my head. “It’s … I work for him,” I tell the woman in front of me.

The corners of her lips remain up. “Interesting way to form a relationship,” she comments, “but not the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re not—”

“Honey,” she stops me as she pulls the IV free and sets it to the side, putting a plain bandaid over the small hole in my arm after pressing down on it with a cotton ball for a few seconds. “That man is head over heels in love with you.”

I shake my head. “No, he can’t be.”

“I’ve been here all night,” she informs me. “I was there when he walked through the ER doors and demanded someone take care of you right then and there. He didn’t leave you for even a second.”

But that doesn’t make sense. There’s no way he showed up to the club in those clothes last night. “He had to have left to at least go get changed or—”

She pats my arm gently. “He had some scary looking man stop by with a bag for him,” she tells me. “He hasn’t slept all night. Probably why he’s so cranky and scared the crapola out of Dr. Juergen.”

He really hadn’t left? Not once? I sit there, trying to absorb the information this woman has unknowingly given me. Maybe she thinks she’s trying to convince me that he cares, but what she’s really done is something completely unlikely—because for the first time since I met Mitchell Vikson, there’s something other than obligatory respect and lust in my system. Do I actually … like him?

“Alrighty, then,” the nurse says, jerking me out of my reverie as she begins to pack up her supplies, “you’re all ready to go.”

“Can I ask you a random question?” The woman tilts her head and I take that as a positive sign. “Was there … I mean…” How the fuck do I ask? I bite my lip, harder than necessary as anxiety assails me. “I’m not sore, um…” I gesture towards my legs—or rather, the place between them. Understanding dawns on her face.

“Oh, honey,” she says, “we were assured that there was no need to check last night. We can if you would like to be sure.”

“Who told you that you didn’t need to?”

Her eyes slide to the door. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I get her meaning. Viks must have told them not to. Relief pours through me.

“What about my clothes?” I ask, changing the subject.

She frowns. “You didn’t come in with much, but check the drawer in the bedside table. If there’s nothing there, have your man friend grab you something.”

I nod and thank the woman and as soon as she’s out of the room, I stand up and round the bed towards the bedside table. I pull open the top drawer and find not my clothes from the night before, but new ones with the tags still on them. From what she said about Viks having someone bring him clothes the night before, I suspect he had them bring these too.

I waste no more time as I pull out the clothes—a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of leggings, all in black. Whoever grabbed the clothes didn’t think to grab any underwear or bra, though, but that’s okay. As long as I’m covered, I don’t care. I don’t really want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary and certainly not to wait for some unknown man to grab me a pair of underwear and a new bra.

My muscles creak and scream with soreness and protest as I start to dress. Bruises dot my upper arms and when I look in the bathroom mirror, I realize they’re not the only ones. My neck is one massive blotch of dark purple. It’s hard to look at because it only makes me remember the feeling of being pinned down and helpless. I close my eyes and turn away, hurrying to finish up.

Once I’m done, I head out into the room and move towards the door, pulling it open and glancing out into the hall. Viks kept his word. He’s still there, and when I open the door, he looks up from the nurse’s station a few feet away.

“Ready to go?”

Sucking in a breath, I nod and then pause, looking down. “Actually, do you have any shoes?” I ask.

He frowns when he looks down at my feet. “Shit, no. I don’t know where the ones you had on last night went either.”

“She’ll need to be taken out in a wheelchair anyway,” the nurse behind the station informs us as I step towards them with my bare feet.

"Do I really have to?” I ask with a grimace. “I can walk just fine.”

She gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, it’s hospital policy.”

“Wait here,” Viks orders as he heads around the nurse’s station. He disappears into a side hallway coming back only a moment later with said wheelchair in tow.

“Viks…”

“You fucking heard her, Hales,” he snaps. “Get your ass in the chair before I tie you to it.”

I grumble and curse, but turn and plop down regardless. “This is really unnecessary,” I say.

“So was you not listening to me,” he replies. “Yet you seem to be a fucking master at that.”

I look back at him over my shoulder as he begins to push me towards the elevator doors. “I said I was sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I decide to say nothing at all. The ride down the elevator is the longest and most uncomfortable one I’ve ever been on. Once we’re out in the parking lot, he steers me to a familiar dark SUV—the same one he’d taken me to lunch in before. The wheelchair comes to a stop on the passenger side and before I can even stand up, he has the door open and his arms around me.

A gasp escapes my throat as he lifts me easily and deposits me into the vehicle. “Seatbelt,” he commands before slamming the door shut.

I gape after him as he hurries back into the building, handing the wheelchair off to a nurse on the bottom floor before charging back out towards me. Realizing that I still haven’t put my seatbelt on, I jerk into action and click the belt into place just as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He glances my way before putting his key into the ignition and cranking the engine.

“Thank you for taking me home,” I say, breaking the silence.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and at first, I think it’s because he’s still mad at me, but as we travel back towards the main part of Eastpoint, I frown when we pass the road that takes us to the campus.

“Hey,” I say, leaning to the side, “campus is back that way.”

“I know,” he grunts.

"If you know, then why aren’t you turning around?” I demand. “You said you were taking me home.”

“I said I was taking you home,” he agrees. “I didn’t say anything about it being your home.”

My eyes narrow on him. “Mitchell.”

His head turns and he meets my gaze when I say his name—his real name. “You fucked up last night, Haley,” he says. “If you need to, you can think of this as your punishment.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I hold my hands up. My head is fucking killing me and his words are only serving to make the pain that much worse. “What are you talking about? Think of what as my punishment?”

“He knows who you are, Haley,” Viks says. “You didn’t think of that when you disobeyed me and went after him. But he’s seen your face now. He knows who you are and he knows…” His hands clench down on the steering wheel and he cuts himself off for maybe two or three seconds before continuing. “Well, suffice it to say, you’re a possible target now for him. If this even goes to trial, you’ll be able to testify against him.”

I give him a bland look. “Don’t even try that bullshit with me,” I reply testily. “‘If this goes to trial?’” As if Nicholas Carter would ever let it be a fair trial. No. I’m not so stupid to think that this is all from the goodness of his heart. The rich people of Eastpoint are like wild animals—protective and possessive over their territories. Whoever this drug dealer is, when Viks—and therefore, Nicholas Carter—get ahold of him, he’s as good as dead.

Viks doesn’t respond to my comment, and still, he hasn’t answered my first question.

“Where are you taking me?” I repeat.

“Like I said,” he says, “you’re going home.”

“Fine,” I grit out the word through clenched teeth. “Whose home?” Even as I ask the question, though, I have both a sinking feeling and a sneaking suspicion that I already know.

He turns into the parking lot of what I know to be a very high-end apartment building—the kind rich kids play in when mommy and daddy want their space. He parks the SUV and turns to me as he unclips his seatbelt.

“My home, Haley,” he says finally. “For the next few weeks—or however long it takes for me to catch that asshole—you’re staying with me.”

Fuck. Me.

10

HALEY

VIKS DOESN’T WAIT for me to say anything more as he gets out of the car. He also doesn’t really give me much of a choice otherwise either. I’m not wearing shoes, after all. He circles the SUV, opens my door, and lifts me back into his arms after unclipping my seatbelt himself because I refuse to.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” I argue, coughing as my voice heightens in pitch and burns through my vocal cords. Viks merely hefts me higher against his chest. “I can’t stay with you,” I try to insist. My hand lands between his pecs and the tightness of his shirt makes it clear just how fucking jacked he is. I swallow roughly. Yes, staying with him is not a good idea. Not at fucking all.

Dark gray eyes cut down to me as he marches towards the sliding glass doors of the apartment complex. We step inside and my face flames as I spot the security guard stationed across from the entry. The poor man takes one look at the two of us and breaks his casual facade as his brows shoot up towards his already receding hairline.

“Viks!” I hunker down, practically burying my face against his chest. “Put me down,” I practically beg. “Please.”

He doesn’t even break his stride. In fact, his only response happens when we hit the elevators. “Grab my keycard out of my pocket,” he orders.

I look up at his face. “And if I don’t?” If I don’t then he’ll have to put me down, right?

His cool eyes meet mine once more. “You’re testing the limits of my patience, sweetheart.”

I reluctantly slip my hand into his pocket—trying hard not to think about what else is nearby. The only thing I can feel aside from his car keys is a flat card that turns out to be black when I pull it out. “Is this it?”

He nods. “Swipe it against the elevator button,” he orders, moving me closer so I can lean over and do so. The elevator doors slide open and he steps inside.

“Which floor?”

He shakes his head as the doors shut behind us. “The card only takes us to the appropriate floor—they’ll probably put in codes soon so there’s no need for the card itself.”

“Wow,” I mutter. “Fancy.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, but only slightly. And, as if he catches himself, it’s gone a moment later, replaced by that familiar frown of his. We ascend in the elevator in relative silence as I contemplate my options.

What will convince him to let me go? What do I have to do to prove that this is unnecessary? I think.

A moment later, though, another thought forms—what if it isn’t unnecessary? I mean, he has a good point. The dealer knows who I am now; I’ve seen his face and he could want to get rid of me simply because of that. What small time drug dealer goes around killing everyone they run into, though? No, wait. Would he even be considered ‘small’ if someone like Viks is after him?

I turn my eyes back up to the man holding me as the elevator slows to a stop and the doors open once more. He steps out into a short hallway. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sets me on my feet and then moves ahead of me, leaving me with little else to do but trail after him.

“Viks…” I start, only to drift off as we walk out into a sunken living room that looks straight out of a High-rise Living Magazine.

A large, white U-shaped couch dominates the space and instead of a massive television, there’s just a massive wall of windows overlooking the city. I’m not sure what I was expecting of him—barren walls maybe, a TV for sure, but certainly not a perfectly clean living area. It doesn’t have any hint of him at all.

In fact, it looks as though he moved in just like this—there’s no hint of him even living here. No small knickknacks. No clothes strewn about. Even the plants that line a few of the corners of the big open room are fake. It’s as if he’s only here for a short time, perpetually waiting for the day he just disappears and leaves it all behind. That almost makes me sad.

Viks is either unaware of my perusal of his space or he doesn’t care because he doesn’t comment on it as he walks past me and into the kitchen situated directly across from the living room. I blow out a breath.

“If I stay here,” I start, following after him. “I’m going to need clothes.”

He nods towards an open doorway off the living room. “I had a friend stop by and pick up some of your things,” he says. “You’re welcome to check it out.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “What about my classes?” I press.

“Your instructors have been informed of your absence from class for the foreseeable future and special accommodations have been made.”

“Special accommodations?” I repeat. “What does that mean? I still have my senior project to work on. I can’t exactly do that here.” I gesture around the room. Just imagining it full of dust and paint and drop cloths makes me feel kind of itchy—like I’d be invading the space of some unknown stranger. If this place looked even a little bit like him, it wouldn’t be nearly as odd.

Viks walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water before turning towards me and setting it on the island counter between us. “You can do whatever you need from this apartment,” he states. “Until further notice, you can consider yourself under house arrest.”

“House arrest?” I frown at him.

He arches a brow. “Are you going to keep repeating what I tell you?”

Propping my hands on my hips, my frown morphs into a scowl. “Yeah,” I snap. “I am until you start making some sense. I can’t do my art here.”

“Oh?” He uncaps his bottled water and then takes a sip. My gaze slides down to the strong lines of his throat as he swallows. “Why not?” he asks, lowering the bottle a moment later.

“I-it’s your, I mean, I don’t want to mess up your place.” I look away, letting my arms drop.

He snorts. “Ruin it,” he says. “I don’t care.”

My head jerks up and I gape at him in shock. “This place is probably super expensive,” I say.

He shrugs. “So?”

“So—ugh, fine!” I snap. “Maybe I’ll just ruin it after all!”

He chuckles as I storm past him and move towards the open doorway he nodded to before. The second I’m out of his laser like gaze, however, I slow down and pause against the wall, reaching up to feel the fast beat of my heart thudding against my ribcage. I’m trembling, I realize. Fine, small shakes. The same kind that I had back at the hospital. Maybe they’d never stopped and I’d just forgotten about them.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to suck in a deep breath and then slowly release it.

I’m fine, I tell myself, trying to believe it. I’m going to be just fine. But even as I recollect my thoughts and head down the new hallway, I’m not sure if I believe it.

For such a large apartment, there are surprisingly few rooms. As I move throughout the place, I find what looks like an office, completely devoid of anything except a single bookshelf and a desk with a computer on top of it. After that, I find what can only be the master bedroom. The bed in the center is big enough to fit a good five people.

My face flames as I wonder how many women Viks has had in that bed. I leave the room rather quickly, searching the rest of the place. I find two bathrooms, a hall closet, a laundry room, and … a greenhouse.

A greenhouse … in a fucking high-rise apartment. I step inside, feeling the heat on my skin immediately. Unlike the rest of the place, this room is the only one that has any sort of life in it. From the plants lining the walls to the vines creeping up the glass windows.

It’s there that I find an easel set up above a drop cloth and a rather comfortable looking stool. There’s stone and chisels. Paint. Tools. So much that I know none of it can be mine. Are they from the school? Or did he buy them? I pick up a chisel and turn it over, noting the tag still hanging off of the end. Bought new then. My eyes fixate on the price still on the tag and I nearly vomit on the spot, dropping the chisel back into place.

“I think this will do for your art room, yes?” I jump and whirl as Viks’ voice takes me by surprise.

“This is…” My throat closes up as I shake my head. “This is insane,” I finally say. “You didn’t need to buy all of this.”

He shrugs. “It’s just money.”

Maybe to him, but to me it’s … everything. All of the tools. All of the supplies he’d gotten. They’re top quality. Shit I’ve never even thought of being able to afford. The best quality I can get is what I can afford with my salary at the club and my scholarships.

I change subjects. “A green room?” I prompt. “I’m surprised.”

He shrugs as he stands just inside the door, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he leans against the frame. “I didn’t create it,” he says. “It was here when I moved in.”

“I didn’t think you could have one in an apartment.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up and his eyes seem to fixate on me. “You can have anything you want, Haley,” he says. “You just need to make it happen.”

My mouth dries up. Fuck, how does he do this to me? I look away, re-focusing on the plants and vines across from the easel. “If that’s true, then I want to go to class,” I say.

He releases a sigh. “We talked about this.”

“No. You talked. I didn’t get a choice.” I look back at him. “I’ll stay here,” I say. “I’ll call you and update you on my whereabouts, but please … I don’t want to feel like a prisoner.”

Viks grits his teeth for a moment and then scrubs a hand down his face. “If I let you go to class,” he says. “I’ll be picking you up and dropping you off. You keep your phone on you at all times. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of class, I call you—you fucking answer.”

A burst of relief rushes through me. “Yes, of course.” I nod exuberantly. “Does that mean I can go?”

He stands there—still as stone. I can tell he wants to say no. It’s there in the hardness of his jaw, the flash of something sinister in his gaze. Maybe he realizes it, though, that if he truly tries to lock me away, I’ll only try to escape him because finally, after what feels like an eternity, he nods his acquiescence.

“Thank you,” I say the words and I mean them. A man like Viks doesn’t cave for just anyone. His gaze meets mine and his lips curve ever so slightly. Heat rises to my cheeks and I turn away, changing the subject quickly. “So, I … uh … only found one bedroom,” I stutter out. “Where do I sleep?”

“In the bedroom,” he says.

I look back at him with a frown. “There’s only one bed,” I say. “Where are you going to sleep, then?”

He arches a dark brown brow. “Where do you think?” he replies. “The bed.”

“The same bed?” I take a step away from him. “You’re kidding.”

Viks pushes off from the doorframe and makes his way across the room, not stopping until he’s hovering over me—all six foot and several inches of him. “What about my expression makes you think I’m joking?”

I shake my head. “You have to be,” I argue. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you.”

“Why not? You could certainly disobey me once.” I open my mouth, but he speaks over me. “The only way for me to ensure that you won’t try and run in the middle of the night is for you to sleep in my bed.”

“I-I can sleep on the couch.”

He chuckles and the sound of his amusement makes my stomach clench. “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed with you,” I growl, glaring at him.

“Yes, you are,” he informs me just as calmly as if he were telling me a weather report. “And if you fight me on it, I’ll just have to chain you to it.”

A gasp escapes my lips. “You wouldn’t!”

Viks leans down and grins at me. “Try me,” he challenges. Words escape me. My body heats, warming up at his nearness. He turns his head, so close—so fucking close. “I really hope you try me, Haley,” he says. “Because I can’t wait to show you how much I would absolutely love to see you tied to my bed.”

With that, he pulls away, leaving me lightheaded as he turns and walks out of the room. I’m more than lightheaded, I realize a moment later as I take a step to the side and sink onto the stool left there. My thighs clench and rub against each other. I’m wet too.

11

HALEY

I KNOW I’M SLEEPING, but that doesn’t stop the panic. The fear. It eats at me as long, tentacle-like hands creep out of the darkness. They grab at my ankles and legs, dragging me down onto dirty floors. They wrap around my neck, squeezing tight so I can’t scream or cry out for help.

Tears streak my face, panic making the whole thing seem that much more real despite knowing it’s not. It’s not, right?

I half expect someone to jump out of the darkness—the memory of an old friend, or an acquaintance, someone who’s at least somewhat familiar with me—and yell ‘got ya!’ It doesn’t happen. The hands continue to pull at me, dragging me across the ground as they rip at my clothes.

Dirty nails dig into my flesh, parting my thighs. I blink and finally, something other than darkness comes into view. It’s walls—four very sparse walls only lined with metal shelving and boxes upon boxes. I stare up at them in confusion, and somewhere nearby a door slams shut.

My head jerks in the direction of the sound and I realize that the hands are gone and there’s a man standing over me now. Unfortunately, it is someone I recognize. I scramble backward, practically crab walking away in an effort to escape. The man from the club—with his gray ponytail, weathered face, and mismatched eyes reaches out and latches onto one of my ankles.

His strength is shocking. Had he been this strong before? I wonder briefly as he completely stops my backward movements with only one hand. I shake my head. No, this can’t be happening. It can’t be real. It’s not.

My mind rebels at the thought as he gets to his knees before me, spreading my legs wider. “There ya go, girl,” he says, rasping as his hands go to the front of his pants.

Panic clogs my throat. Where’s Viks? Viks wouldn’t let this happen. He was there. He stopped it. He called. Something … someone stop this!

Thick fingers shove up between my legs and I jerk my gaze downward, realizing the hands from before had completely divested me of my clothes. I lay naked before this man, everything on display. Vomit threatens to come up my throat as he licks his lips and shoves his forefinger right between the lips of my pussy.

I clamp down, pulling away. His free hand shoots out, tightening around my neck as I try to scream. Once again, no sound comes out. I’m completely helpless. Tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

I shake my head back and forth. No. No, this isn’t happening. This didn’t happen. I was fine. I swear I was fine. So, why am I dreaming this now? Even at the hospital … no one even mentioned a rape kit because it hadn’t happened. Nothing happened.

“So good,” the man rasps as he continues shoving his fingers in and out of me, keeping my knees spread with both of his.

I fight and struggle against his grip, not caring that I can’t breathe as his hold around my trachea becomes impossibly harder. My mind fogs over with the sheer horror of the event.

His hands bruise my skin. His touch makes me feel sick—like there are a million tiny fire ants dancing beneath my skin. It’s not necessarily what he’s doing that’s causing it all, but the fact that I don’t want it. The fact that I can’t stop him no matter how hard I try. My limbs become lethargic. My head swims with the lack of oxygen.

If you die in a dream, I wonder. Do you die in real life too?

What kind of sickness is inside of me that this is the kind of dream I have after what happened? Does my mind want to torture me? I got away.

I got away! I scream that sentence inside my mind since my lips can’t move or form words. I have to remind myself that this isn’t reality because it feels so very … real.

“That’s the way, sweetheart,” the dealer says, panting above me. He pulls his hand from my throat and I gasp for breath, panting and coughing as fresh oxygen rushes into my lungs. He delves into his pants and pulls out what looks like an inchworm of a cock—at least I didn’t make him well-endowed in my imagination. Serves him right.

That still doesn’t make the sight of it any less repulsive, though. He jerks his little dick as he pushes his fingers into me, readying himself. How much longer do I have to wait? I wonder. For my body to wake up. I can’t let this go on.

I stiffen as the dealer leans forward and kisses me—shoving his fishy lips against mine. His tongue shoves past my defenses. Something small slips between my teeth, a pill.

No! Not again!

It’s just a nightmare, I tell myself. It’s just a nightmare. All I need to do is wake up.

“Haley!” A familiar baritone intrudes on my mind. “Haley, wake the fuck up!”

My eyes shoot open and the first thing I realize is that I’m soaked in sweat and being shaken. My lips part and I gasp, sucking down breath after breath as Viks hovers over me on the bed on his knees. He’s shirtless—the wide expanse of his chest filling my vision as I tremble and cry.

Cry? Oh, I’m crying. Tears streaming down my face as I sob on every exhale. Shaking, I reach upward, clutching at him. My hands lock around his shoulders, moving up to latch together around his neck, needing something—anything—to ground me back to reality when it feels like my mind is sucking me back into the nightmare. Viks’ hands slowly lower down to his sides as I move up, pressing myself against him.

The disgusting sticky sensation of the dealer’s hands on me—his flesh against mine—lingers like an awful disease, clinging and making my mind sick with the memory. I want to vomit. I want to get in a shower and scrub myself until my skin falls off. I want to erase it.

“Please.” The plea comes out on a whisper. I burrow my face into Viks’ chest. “Please.”

“Shhhh.” His wide palm finds the back of my head, the heat of it encompassing my skull as he holds me against him. “You’re okay.” He strokes my hair in soft, gentle movements—odd for a man like him. He doesn’t look like a man who even understands what it’s like to comfort someone. How can he be so fucking good at it? “You’re fine. It was just a dream. A nightmare.”

I know that, but that doesn’t make the feeling go away. More tears leak out. I should feel embarrassed crying in front of a man I’m supposed to hate. But of all the people in this world, I have a feeling that no one else would understand what I’m going through.

He lifts me carefully from my side of the bed and sits me astride him as he rests back against the headboard. I cling—afraid of letting go for even the scantest of seconds. As long as his skin is touching mine, it’s bearable. He’s the barrier I hide behind. The one thing that can keep the fear at bay. My mouth is dry and as I squeeze my eyes shut—trying to force the real memories and the fake ones of the nightmare away—I swear I can still feel the pill on my tongue, dissolving and sticking to the insides of my cheeks, quickly stealing all of my self-autonomy.

Viks continues to soothe me, his hand stroking my head as he holds me to him. He’s being … kind. Something I never expected from the big asshole. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been a prick. Always driving me insane with his arrogant smirk and commanding attitude. The way he looks at people—either seeing right through them or right over them—has always driven me mad. Right now, though, he’s doing neither. For the first time, it really feels like he sees me. He feels me.

I need something. I need to drown out the wild array of thoughts circling my head. I want it to go away. The memory of the pill. The feeling of the dealer’s tongue shoving into my mouth in the dream. I pull back and Viks meets my gaze, his brow creased in concern.

I don’t hesitate and I don’t give myself a moment to second guess. I push up and let my mouth meet his. For a second, he freezes. His whole body goes tense.

Don’t deny me, I silently beg. Please don’t turn me away.

Hate him or not, in this moment, I need him. And as if he hears me, a moment goes by and then the most incredible thing happens—he kisses me back.

His mouth moves against mine—over mine. His lips part and he gently prods me with the tip of his tongue. I don’t even think about not letting him inside. I want it. I want him.

I gasp for breath as the kiss turns carnal. His hands harden against my back, fingers clenching into fists and then unclenching as he pushes back against the headboard for a moment before turning and sweeping the both of us around. My spine meets the mattress as he comes down over top of me—his form so very different from the drug dealer’s. Bigger. Wider. Everything about him is different.

Why the hell have I fought this for so long? I ask myself. Viks kisses me like a starved man. Like he’s been circling the desert for years and I’m the first taste of water he’s had in a long fucking time.

His tongue thrusts forward again and again, withdrawing and then coming back as he mimics the act of sex. I groan deep in my throat, my hands tightening around his neck—refusing to let him leave me for even the second it takes to catch his next breath. I don’t need to breathe as much as I need to feel him inside of me.

Something long and thick prods against my lower stomach. I spread myself wide open with little thought, welcoming him into the cradle of my legs. He moans against my mouth, grinding down against my sex until I feel like I’m on the verge of losing my goddamn mind. How can he do this to me and he hasn’t even hardly touched me?

“Haley…” Viks’ voice is a fucking deliciously dark rasp, low and vibrating against me. He pulls away, and my eyes open as he looks down at me.

No. I want him closer. Harder. I want all of him.

Between my legs, wetness leaks down, sliding towards the crack of my ass. I’m not ashamed enough to be afraid of begging. I whimper as he pulls himself up, hovering over me with his hands planted against the mattress on either side of me.

“Please,” I whisper. “Viks … Mitchell…”

His lips tighten. He looks pained. So am I. It feels like hell not having him inside. As if my pussy agrees, it clenches and unclenches—needing more than the emptiness it currently holds. The muscles of my thighs tighten. Viks pants, his chest rising and falling in quick jerky movements. He shakes his head.

“You’re not thinking clearly, Haley,” he says, a denial. “You won’t like this when you return to your senses.”

He moves up, pushing against the mattress until I can’t even feel the warmth of him against me. “No!” I half scream, my hands snapping out and clasping at his biceps, yanking him back. It doesn’t exactly work. All I manage to do is pull myself up with him, sitting back astride his powerful thighs.

“No, I won’t.” More tears leak out of the corners of my eyes as the fear that he might leave me now, leave me wanting like this, is realized. “I won’t regret anything,” I promise harshly. “Please, I can’t … I can’t stand the feel of him on me.”

“Then take a shower,” he says, looking away, but I notice he doesn’t keep pulling away. He’s fighting this. It’s hard for him too. Really hard, if the log tenting his boxers is anything to go by.

I shake my head fervently. “It won’t help,” I swear. “I need you. Please, Viks. Please make me forget…”

His teeth grit together. He squeezes his eyes shut as if he can’t bear to look at me. I pray to God, to the universe, to whoever the fuck will listen that he doesn’t leave me now. I don’t know how I can stand it if he does. The reality is … I can’t get him out of my bloodstream.

Mitchell Vikson is a fucking dick, but I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s in my mind all of the time. His scent is in my lungs. His body is … everything I want. Everything and more.

His head turns back and his eyes meet mine. Something in their depths shift and hope swells within me. The fire deep inside of him might burn me, but I don’t care. “You’re going to hate me for this,” he growls, warning me. “But fuck, I don’t think I care anymore.”

I practically sob in relief as he comes back down on top of me, his body hard and electric against my flesh. “I won’t,” I promise him. “I swear I won’t.”

I might hate myself for this later, but never him. After all, I begged for this. This is what I want. This is what I need. Him. Only ever him.

12

VIKS

HALEY MONTGOMERY IS QUITE POSSIBLY the hottest thing I’ve ever touched in my life. Hotter than fire. More addictive than power. Right now, I’m ready to sink myself into her and let myself be burned alive. She’s coated in a thin layer of sweat and it makes her skin glisten as she clings to me, arms wrapping around my shoulders, eyes searching my face, hopeful and heated with arousal.

I can hear just how wet she is between her legs. Every time she shifts, every time she moves—it’s quiet, but there. I want to taste it, and if she’s being so very needy at this time—all of her previous hatred of me erased in the shadow of her nightmare—why not? I think. Why can’t I? After all, this is what it means to be mine. She wanted this. Pleaded for this. Why shouldn’t I take advantage? She gets what she needs and … I can finally get a little piece of her nirvana.

Moving back, I keep my eyes steady on hers even as her arms fall away, and I slowly scoot towards the end of the bed, bringing her with me. Haley’s dark lashes flutter against her cheekbones and her chest rises and falls rapidly as I push her upper body down and then lift first one leg over my shoulder and then the other before sliding forward once more, right against the place I’ve been dying to touch since the moment I first laid eyes on her.

I should’ve done whatever I could the second she walked into Club Outsider to get her in this position. Under me with my mouth inches from what I know will be the most delicious pussy I’ve ever tasted.

Maybe she hated me at first sight, but I haven’t felt anything but lust towards her. Lust and maybe … fear. Because a woman like Haley Montgomery isn’t the type of woman you just fuck and leave. She’s the type you lock down. Eastpoint style.

Her little panties have to go. If I have anything to say about it, she’ll never wear them again. I hook my fingers into the fabric clinging to her hip bones on either side, looking back up at her as I tug them down. She lifts her legs on her own, and once I have them completely off, her thighs return to their rightful place next to my ears.

Fuck, she’s beautiful. All wet pinkness and soft flesh. Juicy, like a ripe peach ready to be consumed. My mouth waters, and I use my thumbs to spread her open ever so slightly.

A soft, wanting noise erupts from her throat and her hands come down against my head, her fingers moving through the strands of my hair, nails scraping slightly. “Fuck,” I mutter more to myself than to her. “You’re fucking soaked, aren’t you, baby?” She’s drenching my sheets and my fingers just like a good girl should.

Just one taste, I think, leaning into her, breathing in her scent.

One taste isn’t going to be enough, I realize the second my lips meet her pussy. I spear my tongue into her, lapping up her juice, letting it run down the back of my throat. She’s heaven on my fucking tongue. The fruit of the damn gods.

I bury my whole face against her, lapping at her, trying to get as much of it into my mouth, on my tongue, down my throat as possible. I want it all. Mine. The caveman thought pours through me as I fuck her with my tongue and devour her pussy like a man crazed. Mine. Mine. Fucking Mine!

Haley’s lips part above and she cries out as I feast upon her. Little moans and gasps of pleasure fill my ears. The thighs against my face begin to tremble, the first sign that she’s about to come. I keep going, moving until I can slide a finger right through her wetness and into her open pussy. It’s like a lovely flower, blossoming just for me.

She’s tight as I slide inside, fucking her now with both my tongue and finger. The proof of her arousal drips from my chin down onto the sheets below. I don’t care. I don’t plan on stopping until she’s come all over my face.

“Viks!” Her legs are restless, moving against me, lifting and falling as she squirms under my ministrations. Her ankles cross and uncross against my back.

More. I need more of her. I pound her little dripping pussy, adding another finger and then another as her pussy clamps down harder and her cries reach a new pitch.

She screams out as a fresh gush of wetness hits my mouth and I drink—swallowing all of her as she gasps and pants and sobs through her release. This is only the beginning.

After she seems to come back to herself, her legs flopping down in exhaustion, I lift up over her and grab the hem of the shirt I let her sleep in. A stupid idea on my part. I was so very stupid hours ago when I thought this wouldn’t happen. When I thought I could keep my hands to myself. I should have known better.

I don’t even bother to pull it off of her, instead, I rip it straight up from the bottom, parting the fabric all the way to her throat and then I slip either side away, revealing her breasts. Soft, round, pink tipped perfection. My eyes light on her as she gazes up at me. The expression on her face is anything but apprehensive.

My attention falls to her throat and I grit my teeth at the dark stain there. He should have never gotten that close. Not to her. My hand grazes the side of her throat and down lower. She’s got more bruises on her upper arms and some smaller, finger-sized ones around one breast. Anger rockets through me, red hot and violent.

“What are you waiting for, Viks?” Her question pulls me back, reminding me that I’m not supposed to be thinking about that fucker. The whole of my attention should be on this, on her.

“Permission,” I say, offering the half lie as my eyes fall back to the small of her stomach and her wet pussy for a brief moment before I come down hard on top of her, pressing the evidence of my own arousal against her little belly and rubbing. It’s only a half lie because I do want her consent, but at the same time, I’m ready and willing to take what I want. “Give it to me,” I command. “Tell me who you belong to. I want to hear you say it.”

Her lips press together. “Do we have to do it like that?” she asks. “Can’t you just…” Her words trail off as she spreads her legs and her hands move down, one of her fingers circling slowly over her clit.

I grasp her wrist, pulling her hand away and then pressing it down to the mattress above her head. “Yes,” I growl. “Say it or you won’t get any more. You wanted me to fuck you? Then admit it. Whose pussy is this?” I let my own hand travel down the flat of her stomach, straight to the place I know she still aches.

“Mine,” she gasps as I hover just there—right above her needy clit. “I’m just letting you borrow it.”

I shake my head. “Wrong answer,” I say. “Try again.”

Haley clenches her teeth and looks up at me, eyes wavering with barely suppressed need and desire. Desire, I’m sure, is reflected in my own gaze. Doesn’t matter, though. I know what I need to hear before we cross this line. She needs to admit it. The truth that both of us have known for so long. We’ve been straddling the line between love and hate for so long, I’m not sure if we haven’t crossed the line already.

“Stop being so scared, sweetheart,” I whisper into the darkness of the bedroom. “And tell me what you already know.”

Haley’s pretty blues disappear as she closes her eyes for a brief moment. When they reopen, there’s a sturdiness in her gaze, a resolute understanding. Her breath is louder than her words, but I hear it. “You want me to admit it, Viks?” Her cheeks are flushed, eyes heated. “Fine,” she says. “I want it. I want you. You want me to be yours, okay. I’m yours. Now … fuck me.”

Her wish is my command. I release her arm, settle my hands on her hips and lift her into my lap as I jerk down the waistband of my basketball shorts. My cock stands tall and proud, and for the briefest of moments, I consider using a condom. But this is Haley—Haley Montgomery—the only woman who’s ever looked me dead in the eye and flat out admitted her hatred … and her need. She deserves it raw. She deserves it fucking good.

I press the head of my dick towards her opening and push forward, flexing my hips and rotating them. She whimpers, her nails sinking into my forearms even as her legs spread wider.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I praise her. “You’re doing real good. Taking my cock so fucking well.”

“It’s fucking massive,” she mutters, grimacing as it stretches her pussy open, spearing through her wetness. “Shit, did you have to be so big?”

I chuckle. Of course she’s complaining. I push forward another several inches in one go and love the sound of her breath catching as her chest heaves and bows upward. I thought there could be nothing better than the taste of her on my tongue, but I was wrong. It’s this. It’s the feel of her hot, wet pussy squeezing around my cock so fucking good and tight, practically strangling me.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “You asked me to fuck you. So…” I thrust forward until my hips meet hers and her back bows and her forehead creases with what looks like a combined mixture of pain and pleasure, “let me fuck you.”

Her chest heaves and she shoots me the vilest of looks. She wouldn’t be Haley if she didn’t fight me just a little. I don’t quite care right now, though, because of all the places I’ve put my cock, this right here is the tightest, wettest, most delicious pussy it’s ever been in.

I lean over her, pressing my face close. “Hold your breath, Haley,” I warn her. “Because you’re getting what you asked for. I’m granting your wish, and you’re getting fucked tonight.”

Before she can utter a curse or a denial, I clench my fingers around her hips and withdraw my cock until it’s on the precipice of her cunt and then I thrust back into her all in one go. A guttural cry escapes her lips and she shudders as I smooth my hand over her skin and finally touch her needy little clit. I press my thumb over the bundle of nerves, holding and circling as I fuck into her again and again. Sliding through the vice-like grip of her muscles as they contract around me, I take her to the heights of which I didn’t even know I could.

Her eyes roll back into her head as I thrust into her. My hips pump back and forth and it’s just not enough for me. I jerk her up and her lips part on a moan as I slam my mouth into hers. Haley’s arms encircle me and she kisses me back—full of pain and anger and … yes, hopefully a little bit of love. Because I have to admit this isn’t a hate fuck. It never could have been. I don’t hate the way she does. Did.

God, I hope she doesn’t hate me after this.

I kiss her like I’m drowning and she’s my only source of oxygen. Our tongues twine together, rolling over each other. Playing. I’ve never played during sex. I’ve fucked. It’s different with her, and I think I knew from the very beginning that it would be.

Every gasp. Every moan. Every shudder that works through her body directs me where to go. Tears leak out of her eyes, but I don’t mistake them for ones of pain or fear. Her breasts press against my pecs and swell as she moans and rides my cock, the hardness of her nipples scraping against my skin, making my cock pulse with want, with need. Her hips move all on their own as she starts to seek her own pleasure, the next release waiting just on the edges of our consciousness.

“Mitchell…” she whimpers out my name in a way no other woman has or could. I band my arms around her as I thrust up into her sweet pussy, feeling her muscles begin to clamp and her thighs begin to shake uncontrollably.

I need to pull out, I think. I have to. She’s not ready. She’s too young and I’m too … bound.

At least for now, Nicholas Carter is my master and I am his servant. She has the whole world in front of her and I can’t tie her to me like this, but the thought is there—the desire to see her full and swollen with a part of me eats away at my mind.

I pant, needing a distraction. “Are you going to come, Haley?” I ask, kissing the side of her jaw and licking a path up to her ear before I take the lobe between my teeth, biting down. She tightens all over. “You going to cream all over my fucking cock like a good girl?” She moans, nails scraping my buzzed head, sending shivers down my spine. My girl likes the dirty talk. I can feel it in each pulse of her cunt every time I say something so filthy and nasty.

“I bet you want to,” I taunt her. “I bet your pretty pussy wants nothing more than to let go and drench me in your fucking juices. Is that what you want?” A whimper escapes her throat and she pants, soft little breathes puffing across my flesh. I squeeze my hands on her hips and hammer into her, fucking her deep and hard, needing it myself. Needing to feel her come the fuck apart all over my dick before I lose complete and utter control. And as if she senses that need, a split second passes before I get my reward.

“Fuck!” she screams as she comes all over my cock, her wetness sliding down over my thighs as she trembles and clenches her hands on me, nails cutting into the flesh of my back and scratching as she tries to fight the pleasure, pulling away and then coming back. I let her go, fighting the pain of not coming myself until she’s done.

Once she’s completely sated, though, I pull her off of me and lay her back, dragging my cock from her depths and only then, as I pump my fist over my dick, do I come. Thick jets of white cum shoot out from the head and land over the lower curve of her stomach as her tits rise and fall with her labored breaths.

I was good. I didn’t do it, didn’t fill her sweet pussy full of my cum. But I could’ve. The thought is still there. I wanted to. Still want to.

Haley is in so much danger with me. Not just because of the drug dealer but because I want to bind her to me in a way that can never be undone. She might have said the words, but I want them to be true. I want her to be mine in every fucking way and I’m afraid that one of these days I’m going to do something to make it impossible for her to run away. I’m going to lock her up and take away all of her options. The only thing she’ll be able to have is me and me alone. And it won’t mean a goddamn thing unless she chooses me herself.

13

HALEY

I WAKE UP WITH VIKS’ chest plastered to my back—my very naked back—and his arm locked tight around my abdomen while one of his legs is pressed between both of mine. Are we … spooning? The memories of the night before come rushing back. The nightmare and then, waking up from the nightmare. He’d been there and he’d been so fucking warm, so … not the monster I couldn’t escape in my dreams. I’d latched onto him and he’d let me. The filthy things he’d done to me enter my mind as flashes of hot hands and torn clothes slip through my head. Shit fuck. Well, that explains why I’m naked.

I’d really gone and fucking done it. I’d given in to Mitchell Vikson. My boss and … the man I’ve hated for the last several years. What’s worse is that I think it was the best sex I’d ever had in my life.

The reason for my morning of self-reflection groans against my ear as his body shifts ever so slightly. His leg raises and presses up into my—yup, no underwear—pussy. The borrowed shirt I’d had on the night before lays, ripped to shreds, on the floor of his bedroom several feet away, right alongside my underwear. He, on the other hand, is still wearing the boxers he was in when we went to bed.

"Morning, sweetheart.” Viks’ heated whisper in my ear makes shivers dance up and down my spine.

Now that he’s awake, there’s nothing stopping me from escaping his clutches. I pull away, reaching for the edge of the sheet and drawing it up to cover my breasts as I turn and look back at him.

“Erm … yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual and failing. “Morning.”

Sleepy Viks is like an atomic bomb compared to his usual self. He smiles at me, all slow and languid as he turns onto his back and stretches up, his muscles pulling tight beneath all of that hot, tanned skin. My mouth goes suddenly dry, and I can’t seem to pull my eyes away. All of that was inside me last night. My pussy clenches automatically—the traitor.

Viks groans and then finishes his stretch before looking back at me. His lips pull into a smirk. “Are you going to turn into a rabbit today?” he asks.

It’s such a preposterous, unexpected question that my jaw drops. “What?”

He sits up and pushes the sheets down, they pull against my hands, but I hold tight. “Are you going to get all jumpy on me today after what happened last night?” he explains. “Like a little baby rabbit.”

“I don’t…” Am I? As I contemplate his question, his hand snaps out and grabs ahold of the sheet I’ve got against my chest and yanks it down. I yelp and slap at his arm, trying to snatch it back.

He wrestles me down to the mattress, his hands coming out and latching onto my wrists. He pulls them away and then crosses my arms together at the wrist and grasps both of them in one of his hands. My chest heaves with the effort it takes to try and calm my heart. My nipples tighten under his intense stare as, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, he comes down hard over top of me.

“Don’t,” Viks warns as he pushes my legs wide, refusing to let me hide. I look up, staring past him at the ceiling.

Please don’t notice, I silently beg as my face flames to life. Heat assails my skin, rising to the surface fast and hard. I’m still not sure how I feel emotionally or mentally about what happened, but I do know that my body is completely on board with the way he feels physically because the traitorous bitch is wet and ready.

“Don’t what?” I pant.

“Don’t go back,” he snaps, his free hand moving to my chin as he directs my gaze downward so that I’m looking him right in the face. I’m viscerally aware of the fact that I’m naked beneath him, vulnerable.

“Go back?” I frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s no going back for us, Haley,” Viks answers. “Not you or me. What happened last night was real and I have a feeling that if I let you, you’ll try to pretend like it never did.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie,” he warns with a small grin. “Or I’ll take that as an invitation to punish you.”

“You pretentious fucking, narcissistic caveman,” I grit out. “You have no right—”

I’m flipped over onto my stomach in the span of a heartbeat, my words cutting off as I suddenly find myself face down, nose pressed into a pillow. The whistle of air reaches my ears and then, suddenly, a searing pain smacks into my backside.

I gasp, arching slightly away from the pain, but it doesn’t last long. No, in fact, the pain quickly morphs into something else, something … pleasurable.

“Did you just spank me?”

Viks’ answer, though, is to do it again. His hand comes down on my other asscheek, and I can’t stop the small moan that escapes my lips when, once again, the pain turns to hot pleasure. Something dangerous slides through my veins as he presses himself down against me and I can feel just how hard he is as his cloth covered cock slides between the cheeks of my ass and his heated breath meets my ear.

“Deny it all you want, Haley girl,” he whispers, “but I bet all the money in my fucking bank account that if I reach down between those thighs of yours, I’ll find you soaked.” A beat, and then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses against me even harder. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges.

“You’re…” I can’t say the words. Not only do I know that he would be well aware of the lie, but I also suspect he’d want to check for himself. So, I swallow and change my tactic. “An asshole,” I finish.

He chuckles darkly and my eyes nearly roll back into my head. “That’s what I thought, Haley girl,” he says, amused. “Now, I’ll let you decide. Do you want to go for another round and then get up and get dressed so I can drive you to school, or do you want to play a game?”

“A game?”

“Yeah.” I can sense more than see the smirk on his face. “A wonderfully…” He begins to move down my back, his flesh sliding against mine. “Deviant…” Viks’ mouth touches my shoulder blade and then moves to my spine. “Little game…”

I don’t really get a choice. Before I even understand what’s happening, Viks’ game has already started. His teeth nip at my skin and immediately after, his tongue soothes the sting as he skims all the way down my spine until he reaches my ass. His big hands touch my hips, pulling me up and shoving a pillow beneath my stomach to keep me propped up for his pleasure.

I should stop this, I think. I need to stop this, but I can’t. Whether he realizes it or not, whether I want to admit it or not, my body is already at his command.

It doesn’t even shock me when he spreads the cheeks of my ass and pushes my knees up so I’m kneeling on the bed and then dives down, licking a clear path up my wet slit. He groans.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be this way,” he mutters against the lips of my pussy. “So fucking delicious.”

A gasp leaves me as he slides down for more. The soft scrape of the buzzed sides of his head and the morning beard growth on his jaw against my skin make me tremble as his mouth moves over me. My whole body is a shaking mess, wetness gushing out from between my legs like I’m a broken faucet. I’m no innocent. I’m not a virgin. But Viks makes me feel like this is the first time. He makes me feel things I’ve never even imagined I could.

He devours my pussy like a man consumed. His tongue catching each and every drop as he moves down and then suctions his lips around my clit. I cry out, my nails scoring against the sheets as my back bows.

“Fuck!”

I can feel how wet his face is, but still, he doesn’t stop. His hands grip my cheeks, spreading them even wider as he feasts upon me like a starving man. He sucks my clit into his mouth and scrapes his teeth along the sensitive bundle. I don’t even feel the creep of one hand until it’s nearly at the top of my ass. So, when I feel a thick, long finger touch my asshole and then push in—covered by what I assume are my own juices—my whole body locks up.

Viks pulls back slightly. “Don’t tense up,” he commands with a raspy voice.

“I-I can’t,” I practically beg him. It’s tight and it feels … wrong, like something that shouldn’t be there.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is a hard rasp. I don’t want to answer, because the truth is that it doesn’t and if it doesn’t hurt me, I know he’ll keep going.

He pulls his mouth from my pussy and, leaving his fingers deep inside my darkest hole, he slaps my ass with the flat of his other palm and I bite down on my lip until I taste blood. “Answer me, Haley.”

I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” It feels fucking hot. His mouth descends back against me and the fingers in my ass continue thrusting. Little pops of color dance behind my eyes. The orgasm that had been crawling to life now flares bright and hot inside of me, damn near there. Viks must realize it, though, because as soon as I seem to get close—he fucking stops. He does it again and again so that by the fifth time, I slap my hands against the mattress, crying out.

“Fucking let me come!” I scream.

“You want to come?” he asks, but the question is whispered against my pussy—so close that I can feel the curve of his lips as he smiles and I know, I just know, I’m not going to like the way this goes.

I bury my face into the pillow before me, not answering him. I pant and whine as he completely abandons my pussy and focuses only on my ass. “Stop tensing,” he says, slapping my side with his palm.

Tears of shame roll down my cheeks as I try to release my muscles. I’ll never admit it aloud, but the spanking helps, and I feel my body slowly begin to accept the dark intrusion. He pushes one finger in and curls it inside my ass. I bite down on my lower lip to keep from arching back. This isn’t something I should like. It’s not something I should want.

But when Viks presses another finger in on his next pass, my head goes foggy. Wetness slides down my trembling inner thighs.

“That’s a good girl,” Viks praises me. “Just let it go. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

I shake my head in negation, unwilling to admit it. He slaps my ass again and my lips part on a cry.

“Don’t fucking lie, Haley girl,” Viks warns. “Tell me the truth and I’ll let you come.”

I close my eyes. I’m trapped. I want to come so fucking bad. Finally, I release a breath and look back, meeting the dark gray gaze of the man pushing two of his fingers deep into my darkest hole.

“Yes, you fucker,” I snap. “It feels good.”

“I’m going to take you here.” Though he says the words, they’re not a request for permission—not like the night before. He’s informing me of what’s going to happen, and I can’t help but nod my head in acquiescence. I don’t care how I have to get there, right now. If letting him fuck my ass will push me over this edge, I’ll do it.

Viks withdraws his fingers. Somehow, I feel strangely empty without them. He leaves the bed and I keep my head buried in the pillows, my ass in the air, my cunt dripping down my inner thighs like a fucking slut. I don’t give a shit. However he wants me, he can have me. I just need him to release me from these fucking shackles, to free me enough that I can come again.

In the next second, he gives me exactly what he promised. Viks drops back down on the bed behind me, the mattress dipping slightly. The sound of liquid squirting from a tube slides over my ears and then something cool and wet touches my back entrance. His fingers push back into my ass and I clench automatically.

“Let me in,” he orders, slapping the fleshy underside of one cheek and making me jump.

“Shit,” I hiss, clutching a pillow to my face and chest.

My ass loosens as he pushes in two fingers and then three. Once he can fuck me in long smooth motions, he seems to decide I’m good and ready for him because he pulls out and the next thing I know, the spongy head of his cock presses against me.

“Take me, Haley.” I can hear the harshness of his breathing at my back as one hand grasps my waist and the other guides his cock into me. “Take my fucking cock into your ass. There you go, that’s a good girl.”

My pussy feels so fucking empty. Tears stream down my face, hitting the pillow beneath me. The fullness is killing me. I feel the burning stretch in my ass as he pushes forward, eased by the liquid—lube, I assume—he used to get me ready for him. It hurts, but only in the darkest most deviant of ways.

I can feel him move inside of me, spearing me deep, fucking down into me until there’s no escape. “Touch yourself,” he orders once he’s fully seated inside of me and there’s no room left for anything else. “Touch your clit and make yourself come, Haley.”

Body aching, fingers shaking, I slip my hand down between my legs and pinch my clit, circling the little bundle until the fluttering of a new orgasm arises. Viks drags himself out of my ass, all the way until only the head remains and then thrusts forward—that burn flaring to life once more.

I sob against the bedsheets as wetness drips from my cunt, sliding down my inner thighs as he fucks my ass hard. His cock drags along my innermost nerves, lighting them up. I’m drenched in my own sweat, panting, shivering. My body is no longer my own. It’s his. He owns me completely. My whole body lights up. Fireworks pop beneath my skin. My thighs tremble and shake uncontrollably.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, Haley baby.” He forces himself into me, bringing his hips all the way against my ass cheeks, pressing into me until I can feel my stomach cramp and my muscles contract around him as he pulls back out—I almost hate that part. Hate it when he withdraws from me, leaving me feeling so fucking empty.

My lips part as I pant, my face smashed against the pillow as I rub my clit harder and faster, my fingers soaked with my own wetness. It’s filthy and vile and so fucking good, I lose myself. I become whatever Viks wants me to be. No longer Haley Montgomery in this moment, but his—all of me is his. So, when he growls out his next command, bending over me until his cock is as deep as it can reach, there’s no way I can deny him.

“Come for me,” he orders. “Come as I fuck your ass, Haley. I want to feel you.”

I hear the sounds coming from my throat, how embarrassing they are, but I can’t stop. The world goes hazy as my orgasm follows his command and drives me right over the edge. And as he groans and stills inside of me, his cocking jerking as he fills me so full, I have to finally admit something—Viks fucks like a madman and if this is how good he is at games, then I’m so fucked if he decides to make this serious.

14

HALEY

THE SUV PULLS UP to the curb and I reach for the handle. Viks’ hand comes out and slaps the lock button just before I yank the door open. I freeze, facing away from him, and then slowly lift my head and turn back.

I swallow and brazen my way through. “You gonna let me out or what?”

He arches one single brow and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “You gonna run away from me as soon as I do?” he replies.

Hell fucking yes, I mentally answer, but I know if I say that, there’s no fucking way he’ll let me go to class today. Something has changed between us. Last night altered our relationship and I’m afraid—fucking terrified that I won’t be able to handle the repercussions. The way he looks at me is dark and heated and full of some untamed emotion. It makes my shoulders rise and my breath catch in my throat.

“Come here, Haley,” he orders.

My hand slips away from the door, and I turn a little more fully in my seat, wincing slightly at the soreness in my ass. He’d cleaned me out in the shower after this morning’s sexual escapades, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still smart. I don’t exactly follow his command. Instead, I look at him pointedly while sitting in the passenger seat, neither trying to scramble for freedom like I want to nor throwing myself in his lap like he obviously wants me to when he pats his lap.

“What are you? Santa Claus?” I joke. “Come on, I gotta get to class.”

“Come here, Haley,” he repeats.

I stare down at his lap for a moment, remembering what it felt like to be on it last night and how deeply he’d penetrated me and taken me to heights I hadn’t even known existed. “Viks…” This isn’t a good idea. This is so not a good idea.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he promises as if that’s some sort of consolation prize. That’s the fucking problem, though. Anything he does to me … is something I want.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I argue. “There are people—”

“The windows are tinted,” he interrupts me as he unbuckles his belt and reaches for me when I still refuse to cave in to him. When his hands lock around my waist and manually lift me before depositing me on his lap, my stomach does somersaults.

“Viks…” Fuck, why is it so hard to fight him now? Because he’s good at sex? I didn’t think I was that kind of girl to just give in after a wild night and morning of crazy hot sex, but … here the fuck I am. Unable to resist him. Unable to move.

He presses his lips to mine, and somehow, I manage to keep myself from parting my mouth and letting him inside. He chuckles against the chaste kiss before moving down, skimming his lips along my cheek to my jaw and down. A shiver skates up my spine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck! I’m high, dizzy, like he’s a drug and I’m so addicted that just one hit will get me off. The deeper I fall against him, into him, the more I rise higher and higher.

“Come on, Haley girl,” Viks urges. “Just one kiss.”

“We’re not…” I gasp for breath, feeling like all of the air in my lungs has magically escaped me. “It didn’t … mean—last night wasn’t…” I can’t even manage a coherent sentence, but Viks seems to understand.

His fingers push under my shirt and the muscles beneath my flesh jump at the feel of his skin against mine. He’s so hot—like a furnace. Goosebumps rise along my forearms.

“Think whatever you want, Haley,” Viks says quietly. “But I think we both know that there’s no going back. Now, open your mouth so I can give you a goodbye kiss.”

This time, he doesn’t give me the opportunity to deny him. I part my lips to do so and his mouth is back, shoving against mine, his tongue pushing inside. And I. Am. So. Fucking. Lost.

He takes. He consumes. He completely eradicates any and all denial in my mind. Any thought to argue disperses as his kiss takes over. My hands arch up without my permission—as if they’re being controlled by a completely different person, someone who can’t help but want this very dangerous man that I have no business getting involved with. My fingers slide against the back of his neck as I kiss him back.

Our mouths meld together, lips against lips. Heat against heat. My breasts swell and I shove them against his chest, wanting more. In his lap, I grind down against him as the desire completely takes over all logical thought.

Viks has to be the one to break the kiss and when he does, we’re both a little sweaty and panting. “As much as I would love to give you another reason to love me,” he says and I blanch, “I doubt you’d be too happy with me if I fucked you right now.”

I push against his chest, irritation flaring back to life now that my thoughts aren’t completely overwhelmed by his scent. “Oh, piss off,” I snap as I adjust my clothes, jerking my shirt back down to cover my stomach. I climb over into the passenger seat and snatch my bag up from the floorboards as I reach for the door handle. “Let me out,” I demand, grabbing the door handle.

“I’ll be here to pick you up after your classes,” Viks says.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll be here, maybe I won't.” I jerk at the handle meaningfully.

Silence. The doors don’t unlock. I look back and raise a questioning eyebrow. Viks’ face has lost all hint of desire and instead, it’s filled with the darkness of anger. I blink, shocked.

“You will be here, Haley,” he growls, “because you don’t want to know what I’ll do if I have to go hunting for you.” He leans across the console and gets all up in my space.

Once again, my breath stops. I pull back automatically, accidentally banging the back of my head into the passenger side window to avoid the violence in his eyes.

“I am letting you have this freedom, baby,” he says, reaching up as his fingers touch the corner of my mouth. “But make no mistake, if I wanted to, I could have you locked up and no one would be able to stop me. No one would even know you went missing.”

My heart hammers inside my chest wildly, like a bird finally realizing it’s well and truly trapped. “I…” I have no words. No idea what to say to that. It’s hot and yet, at the same time, frightening.

Something clicks inside the door and Viks pulls back. Only then do I realize that his other hand is on the button to unlock the doors. “Go,” he orders. “I’ll be here to pick you up later. Keep your phone on.”

“You didn’t have to give me a new phone,” I mutter.

He shoots me a dark look and I sigh. “Fine.”

“Get to class,” he orders.

Unable to do anything else, I nod and open the door, hopping out onto the sidewalk. Sunshine hits me in the face and I take a step back away from the vehicle. Should I … run? I wonder. Can I even get away?

As if he can read my mind, Viks rolls down the passenger side window after I’ve shut the door and leans across. “Don’t even think about it, baby,” he warns. “I’ll find you—wherever you go, I’ll find you.”

I stare back at him and hitch my backpack a little higher on my shoulder. “Goodbye, Viks,” I say before turning away and heading off.

His laughter slides through my ears, dark and low, as I stride down the sidewalk, heading into the crowd waiting to cross one of the crosswalks that leads to the row of classroom buildings. When I look back, it’s after I’ve already met up with them, and the SUV is gone. My confusion remains.

Three months ago, if someone were to have told me that I’d be in this kind of relationship with Mitchell Vikson, I would’ve told them they were insane. Now … well, I’m still having a difficult time coming to terms with it myself.

If he was going to be like this, why the hell did he ever torture me in the first place? All those late nights at the club when I really should have been in my dorm room, getting ready for my next art project. Those times he requested me only to have me at his beck and call for hours in a private lounge. The little snide comments. The irritating looks. Was he just riling me up because he knew I couldn’t stand him?

I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t realize I’ve reached my classroom building until I’m standing in front of the steps and a familiar face is striding down the sidewalk, eyes completely focused on me. I groan internally. Of all days to deal with Josh, I was really hoping it wouldn’t be today.

“Is it true?” Josh demands as he stops in front of me, a scowl on his lips.

My brows shoot up in surprise at his tone. “Is what true?” I reply, frowning.

“Is it true that that fuckwad dropped you off at school today?”

“That fuckwad is my boss,” I remind him, “and it’s none of your business.” I turn to head into the building, but I’m stopped by a firm hand on my arm.

I blink and look down as Josh’s grip tightens and he pulls me back around to face him. “Don’t fuck with me, Haley,” he growls. “What the hell is going on with him? Are you fucking him?”

Shock courses through me. “What the fuck does it matter to you?” I demand.

“We’re—” he starts.

“Nothing,” I say, cutting him off. “I have never once wanted to go out with you, Josh. The answer has always been and always will be no. You keep asking and asking and I just don’t know how to say it in a way that you’ll understand. I’m not interested in you like that.”

Josh’s face darkens and as I pull my arm from his hand, his arms drop to his sides, his fingers balling up into fists. “But you’re interested in him?”

I shake my head and instead of responding, I start up the steps and catch the door as someone else pops out and leaves. Josh’s footsteps follow me into the front hall. “Answer me, Haley,” he demands.

Gritting my teeth with irritation, I stop and whirl around to face him. “Why?” I snap. “Because you think you deserve an answer? News fucking flash, dick, you don’t.”

A whoosh of air rushes by my face as Josh suddenly punches the wall behind my head. His body moves closer and my jaw drops in shock as he presses me back. “I’ve been nice,” he says, his voice practically vibrating with anger. “I’ve tried to treat you right, convince you the good way, and this is how you repay my kindness?” Shock rockets through me. “You won’t give me the time of day, but you’ll be a whore for Carter’s right hand bitch? Fine. Stay in the mud. Fuck your gutter man. I could’ve given you so fucking much, but it seems like you weren’t worth it after all.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand. Gutter man?

Josh laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You don’t even know?” His chuckles grate against my ear. “How funny … you don’t even know who you’re fucking.” He gestures to me. “You think you can hide it under make-up, but I see the bruises on you. He do that?”

Rage pounds through my system. I shove against his chest, pushing him back. “Viks would never fucking hit me,” I hiss. “Stop spouting bullshit.”

Josh shakes his head, the strands of his hair falling into his eyes. He shoves them back. “Your boss,” he starts, sneering at the word, “is nothing but a gutter rat that Nicholas Carter raised up. He’s nothing. He’s never been anything and he will never be anything. You might think you’ve caught yourself a bigger fish than me, Haley, but he’ll drag you down. He’s nothing but a hired killer.”

I don’t realize I’ve moved until my knuckles are already against his cheek. Josh’s head snaps to the side with the punch and this time, I let my anger take control. I reach for his shirt and snatch up the fabric, using it in my hands to shove him back against the opposite wall.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grit out. My hand throbs. “But don’t you ever fucking insult him like that again. You think I was trying to find someone richer than you?” I laugh. “Please. Your money means nothing—not to me and not to the real world. Mitchell Vikson is twice the man you’ll ever fucking be. I don’t care where he came from or what he does.” As I say the words, I realize they’re true.

When Viks gets all commanding and possessive, it scares me. It makes me want to run. But at the same time, I realize that he’s probably the safest place I could ever be. I hated him, but now, I trust him.

Wait. I pause. When the fuck did I ever start to think of my hatred towards him as past tense?

“You are fucking him.” Josh’s words draw me back to the present and I refocus on him, loosening my grip.

“Go away, Josh,” I say, taking a step back. “Stay out of my business and out of my life.” I turn my back on him and start walking.

“Haley, please…” Footsteps echo against the pavement at my back as he starts to follow me.

I stop and look back and he freezes, his hand outstretched towards me. It’s not just sad, it’s pathetic. “This is my final answer, Josh,” I say. “I don’t want you and I never have. So, please, do us both a favor and get lost. Stay away from me and if you know what’s good for you, stay away from Viks.”

15

VIKS

PATRICK KENNEDY HAS A BACKER. It’s the only excuse, the only reason for why I haven’t yet caught the bastard. I scrub a hand down my face as Jackson’s fingers fly across his keyboard. Several small screens that reflect the recent security feed from Eastpoint University are set up across two of his monitors.

“I’ve run a facial recognition program across every single one of these cameras,” Jackson says. “He’s never been found. He shows up at the club, but never on campus.”

“Do you think the students could be getting it at the club and then taking it back to campus?” I ask.

“It’s possible,” Jackson says as he presses a button, and somewhere in the room, a printer whirs to life. He rolls across the floor towards it and pulls off the first sheet, handing it to me as he scoots back in front of the row of monitors on his desk. “However, the reports I’ve scanned from local medical facilities and the police department tell a different story.”

I scan the contents of the page and scowl. “It’s spreading,” I curse, “like a fucking disease.”

“Yup.” He pops the end of the word and shakes his head. “And that means he’s got partners—at least one on campus. We haven’t seen his face on the security feeds, but he’s the only one we know to look for. There’s a second dealer, and they’re probably working together.”

He’s right. Though some might believe all drug dealers are competition, that’s not always true. From what I know of my childhood, there were far too many dealers in my small shithole hometown to count. Dealers selling the same drugs often came from the same distributor. In some cases, this one especially, when a new drug hits the streets and expands in a fast spread—that means they’re trying to expedite the popularity of their product.

Haze is getting passed around like candy and its value is plummeting for now because it’s so readily available. I need to catch Kennedy, who I suspect is the distributor, before he cuts off the supply and watches the newly addicted rich kids from Eastpoint try to kill each other as they sell their souls for their next high.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and to my ears, it’s a damn death toll. I pull it out and answer it. “Vikson.”

“Where’s the dealer?” Carter’s voice is hard.

“I’ve got a name,” I inform him, stepping up next to Jackson and setting the report down. “He was at the club night before last.”

“And you didn’t catch him?”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” I say.

“Do those extenuating circumstances have to do with Haley Montgomery?” Nicholas asks.

I freeze, my fingers reaching out and locking onto the edge of Jackson’s desk, squeezing until I can hear the wood creak. Nicholas blows out a breath. “I don’t care who you fuck, Viks,” he says. “But unnecessary distractions are not permitted. I’ve given you as much room as I can—”

“Do you not trust me?” I demand.

“My trust is not in question,” Nicholas replies. “Your ability to keep your head out of some college girl’s pussy is. Dump her and get back to work. I need you to keep your head on straight. If she ends up being a liability—”

“She won’t be,” I snap.

“Are you telling me you won’t dump her?” Nicholas’ voice is quiet, stunned.

“I…” I can’t. Not her. Never her. How can I make him understand? Nicholas is a strong man. He cares for his son, and in a twisted obligatory way, his wife, but he’s never been in love. Not the way I am with Haley. The very thought of letting her go makes my chest ache like my heart is punching at my ribcage, trying its damnedest to get out and go to her. So what do I do? I fucking lie my ass off.

“She’s a target,” I say instead. “I’m using her as bait.”

“Bait?” Nicholas doesn’t sound convinced.

“Yes,” I continue the lie. “She ran into the dealer at the club the other night. He’s going to want to get rid of her because she’s seen his face. The more people who know who he is and what he does the more danger he’ll be in.”

“Is she aware?”

“She knows she’s in danger,” I supply.

“Hmmm.” Nicholas hums through the receiver of the phone. My fingers tighten on both the desk and the cell in my grasp. “If you’re using her as bait,” he says. “Take her out this weekend.”

“What?” I frown, releasing the desk in shock. “Take her out?”

“Yes,” Nicholas says. “Somewhere big, somewhere expensive. You can afford it with your salary.”

“Club Outsider?” I clarify.

“No, not there. Cain’s new club in the city. I spoke with him earlier. He extended an invitation to Inferno’s grand opening. I have no doubt that your boy will be there. There are too many potential customers and everyone’s going to be imbibing before the end of the night.”

And after what happened with Haley, I think, he’ll likely avoid Outsider for the time being.

“Make a production out of it,” Nicholas continues. “Act like her protector. You know as well as I do this man seems to love a challenge.”

He’s right. Kennedy has proven his arrogance time and time again. First, by even entering Club Outsider. Second, by spreading his damn drug to Eastpoint’s campus. And third, but not fucking least, by attacking Haley on Eastpoint property. My fucking property.

“I will get him,” I swear. Not just for Nicholas, the man I owe my life to, but for Haley. She won’t be safe until he’s gone. She won’t stop having those nightmares of what might have happened until Kennedy is six feet under, pushing daisies.

“Use the girl, lure him in, and then slit his throat,” Nicholas advises. I wince at the way he puts it—not the killing part, but using Haley. Perhaps I should never have said it, but if I hadn’t then Nicholas might have known … she means more to me than mere bait.

I dislike the idea of using Haley as a lure, but I’m confident that I can keep her safe. Even if I don’t like Cain Devereux, I know his loyalty to Nicholas Carter. That loyalty, in turn, and her connection to me will keep Haley on the right side of good if all else goes to shit this weekend.

“Call me when the job is done,” Nicholas says and the phone call ends. I sigh and scrub a hand down my face.

“What’d he say?” Jackson asks.

I shake my head. “We’re moving the schedule up,” I answer. “I’ll be luring him in this weekend. I need you to be on security at Inferno.”

Jackson curses. “Devereux’s place? Fuck, man. Do I have to?”

I slap the flat of my palm against the back of his head. “Yes, you have to, asshole. Now, I gotta go.”

Jackson rubs the back of his head and frowns at me. “What’re you lighting out of here for?” he asks. “Got a hot date or something?”

I smirk. “Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”

16

HALEY

JOSH’S WORDS about Viks remain on my mind well throughout my classes. Viks is a hired killer? That doesn’t surprise me, but it does make me want to know more, specifically from the man himself.

When Viks picks me up at the same spot hours later, he doesn’t make any sort of sarcastic remarks about me actually showing up. Instead, he merely gives me a soft smile and cranks the ignition, pulling away from the curb as the soft rock radio station plays between us.

The vehicle passes over the pavement as we head away from campus. “So,” I start, “I’ve got a shift at Outsider tonight.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

“Okay,” he says.

I blink. “Really?” I ask. “That easily?”

“I’ll be in the office tonight,” he says, looking at me.

“Oh.” That means he’ll be there. I swallow roughly, nervousness eating at my mind. Why the fuck am I hesitating? Just fucking spit it out, Haley.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say, forcing the first words out as he steers the SUV onto the highway.

“You can ask,” he replies, but it’s said in a way that makes it clear that just asking won’t always get me an answer.

I bite down on my lip, chewing roughly as I contemplate how to put it. “How did you … erm … come to Eastpoint?”

He looks at me with raised brows. “What makes you want to know something like that?” he asks curiously.

I shrug. “Just thought about it, that’s all.” It’s only a little fib. I had actually thought about it after.

Viks stares at me for a brief moment before turning back to face the windshield. “What’d they say to you?” he asks instead of answering.

“What?” My head jerks to the side.

“You’re asking for a reason,” he guesses. “I want to know what you heard first before I answer.”

I clench my teeth. I don’t really want to tell him what Josh said to me. My hands twist in my lap. “It was nothing,” I say. “Forget it.”

A beat passes and then Viks sighs and reaches forward, shutting off the radio. “I grew up in a shithole town just south of here,” he says. “It’s called Silverwood. There ain’t much there but drug dealers and gang bangers.”

“Really?” I lift my head once more and turn, looking at him fully. His face is a mask of no emotion. I can’t read him at all. “Why’d you come here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “There wasn’t much there for me after my parents passed,” he answers.

“But how did you … I mean you practically run Club Outsider,” I point out.

“For now,” he agrees. “It won’t be around much longer.”

I frown. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“Nicholas plans on changing the name and giving it to his son when he turns eighteen.”

“But what about you?”

Viks’ eyes cut to me and he arches a brow. “What about me?” he repeats.

“I mean, you’ve run it for years. Are you still going to if his son takes it over?” I ask.

Viks shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe, but probably not.”

“That’s not fair,” I point out.

“What about it makes it not fair?” Viks asks. “I don’t own the club and I make a hefty salary running it now. I’m not going to be hurting for cash. If anything, I’d say I came out pretty well off after this endeavor. It’s certainly not where I expected to be five years ago.” His lips twist. It’s a half smile, half grimace and one hundred percent self-deprecating.

“Where were you five years ago?” I ask hesitantly.

“Do you really want to know that, Haley?” he asks, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

I do, I realize. I want to know as much about this man as possible. Find out all of his little quirks. Know his past enough to be able to predict why he is the way he is in the present. What made a man like Mitchell Vikson?

“Yes,” I answer.

Silence stretches between us. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s hesitating, though why, I can’t say.

“Prison,” he finally admits.

I blink. That was not the answer I’d expected. “Prison?” I repeat as if to make sure I hadn’t heard him wrong. He nods.

My eyes fall down to where the corded muscles of his arms are covered in ink. “Is that where you … erm … got all these done?” I ask.

Viks barks out a laugh. “A few of them,” he says, still chuckling as he glances my way once and then back again. “But most of them were before and after—finding ink and good artists on the inside isn’t as easy as people seem to think.”

“Okay … why were you there?”

His laughter trickles away, drying up. “Don’t ask me that, Haley,” he says. “All you need to know is that it was deserved. I did my time. It’s over.” He cracks his neck to one side. “In fact, I came out with a degree.”

“You?” I gape at him.

That reaction brings the smile back to his face. “Yes,” he says. “Even big meatheads like myself can get through college if we’re stuck in a cell for twenty-four hours a day with nothing better to do than read and study.”

“What did you…” I don’t know how to ask. Am I allowed to? I wonder. What would a man like Viks even bother learning about?

He seems to get what I’m going for and gives me an answer anyway. “Psychology,” he says, surprising me yet again. “I was inside for three years,” he says. “Got out fairly fucking early for good behavior and … a sponsor or something like it. But I managed to do what I needed to in order to earn a license in therapy.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait.” I hold my hands up. “The more you talk, the more you shock me.”

“Yeah, learning a big guy like me—who looks like he cracks heads for a living—is versed in how not to let anger take control does often surprise others.” He seems amused by that fact.

"Well, yeah,” I say, gesturing to him. “Look at you.”

“I’m well aware of how I look, Haley,” he says. “And I’m well aware of what others think when they look at me. Have you ever considered, though, that there are plenty of people who look like me who need someone that understands them?”

I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Prisoners and drug dealers and addicts—people who grew up like I did, they all hear the same thing. Control yourself. Manage your anger. Let go of your addictions. It’s all easier said than done.”

I blink, contemplating his words for a moment.

“Have you ever considered that people who are stereotyped all the time are also the ones who stereotype others?” Viks asks. “The big muscled tattooed skin head might not feel comfortable sitting in front of a five-foot nothing woman in a pants suit telling him that he needs to control himself without ever really understanding what makes him the way that he is. People like that look at me, though, and they know.”

“Know what?” I prompt when he doesn’t immediately continue.

Viks looks at me and for a moment, just a heartbeat; those dark gray eyes of his pierce into my soul. “They know that I get it. I get what it's like,” he replies. “To be the one everyone blames for how shitty society can be when in reality, we are the kids the system failed.”

My mouth snaps shut. I have nothing to say. There’s nothing I can say. He’s right. So often, the people in positions to help have to look a certain way for those in the upper echelon to trust them, but doing so makes those who are in the gutter nervous. How can the prey trust something that looks like a predator? And though Viks might look like the predator to some, once … long ago, he was just a child—like anyone else. There’s more beneath his surface than danger.

Even villains start out as innocents. Evil isn’t born, it’s made.

Viks continues the silence all the way to the apartment building and it’s only after we arrive and he shuts off the SUV, and after he walks around to my side and opens my door as I unbuckle my seatbelt, that he speaks. His hand clasps the doorframe, refusing to let me out until he has his say.

“Whatever happens, Haley,” he tells me, eyes centered on me with such focus that it’s almost unnerving, “I want you to trust me.”

“Why?” I ask. “After you catch the dealer—”

“Kennedy,” Viks says, interrupting me.

“What?” I shift, turning to face him as my legs hang over the side of the seat.

“His name is Patrick Kennedy.”

“Okay…” I look up at him through my lashes. “After you catch Patrick Kennedy, things are going to go back to normal. I’ll go back to school and you’ll … go back to being Club Outsider’s manager until … you’re not anymore.”

Viks shakes his head and leans in, pressing himself between my legs. “No,” he says, his breath on my face. “Things can never go back,” he tells me. “What we are now … cannot be undone. And I don’t think you really want it to be.”

My throat dries up. My hands start to sweat and as his head moves forward, my heart leaps against my chest, scrambling like a frightened rabbit. Yet, at the same time, I don’t move back. I don’t resist him when he closes his eyes and kisses me. This kiss is unlike the ones before. It’s gentle, slow, and mesmerizing.

He doesn’t burn away my inhibitions. He soothes my fears. It’s startlingly different from how we’ve been and so incredibly sweet that it damn near brings tears to my eyes. Fuck, I think. I might actually love this man.

Viks pulls back and I’m left craving more of him. “Let’s go upstairs,” he says drawing himself away. “You can work on your art project until it’s time for me to take you to Club Outsider.”

“Okay,” I say, taking his hand when he offers it to me and hopping out of the front seat. Viks closes the door behind me, but he doesn’t release my hand. I stare down at our clasped fingers—mine still a little speckled by paint from earlier in the morning and with a small cut over one of my knuckles, probably from punching Josh, and Viks’ corded with muscle and tattoos that barely scrape past his wrist.

The sight of my hand in his does strange things to my insides. The strangest thing of all, though, is that I don’t mind it.

17

HALEY

WALKING BACK into Club Outsider after what happened is like walking back into a dream even knowing it’s not real. The walls are the same, the floors are the same, the faces are the same—but something feels not quite right. I don’t know how I didn’t even consider I would have a problem.

The only thing keeping me from turning around and leaving is Viks’ hand on my lower back. He leans down as we head across the empty dance floor illuminated by the bright lights only ever up when it’s devoid of customers or after last call. “I’ll be in the offices on the second floor,” he tells me. “If you need something, let me know. I’ll be checking in regularly.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, but he merely gives me a look and then brushes a kiss over the top of my head as we stop at the end of my usual bar and he continues on.

“Whoa.” I look up, spotting Veronica’s shocked and slackened face. “What the hell was that?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Nothing,” I say quickly as I jump behind the counter and start setting up for the night—putting the nozzles on the taps as I go.

“Oh no.” Veronica’s hand slaps down in front of me, making me still. “You haven’t texted me since you bailed mid-shift the other night. Bossman came in, demanding to know where you were—now he’s walking you into work and kissing your forehead?” She gives me a pointed look. “Spill,” she orders.

I bite my lip. “It wasn’t the forehead.” The defense is lame, and we both know it. I groan. “Fine.”

“Eeep!” She drags me back and holds onto my arm. “Okay, so like are you guys dating now? What happened that night? Why’d you leave early? Are you okay?”

I contemplate my words, wondering how much of the problem with the drug dealer I’m allowed to reveal. “There was an issue,” I start. “I was … um … there was a guy here that night that Viks was looking for and he…” I shake my head and blow out a breath. “No, wait, it’s complicated.”

“Okay…” Veronica’s eyebrows raise. “So, what about the dating part?”

“No?” I squeak and then frown when the word comes out more as a question. “I mean, no, we’re not dating.” I laugh awkwardly and then try to pry her grip off of me as I head back to my station and keep working, needing my hands to be doing something to distract myself from this conversation.

“Are you sure?” she prompts. “Because it looks that way to me and to everyone else.”

“Everyone else?” I look back at her. “What do you mean?”

She snorts. “You seriously don’t know?”

“If I did, do you really think I’d be asking you?” I point out.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, Hales, you’re hard to read sometimes.”

“Well, no, I don’t know, so you tell me what’s going on.” I grab one of the clean washrags from a bucket under the counter and tuck it into my shorts and mini black apron before leaning back against the bar with my arms crossed over my chest.

“Mr. Vikson is interested in you,” Veronica relays.

I roll my eyes.

“No, really,” she says, noting my reaction. “Everyone sees the way he reacts to you. It hasn’t exactly been subtle. He made someone else help me when he went after you the other night. A few of the other students from Eastpoint who work here apparently saw him dropping you off at school today. I don’t care—but why couldn’t you tell me?”

“I…” Well, that explains how Josh knew about Viks, I determine. I shake my head. “There’s really nothing going on,” I swear, though the more I say it, the heavier the lie becomes on my tongue. “I just … we’re…”

Veronica steps forward and places a palm on my shoulder. “You’re in denial.” She says the word in such a gentle way, it’s almost annoying. It’s as if she’s explaining something that is incredibly obvious to an idiot.

“No, I’m—”

“Montgomery!” Veronica and I both jerk around at the quick shout from Mel, the bar’s assistant manager, as she stomps up to our counter. “This isn’t girl chat time, get to work.”

I gape at her as she passes by with a scowl before turning to Veronica. “Oh no…” Veronica stares off after Mel with a grimace.

“She didn’t even look at you,” I mutter in irritation as I go back to replacing the tap nozzles.

“Yeah, no,” Veronica shakes her head. “And she’s not going to. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.”

I pause on the final nozzle and glance at her. “What are you talking about?”

Veronica offers me a sympathetic glance. “Mel has liked Mr. Vikson for months,” she confesses. “And everyone knows that you two are…” She shrugs, but I understand what she means. Another groan echoes up my chest and I place my hands flat against the counter, leaning over.

Should I just quit? It might solve a few problems…

My head lifts and I gaze across the open space towards the very doorway to the back hall. My throat goes dry and my fingers begin to tremble.

Though the club looks very different right now than it had that night, I know that within a few hours, it’ll be an exact replica; and even if he doesn’t come back ... even if nothing else happens for years to come, I know what I’ll think of every time I look towards that hallway. My stomach drops out from beneath me and I turn away. Sweat pops up along my brow and my throat closes up as my eyes squeeze shut and the feel of unwanted phantom hands slide over my flesh, making me want to vomit.

“Hales?” Veronica’s voice interrupts my thoughts and flashbacks.

“I’m gonna…” I gesture to the stairwell leading upstairs. “I just need to…”

She shakes her head. “Go,” she says. “Hurry back, though. I have a feeling Mel’s probably going to be up our asses all night.”

I nod and escape from behind the counter and head the same way Viks had gone. I ascend the staircase and instead of turning towards the private lounges, I head in the opposite direction towards the small offices on the other side of the floor.

I slow to a stop when I hear voices on the other side of the door marked as Manager’s Office.

“Yes, I’ll get it taken care of,” I hear Viks say. “Don’t worry. It’ll be taken care of this weekend. Yes, we’re going to Inferno. I’ve already called Cain.”

I blow out a breath, turn and rest my back against the wall by the door resolving to just wait until he’s done with whoever he’s talking to. My gaze travels up to the black painted ceiling and small little lines between each boxy tile. I bite down on my lower lip. A few minutes later, I hear him hang up and I knock on the door, pushing inside before he’s got a chance to turn me away.

“Haley?” Viks frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you,” I say.

I move across the office into the single chair situated in front of his desk. The door swings shut behind me and Viks steeples his fingers together, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk.

“I want to quit.”

His whole body seems to freeze and he tilts his head to the side. “Why?” he demands.

I roll my tongue into my cheek and glance at the door before looking back to him. “Reasons,” I hedge. “Do I really need to give them?”

Viks frowns at that and unsteeples his fingers, standing from his desk and moving around it. He steps in front of where I sit and turns, propping his ass on the edge of the massive desk that takes up most of the space in the small room.

Viks crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at me. “Yes.”

My eyes go to the muscles of his arms and remember them around me, all over me. It’s distracting. I stare at a piece of lint clinging to his t-shirt instead as I suck in a breath.

“It’s complicated,” I confess. “You and me … I don’t suppose you’re willing to end it?”

Silence.

I chance a glance up at his face and yup, big mistake. The fury there is volatile. He moves forward, like a reptile in human skin. One hand grasps the chair arm on my right and the other on my left, caging me in and making me feel far more vulnerable than I’m comfortable with. It always seems like I do that with him—let him put me in these situations. Why? If I dig deep, there’s probably some complicated explanation that has something to do with my personality and needs as a human being, but at the end of the day I can narrow it down to something as simple as trust. I fucking trust him. I trust that he won’t hurt me or use his bigger position to put me in a place that would harm me. What happened with Kennedy is different. I put myself in that place and he was furious then too.

“This,” he says coldly, “doesn’t end, Haley. Are you leaving because you want to leave me?”

I let him stew in that thought for a minute before finally, the truth leaks out. “No,” I say on a sigh. “But people know about us now.” My eyes scan away.

“So?” he prompts. “Why does it matter?”

I snort. “Maybe to a guy, it doesn’t matter. Maybe to the boss, it doesn’t matter,” I reply. “But I’m not exactly in a position of advantage here.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Haley?” Viks growls.

“It’s going to be rough for me. No one will say shit to you, but—”

“Who?” he cuts me off.

“What?”

“Who has said shit to you?” he demands. “Was it Veronica? I was under the assumption you two were friends, but I can be wrong—it’s not the usual, but it’s happened before.”

I blink up at him. “Wow,” I say blandly. “You? Mr. Mitchell Vikson wrong about anything at all ever in life? I never would’ve guessed.” The sarcasm is a knee jerk reaction, something I cling to because my brain is going haywire at the scent of him as it invades my nostrils.

“Haley.”

“Yes?” I perfect an innocent appearance—all wide-eyed and slightly confused, as if I can’t understand what the big, strong man is trying to say—it’s the doe-eyed look.

“Stop bullshitting me,” he orders.

Fuck.

“Ugh.” I groan and reach up, scrubbing a hand down my face. “No, Veronica didn’t really say shit. She doesn’t care. One of your managers, however, was acting like a bitch because of … well, you know. I’m not completely stupid. There will be other people who treat me that way because you and I are … fucking.” I can’t think of any other way to put it. Making love? Ha. Viks isn’t a making love kind of guy, but fucking also feels wrong. Like there’s no other emotion when all there is between us is complicated emotions and problematic results. “I realized I can’t exactly work in the same place that my … that you do because of it, and it’s fine. I can find another job.”

“Anything else?” Viks presses. Does he have some sort of internal radar for bullshit? I wonder. Or perhaps it’s that psychology degree of his at work.

I refocus my gaze on that stupid piece of lint. It flutters there, sticking to the soft cotton fabric. I reach out and snatch it off, flicking it from my fingers to the floor, but unfortunately that leaves me with little else that’s safe to direct my attention.

“It’s the hallway,” I finally confess. “The back one. The one where…” I let my words trail off, unable to verbalize my own thoughts and I don’t need a fancy degree or a license in therapy to figure out why. I still don’t want to admit it. What happened could have been ten times worse. I could’ve been raped. I could’ve been killed. None of that happened. I’m lucky. But the fact that I was completely out of control, at the mercy of a man who was more than willing to do whatever he wanted were he given the appropriate amount of time plays reruns in my head. A sick television show that reminds me I’m little more than a plaything to some people. Not even human. My stomach churns with acidic bile.

“You can’t go into it?” Viks asks, his voice dropping, softening. I hate that, too. The softening—as if he feels like he needs to speak to me in such a way because I’m fragile and at risk of breaking. I hate it even more because I understand the need for it. I don’t even know what I’m facing here. What potential triggers could possibly send me into a tailspin. Nothing else has happened aside from that nightmare, but every time I think about what could have happened…

“I can’t even look at it,” I admit. “If I stop to think about it for even a second, I—Viks, just accept my resignation. I’ll work the rest of my shift tonight and I don’t have many other shifts for the rest of this week, I can get them covered. You have to understand, though, that I probably shouldn’t work for a boss I’m not only sleeping with but living with too.”

When I glance up again, Viks’ gaze roves over my face. Analyzing. It’s like he’s trying to crack open my skull and crawl inside to find out what little things make me tick. He’s not doing it on purpose, I realize now. It’s just the way he is. He’s not just a problem solver—he’s a people solver. He needs to know how people work. And knowing what I do about him now … it’s probably because that’s how survival works. Predicting people, their emotions and their actions, can sometimes mean the difference between life and death.

“Viks?” I prompt him when he doesn’t respond after several beats of silence.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he says.

“You can’t really force me to stay,” I point out.

He nods. “I know, but I don’t like the idea of you out of my sight. I feel like it’s safer here because I can be here.”

“You can’t follow me around for every shift.”

“No, you’re right.”

His hands move up the arms of the chair, the backs of his knuckles brushing against me as he presses down. I look up and Viks’ head touches me, his forehead against mine. He sighs, and the smell of mint on his breath makes me have to resist the urge to lean into him.

“I’ll finish my shift tonight,” I remind him.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

His lips twitch. “I know a way you can thank me,” he says suggestively.

I shove him back. “Perv.”

He arches a brow. “For you? Fuck yeah. All the time, baby. Anytime.”

I roll my eyes and push up from the chair, moving across the room to the door. I’m almost home free when he calls my name, stopping me.

“This weekend,” he says, sobering—his amusement fading, “I need you to come with me somewhere.”

“Where?” I ask.

“A new club is opening in the city,” he says, eyes sliding away as he rounds his desk and takes a seat. “I need a date.”

His words from earlier come back to me, the phone call I’d overheard. “Okay…” With my hand on the doorknob, I don’t turn it, waiting. There’s more to this, I can tell. I can also tell that he doesn’t want to elaborate. I release the knob and turn back, striding across the room until I’m standing in front of him and there is no running away. “What’s going on?”

Viks’ jaw clenches and unclenches. “There’s a chance the dealer could be at this new club.”

My spine stiffens. “I just told you that I—”

“I know,” he snaps, cursing under his breath before jerking his head up. Gray eyes meet mine, full of anger and resolution and something else that’s equally as untamable and yet impossible for me to read. “I don’t have a choice in this, Haley. You have to come with me. I swear to you, though, nothing will happen to you. I will keep you safe. There will be security—”

“There was security here,” I point out. And they hadn’t known, hadn’t been able to do shit. How many other women out there in the world had experienced the same helplessness with others so close and yet so far away? I shake my head and try to rid myself of those thoughts, but it’s hard to forget.

Viks stands up and reaches for my hand. He presses it down against the surface of his desk—his much larger palm over mine. Encompassing mine, but not holding it down. His voice drops into something sinister and dark. “He will not get away with it,” Viks tells me, sounding every bit the monster Josh accused him of being. “No more nightmares, Haley. I’ll fucking kill him for touching you.”

That should terrify me even more. What’s worse? Rape or murder? The answer is different per person, but for me, the almost of what happened is ten times worse than making sure that the man who would have done it is gone from this world. It doesn’t just protect me, but all the other women in the world.

So, when Viks swears a killing oath, though it should bother me, it doesn’t. It doesn’t even phase me. I pull my hand out from beneath his and despite myself, I raise it to his face along with my other one.

My hands touch his cheeks, skim down the prickly beard growth against his jawline. “Okay,” I say the word more to myself than to him. “Okay, yes. I’ll go with you.” I can guess what’s going on. My eyes meet his. “I’m bait, aren’t I?”

His gaze hardens. “He won’t touch you,” he promises. The non-answer is an answer within itself.

I close my eyes and slowly release a breath. I can do this. I know Nicholas Carter wants Patrick Kennedy gone for his own agenda—the drugs. But Kennedy needs to be dealt with for other reasons. My skin practically crawls with the memories that surface at my thoughts, but I forcibly shake them off.

“Then I’m coming,” I inform Viks, reopening my eyes and knowing he’s not going to like my next words. “And I’m not coming as a prop, but as an ally.” He frowns. “I want a gun.”

18

HALEY

VIKS DOES NOT TAKE KINDLY to my ultimatum, and I’m not trying to sugar coat it—that’s what it is. If I’m going to put myself right back in the path of the man who tried to rape me, I’m not doing so without a weapon to help me. And though he tried to argue that a gun in my hand will only make me appear as a threat, by the time Friday arrives and we’re preparing for the night out in his apartment, he still reluctantly hands me the smallest pistol I’ve ever seen in my life.

I take it and glance up at him. “Where the fuck did you get this? A toy shop?”

Viks cuts a glare my way as he walks back into the closet and snatches a black t-shirt off the hanger and yanks it on over his head, covering up all the tan male flesh that is fresh out of the shower. “That’s all you’re getting,” he tells me. “You wanted a gun. There’s your fucking gun.”

“I said a gun, meaning a real one, not a BB shooter,” I snap.

He strides back into the room, gripping my arm and dragging me over to the floor length mirror that hangs on the wall beside the door into the bathroom. He moves behind me and takes my arms. “Hold it like this,” he commands, forcing me to slip my finger into the little notch. “Here’s the safety,” he says, noting the little latch at the back. “Cock it like this and then point.”

My arms lift with his and point straight at the mirror so I can see myself. His eyes meet mine in the reflection and my chest clenches. There’s a lot of anger there in his expression, but there’s also something else. Something I’m not used to seeing him wear—fear.

“All it takes is one bullet to end a life, Haley,” he says, his voice dipping, growing quiet and serious.

“I know.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think you do,” he says. “Not really. And I…” He pauses and inhales. His chest expands behind my back, pressing into me. “I hope you never have to find out. This is just in case of an emergency. I don’t plan on having you away from me tonight. As long as I’m in your line of sight, don’t take it out.”

A part of me wants to tell him that I’ll decide when and where to take it out, but the fear on his face, and knowing it’s for no one else but me—because I’ve come to understand that Viks doesn’t fear anything when it comes to himself—makes me hold my tongue. So, I give in. I agree. “Okay,” I say, lowering the weapon and making sure the safety is still on. “Just one last question.”

His hands pull back and he steps away. “What?” he asks.

“Where am I supposed to put it?” I gesture down to the short silky burnt orange cocktail dress I’m wearing. It’s beautiful and, from the brand name on the tag, I know it’s expensive, but it leaves very little room to place this damn thing.

Viks walks back into the closet and comes back out with a small white shopping bag. He steps in front of me, and for the first time since that night at Club Outsider, he grins at me—a full-fledged, almost boyish grin. It reminds me that underneath all of the hardened exterior, he’s still a twenty-something year old man. No one can be hard and cautious all the time.

He goes to his knees and my eyes practically bulge out of my skull. Not that it’s a hardship to see him this way. Not at all. Having a man like Viks in front of me, on bended knee, looking up at me like I hung the fucking moon—yeah, maybe I’ve got a little thing for it. A smidgen.

“This,” he says, pulling out a black stretchy leg holster, “is your new best friend.”

Viks lifts my leg up by the ankle, placing the flat of my foot on his thigh as he slides it on and all the way up. I lick my lips and place my trembling hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over as he plucks the gun from my fingertips, double-checks the safety in the same way that I had, and then carefully slides it into place.

With my dress pushed up this high and his head so close, I can practically feel his fingers on my pussy. His knuckles brush against the cotton center of my thong and I shiver. It happens again as he adjusts the leg holster, turning it to ensure that the gun won’t be super obvious when the skirt of my dress falls back against my thigh.

I’m sweating and heated and trembling. When his hand brushes against me once more, I narrow my face on his suspiciously concentrated face. “I think that’s enough,” I snap, pulling my leg back. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

This time, when he looks up at me, it’s with that same damn grin. “Yeah, but you like it.”

“Asshole,” I mutter. Perhaps if there was any actual anger or heat in the word, it might do something, but there’s none of the old hatred there once was. Instead, it’s playfully annoyed, and I think he likes that because as Viks gets back to his feet he shoots me a wink and grabs his shoes before slipping them on.

Another hour goes by as I head into the bathroom to finish my make-up—covering the now fading bruises on my throat and arms with several layers of foundation—and slip on my heels. Finally, Viks’ phone buzzes and he gestures for me to go ahead of him towards the front door. “The car’s here.”

Together, we ride down in the elevator. I don’t know what it is about enclosed spaces or perhaps it’s the danger that we both expect to face tonight, but my skin is taking on a sheen of sweat. Nerves and lust. They crawl through my system. I want nothing else but to push Viks against the wall and slam my mouth against his—something to take away all of this anxiety I can’t help but feel.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, we step out into the lobby and head for the front where a black Town Car waits for the two of us. A familiar man waits against the back passenger door with a pair of sunglasses on his face and his arms crossed.

“Andrei.” Viks leaves me and walks ahead to greet the man.

It finally clicks where I remember him from. Club Outsider. He’s one of the men who regularly met with Viks in the private lounge.

“Got everything ready?” the man named Andrei asks, pulling his sunglasses down and sliding them into the collar of his shirt. Andrei’s gaze moves to me briefly before he refocuses on Viks.

"Yeah, Cain will be waiting for us when we get there.”

“And the girl?”

“The girl is right here,” I say, stepping forward until I’m right at Viks’ back. “And yes, I’m ready. Thanks for asking.”

Viks turns to the side, sliding a hand behind my back. The heat of his palm scorches me through the fabric. Andrei eyes me doubtfully.

“She’s good,” Viks says. “Don’t worry. All you need to do tonight is follow us on security. I’ve got Jackson on the cameras.”

Andrei nods and then pops open the back door before leaving it hanging as he heads around the vehicle. Our gazes meet for a split second just before he ducks into the driver’s seat and I do the same into the backseat, but there’s nothing but suspicion in his eyes. Like he doesn’t trust me—or Viks for bringing me.

I press my lips together in irritation and slide all the way across the seat. Viks gets in and closes the door behind us. “Let’s get this over with,” Viks says.

“It’ll take an hour to get to the city,” Andrei informs him.

Viks glances my way, his eyes growing hot and molten. I freeze, my fingers locking onto the seatbelt as he slides his hand across the seat and stops me. “Good,” he says. “That’s more than enough time.” I swallow roughly, flashing a look to Andrei and back to Viks. “I’m rolling up the barrier,” he says. There’s a click and my eyes widen when a blacked-out window begins to ascend from somewhere between the back and front seats, completely cutting off Andrei so we can’t see him at all.

“Mitchell!” I hiss. “What are you doing?”

He smirks and chuckles lightly. “You don’t say my first name often,” he comments. “But when you do, I’m almost always in trouble.”

“You’re fucking trouble personified,” I reply, only to pull back when his hand finds my waist and he turns me dragging me across his lap. “What do you think you’re doing? He’s driving. What if he can’t see behind him?”

“There’s a camera,” Viks mutters, bending down and nuzzling against my neck.

“He can probably hear us,” I try instead.

“Do you care?” Viks asks. His teeth nip at my pulse point and it’s like that one little sharp sting has an electric connection to my pussy. My thighs clench automatically as a gush of wetness hits my panties.

“Yes, I care!” I snap. He ignores my protest, though, and lifts his head to mold his mouth against mine. His lips move against me perfectly, his tongue slipping inside as if it’s meant to be there. It’s impossible to deny him. My chest heaves as his hands rove over my skin. The heat of the metal pistol against my thigh is the only thing keeping me from completely losing myself.

I drag my lips back from his, trying to catch my breath. “Viks,” I say, panting. “We can’t do this here, not now. After … later, we can, but we need to—we’re going to be in danger tonight. Don’t you think we should keep our heads on straight?”

With my hands planted on both of his shoulders, I push back and look at him. I’d be looking down on a normal man if I were seated on his lap, but not Viks. Oh no. He’s too massive for that. Even seated, even with me perched on his legs, he’s still taller than me so I have to crane my neck back to meet his gaze.

“It’s because of what we’re walking into tonight that I’m doing this,” he informs me as his hand touches my knee and skates upward, disappearing under the hem of my dress. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it, Haley baby. I think it’ll relax you. One quick little orgasm and you’ll be so fucking clear headed when we enter Inferno, you’ll forget all about the danger.”

Fuck him. He’s like the little devil on my shoulder, urging me to do all manner of horrible, sinful things. I’m falling so far and so deep into him, that I think the real danger isn’t at the club we’re going to, but right here in the backseat of his town car.

“Viks…” I gasp when his fingers touch my cloth covered pussy and he presses his face back against my throat.

“Let me make you feel good, Hales,” he offers. “Let me relax you.”

I groan, and even when I feel his hand move to the pistol, carefully withdrawing it from its holster and setting it on the seat at our sides, I can’t seem to stop him. Viks pulls my legs over both of his, spreading mine as I sit astride his lap. He pushes my dress up until I feel the cool air conditioning of the vehicle on my ass.

“How wet are you?” Viks asks.

I burrow into his chest, clinging to him as I shake my head. “You’re such an asshole,” I mutter, embarrassed—sure that Andrei can hear us. When it comes to Mitchell Vikson, though, I find that I lose all sense of self control. Truth be told, I don’t know how tonight is going to go. I don’t know if he’ll end up getting hurt, or if I will.

Maybe he knows that. Maybe he’s predicted the pattern of my own thoughts with that conniving brain of his, but yes, sex will definitely relax me. That’s the real reason I don’t stop him as he touches me, urging me with one hand at the small of my back and the other slipping inside my thong to touch my very wet pussy.

“Hmmm.” He hums in the back of his throat as his fingers come away soaked with the proof of my arousal. “So fucking wet,” he murmurs, kissing my throat as he rocks me against him.

His cock is so hard, it’s practically pounding against the zipper of his pants as I feel it jerk against me. Panting, sweaty, and more than a little turned on, I let my hand trail down the front of his chest, rubbing over the hardness of his abs until I reach his crotch. I undo the button of his jeans and then slowly ease the zipper down before delving inside to stroke the hot velvet of his dick against the skin of my palm.

A low growl erupts from his throat in response and the responding sting of his teeth against my skin makes my knees go slightly weak. I don’t care. In fact, I like the pain. Each nip, each bite only serves to make my pussy crave him inside of me. The bruises and hickeys I know I’ll have afterwards are a reminder of who I belong to.

“Tell me what you want, Haley,” Viks urges as I stroke his cock from tip to base.

That’s easy enough. “You,” I tell him. “I want you.”

19

VIKS

I STARTED this with hidden intentions. With the hope that Haley won’t think about how fucking dangerous tonight will be, but now, my own intentions have led me astray and my cock has done what it always does when she’s nearby; it’s taken over. When she answers me in the sweetest fucking way possible, it takes all of my carefully maintained control not to flip her over, shove her dress up, rip her panties off, and sink as deep into her as I can. And even then, I only manage not to by the slenderest of threads.

I push her hand off of my cock and grab her dress, yanking it over her head until she’s left in nothing more than her tiny, barely-there little thong. That, too, will have to go. I resolve, silently, to find the rest of her underwear and burn them. She shouldn’t be allowed to wear anything under her clothes; it only ever gets in my way. Her breasts bounce free, completely unbound by any sort of bra and my hands immediately cover them. Her neck arches back and she thrusts them forward against me, her hips grinding down as her sweet, hot pussy rubs against my shaft, her wetness marking me. My dirty little girl.

My thumbs rub over her nipples. They’ve hardened into pretty little pebbles and when I pinch down on them, small gasps escape her lips. My mouth waters and I lean forward, staring up at her as I take a nipple into my mouth, rolling it against my tongue. I wait until her hands touch the back of my head, her nails scraping my scalp as she moans against the ministrations of my mouth before I bite down ever so lightly, tugging against her sensitive flesh.

Haley’s thighs tighten around my hips and I switch to the other nipple, not wanting to leave the poor thing forgotten, repeating the process until she’s a mess against my pants. Thank fuck for the dark fabric, but truly any man who knows anything about women will know that the little droplets staining the thighs of my black jeans are not from water.

“There you go, baby,” I say, pulling back. “Look at that, so fucking pretty, aren’t you?”

Haley’s chest is flushed a deep pink and her eyes are hooded when she looks down at me. Lips swollen from my earlier kiss. There’s just something about a well-pleasured woman that gets to the core of a man. The sight of it makes him want to both die and kill for her. I’m willing to do both, I realize. She’s fucking it for me.

Tonight has to be the end. I won’t accept any other outcome. After tonight, she’ll be safe and it’ll all be over and we can make room for what’s really important—binding her to me wholly and completely until there’s nowhere left for her to run.

“Viks,” Haley calls my name, her nails moving down from my head to the back of my neck as she leans forward and brushes her pretty tits against my chest. Fuck, I need my shirt off. I push her back slightly, hating the small bit of hurt in her gaze until she realizes why when I rip my own shirt up and off, dropping it alongside her dress and gun.

I reach down, withdrawing a small pocket knife that I flick out and use to cut out the thin sides of her thong. I pull her panties away and carefully tuck them into my back pocket.

“Now, you’re perfect,” I tell her with a grin.

She arches a brow as she settles back down in my lap. “I’m naked,” she points out.

“I know,” I say. My grin grows into a full-blown smile. I can’t help it. I’ve never smiled as much as I do with her. It’s insane—this new sense of happiness I’ve never fucking felt before.

My cock stands at attention, rock hard and fucking pulsing with the need to be inside of her. If it weren’t for the fact that we barely have an hour, I’d fuck her ass again, but we don’t have the time for that. I have my wallet flipped open on the seat and the condom I placed there earlier out in a split second. Putting the foil package between my teeth, I rip it open.

“Here, let me.” Haley takes the condom from me and I have to grit my teeth, biting down on the inside of my cheek as her small hands grasp my cock once more and she holds it up and steadily rolls it down my shaft until I’m covered. Only then does she arch herself up and over me, placing the head of my dick at her dripping entrance. As my hips roll against her, the gun at the small of my back digs into my spine. I curse and reach back, yanking it out of the sagging waistband of my pants and shove it to the side—along with her clothes and her own gun.

She’s panting. Sweating. Eyes flashing up to me and back again as she pushes the head just inside her. It’s fucking killing me to not take over and let her do this all on her own. After a few more seconds, my control finally slips.

Pushing her hands away, I grasp her hips, drag her forward and thrust completely into the heaven of her soaking wet pussy. Haley’s nails score the sides of my forearms and her quick gasp of shock reaches my ears.

“I can’t be gentle,” I warn her a moment before I lift her and repeat the movement. I fuck into her over and over again, feeling her muscles squeeze down over me as her hard nipples brush through the hairs on my chest. Her breasts against my chest is just as delicious as having her warm insides clamping down tightly over my cock.

“Oh fuck!” Haley cries out, gripping onto me as I feel the quivering of her orgasm begin to reach her. She’s so fucking beautiful when she comes on my cock. I reach down and press my thumb against the needy little bud between her legs.

Her eyes fly open and she shakes her head back and forth. “No, stop,” she begs. “It’s too much.”

I don’t stop. Instead, I pinch her pulsating clit and watch as she falls apart all over me, all around me. Whether she’s embarrassed or not by the possibility of Andrei hearing us, she takes her orgasm like a fucking queen—with her head thrown back, her hair flying around her face, breasts in my face, pussy tightening in waves.

When she finally comes down, I release her and she slumps against my chest, but I’m far from done. Oh no. I haven’t gotten mine.

Turning, I pull out of her and flip her over with her hands pressed into the seat above where our clothes are. The car jars the two of us slightly as we hit a bump and then slow—at a light, I assume. I don’t care. Her ass is round and right there in my face. So fucking perfect. I spread her cheeks, line my cock up with her pussy, and thrust inside just as the car starts forward again.

“Ugh.” Haley’s hand slaps the window above her head. “Viks…”

“Shhhh,” I hush her. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll like this.” I know she will because whatever Haley believes about herself, when she finally gives in to what she wants, she’s a fucking sexual goddess.

“You’re gonna come again, Haley girl,” I tell her as I thrust into her hard enough to move her up the seat until the front of her is pressed to the door and window. There’s a clack as the gun slips off the seat and hits the floorboards. Thank fuck for the safety. Haley gasps and turns her head to the side.

“You said once!” she whines.

I grin, wicked need spearing into my soul. “Yeah?” I fuck her pussy, feeling her cream at the base of my cock and all over my lap with each inward stroke. I lean forward, pressing completely into her core, and turn my head, kissing the side of her face as I speak. “I fucking lied.”

She screams out as her tits smash into the cold window and in an effort to help my girl out, I reach up, and lock one hand around her shoulder and then another on her waist. Using my grip, I fuck her like there’s no tomorrow. Pulling out and then dragging her back into my lap with each fucking thrust. Soft moans erupt from her throat. Little whines. She’s fucking soaking me, her juicy pussy making my skin slide against hers as I fuck into her. My naughty girl.

“Viks! Please!” I know she’s ready at that cry. It’s so loud, she doesn’t even seem to care if Andrei hears her. It’s a plea full of desperation.

Gritting my teeth, I reach around and pinch her clit just as the flutterings of her orgasm clamp down on my cock and that’s it. I’m fucking gone.

I release her as she continues to come apart under my hands—the muscles and nerves beneath her flesh jumping and flexing as her pussy contracts—and rip myself from the warmth of her depths. The condom flies off a second later and I palm my cock, squeezing and stroking as my own release erupts from me, splattering across the globes of her ass in long jets of white. I keep doing this because it does something for me—marking her. Like some sick, primal urge to ensure any male who approaches her knows she’s taken. Even if they won’t see it after she’s all cleaned up, I know the instinct inside of me will see it there.

Once it’s over, I half collapse, barely catching myself with one hand on the back of the seat to keep from falling on top of her. Our breaths are hot and heavy in the silence that follows the absolute fucking insanity of that orgasm.

Haley turns her head, her soft brown hair sliding over one shoulder as she glares back at me. Her gaze goes down to where she’s painted in my fucking cum, her legs still trembling beneath her ass as she sucks in breath after breath of air. I can tell she’s struggling to breathe just like I am.

Despite all of that, her lips part and she arches a brow. “Really?” she asks. “You just had to make me dirty before we get to the club?”

I bark out a harsh laugh and scrub a hand down my face. “Baby,” I say, panting, “I’m a dirty man, you knew that before you fell for me.”

Her eyes widen, and when I expect her to deny my claim, she merely rolls her eyes. I push away and let her gently ease over. “Tell me you have something to clean me off with,” she orders.

I press a button and the barrier starts to descend a few inches.

“Mitchell Fucking Vikson!” She scrambles, snatching up her dress and holding it over her chest as she flashes me the most murderous look I’ve ever seen from her—even when I knew she hated my guts.

“Andrei,” I start. “You got any—”

A pack of wipes is shoved through the open space, followed by, “I’m with the chick,” he mutters. “Next time keep it in your pants, asshole.”

The look Haley continues to shoot me seethes with violence, but it’s all I can do not to laugh as I nod his way, press the button to move the barrier up, and hand her the wipes. She snatches them from my hands and begins to clean herself up as I tuck myself back into my pants—tucking my retrieved gun back into place—slide my shirt back on, and slump down into the seat.

At least we’re relaxed, I think. How long that’ll last, though, I don’t know.

20

HALEY

MEN ARE SUCH PREDICTABLE CREATURES. Viks is no different. Once, I thought he was. I thought he was impossible to read, and even worse to cater to. I couldn’t tell what he wanted from me or why he would torment me so, but now I get it. I get him.

So, when I walk into Inferno sans underwear with the feel of air rushing over my freshly fucked pussy, I know it’s because he’s staking a claim. That’s just who he is. That’s what he wants—me. And I’m ready to give it to him. No, I don’t like the goal of tonight. Being in another club, and knowing he expects Patrick Kennedy to show up makes my anxiety creep up to wrap tentacle like fingers around my throat and squeeze. At the same time, though, he’s here. Really here. His arm around my back like a security blanket.

“Don’t worry, Haley,” he had promised as I’d cleaned myself up in the car and redressed. “Nothing bad will happen to you tonight.”

I believe him. I believe in him.

“This way,” he says now, directing me past a long line of waiting clubbers as we bypass the bouncer and the rest of security. It’s odd being on this side of it all—not one of the employees, but his date. His woman.

We step into the interior of a tall building with blacked out windows. The inside is just as big as Club Outsider, but different. Long pillars support the massive industrial type building and the entire ceiling is a collection of windows. Between each are long strips of colored lights that flash back and forth across the whole building, not just the dance floor.

Waitresses dressed in leather pants and black bras pass through the crowds that have already collected inside, their hands full of trays as they pass out drinks. Viks takes one and hands it to me as the girl slips between us.

“Take it,” he says, “but don’t drink it.”

“Why?” I ask, frowning. “I thought we were here for the opening. Everyone’s drinking.”

He shakes his head. “Not us.”

I hold the stem of the glass in my hand, full of what looks like bubbly champagne, but I don’t argue. I just keep it as a prop as his hand returns to my waist and he directs me where he wants me.

“So,” I say, lowering my voice, “what exactly is the plan?”

His mouth curves down into a grimace. “The owner of the club is a … friend,” he starts. I arch a brow at the tone he uses when calling this man his ‘friend’ but don’t say anything. “He’ll be making a speech and while he’s doing that. I’ve got people working on scanning security footage.”

“Okay, and me?” I press. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just stand there and look pretty,” he says. “Not hard for you to do, baby. You’re the most beautiful girl here.”

“Uh huh.” I lift one brow. “And flattery is a load of bullshit. I thought you said I was bait?”

“I promised I would take care of you,” he repeats. “The only reason you’re even here is because I couldn’t get out of bringing you.”

“What?”

Viks doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tightens his hand on me and pulls me sideways towards a staircase with a roped off entrance and a bouncer standing by. “Come on.”

“Mitchell,” I try, but I don’t get a chance to finish as he flashes something at the bouncer and the man nods, pulling aside the red velvet rope to let us through.

“The first door on your left is open, Mr. Vikson,” the man says.

Viks nods and leads me up the stairs and down a hall, moving so fast that I damn near drop the flute of bubbly liquid he handed me earlier. He pauses at a door and glances inside before pulling me in after him.

“I was right,” he says, arms closing around me as I try to look around.

“About what?” My eyes light upon the balcony across the way. It looks like this is a special private room for VIP guests with long expensive looking lounge couches, small marble plated tables and low illumination lights lining the walls.

“You only ever say my first name when you’re angry with me,” he says. “It’s practically like we’re married.”

“I pity any woman who marries you,” I say automatically, turning and setting the flute down on one of the tables.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you thought of yourself that way.”

“What?” I blink, turning back and pushing against him as he invades my space, crowding closer until my heart screams against my ribcage.

Viks doesn’t stop me, but a knock sounds on the door—freezing both of us where stand. “Stay,” he orders and my heart nearly leaps into my chest when he pulls out a gun—like a real one, not the little pistol he’d given me that can only shoot maybe five or six bullets max. He pulls free the kind of gun that I’ve seen cops carry— practically invisible against the black painted walls. He flicks off the safety and heads towards the door, leaning up and looking out of a peephole I didn’t realize was there.

He then sighs and tucks the gun away before opening the door. “Troy, you’re running late,” he says, as a man I recognize as one of the many who’d come to Club Outsider a time or two.

“Sorry, Carter had me on another job earlier,” the man says, stepping further into the room.

“I need you to watch her.”

I scowl as Viks nods towards me.

Troy’s head tips back and he glances my way before returning his attention to Viks. “If she’s bait, why is she here?”

“That’s what I want to know,” I comment.

And once again, Viks ignores me. “Just watch her for me,” he says.

Troy sighs and nods. “Of course.”

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I mean, treat her like you would your fucking mother. I want her safe at all costs even if that means you’re throwing your ass over her if a bullet flies her way.”

“Mitchell?” Does he honestly expect there to be flying bullets by the end of tonight? How dangerous does he think Kennedy is? I mean there are plenty of rapists who aren’t actually violent.

“Don’t worry, V,” Troy says, clamping a hand on his friend’s arm. “I think I get the picture. She’ll be good with me. I won’t let her leave this room.”

Viks blows out a breath, nods, and then spins towards me. “What are you doing?” I ask as he strides towards me, his legs eating up the distance between us.

“I gotta go, baby,” he says, taking me into his arms once more.

“What about me?” I ask. “What’s my role here?”

“I just need you to stay up here and stay in Troy’s sight,” he says.

“So … I’m not bait, then?” I ask, confused.

Viks dips his head and groans. “Yes and no,” he replies as if that’s not a completely and utterly contradictory answer. “I lied, Haley.”

“About?”

“I had to tell Carter you were bait to explain why you were with me, but … I don’t want you in danger.”

“So you’re leaving me here,” I state, glancing past him to the man standing by the door with a baseball cap drawn down low over his head. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but this room, and I honestly can’t blame him. “Why bring me at all if you were going to do this?”

“Because I have to, baby,” he answers. “I don’t have a lot of choices in the things I do, but I swear to you, you will be safe here with Troy. He’s a good person. I trust him with my life and that means I trust him with you.”

“And the gun?” I ask.

“Keep it,” he says.

“You didn’t want me to have it,” I remind him.

He nods. “Still don’t,” he agrees. “But it’ll make you feel safe, won’t it?”

I don’t respond right away. My eyes find the floor. His knuckle nudges my chin until I’m forced to look back up at him and meet his eyes. “It’s okay to be afraid,” he tells me. “What you went through was a traumatic experience. The gun makes you feel like you can protect yourself, and I know that’s why you asked for it.”

“I asked for it because I thought I was going to be in a little bit more danger than just stuffed into a room for a few hours while you go play superhero and hunt down your drug dealer,” I deadpan.

He arches a brow and I curse.

“…yeah okay, and because it makes me feel like I can protect myself.”

He smirks and cups my cheek. “Then it’s okay,” he says. “Keep it.” He leans forward and brushes his mouth over mine, once, twice, and a final third time before pulling back.

“But I should tell you, sweetheart,” he says just before he releases me. “I’m no one’s superhero.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say with an eye roll. “You’re a fucking badass.”

“Don’t you forget it,” he replies.

“Go kill something,” I mutter, turning away from him as I head towards the lounge against the far wall—set up in much the same way as the private lounges in Club Outsider are. I wonder if club owners all shop at the same furniture store.

“Oh, I will,” I hear him say as he heads past his friend to the door. “I will.”

Those words, though simple and—on their own—non-threatening make something wicked and evil unfurl inside of me. I hope so, I think. I really fucking hope he does. A man like Patrick Kennedy deserves death.

21

HALEY

THE LIGHTS at the top of the building are visible from the balcony room, and for a long time after Viks leaves me alone with Troy, I stand there watching the dance floor below fill with people. I recognize a lot of the clientele from Club Outsider, but even more than that, I recognize a lot of my classmates.

They dance and drink and grind against one another in a massive mosh-pit type setting. Alcohol flows freely and despite Viks warning me not to drink, I finish off the champagne flute he’d handed me before and leave the empty glass on one of the many tables in the room as I watch the sight before me.

I’m growing increasingly bored, my eyes flicking to Troy as he stands against the wall like a silent statue. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“He’ll be fine,” I say. “Won’t he?”

At first, Troy doesn’t respond and then he nods. “Viks is a strong man. He’ll take care of the situation.”

I blow out a breath. “I wish he didn’t have to worry about me,” I confess. I’m not sure if I expect an answer, but I can’t stand being in here without talking any longer. The speakers are pumping music after what looked like the owner of the club—yet another one of Viks’ friends that I recognize from Club Outsider—made his little opening speech, but the sound doesn’t overwhelm us where we are here. It’s still easy enough to talk at a normal level.

“He’ll protect you,” Troy says.

I shoot him a look. “I don’t need his protection,” I snap. “It’s not my goal to be some man’s princess and let him do everything for me.”

Troy arches a brow but doesn’t respond. I blow out a breath and hook my arms over the railing and rest my head against them. No sooner have I thought that it’s going to be a long night than someone knocks on the door of the room.

I release the railing and turn around just as Troy withdraws his gun and hides it behind his back. My heart jumps into my throat and my palms grow sweaty as he moves to the door and peeks outside before turning the knob.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says as he cracks the door. “This room has been reserved.”

“Haley?” a familiar voice calls over him. “Let me in.”

Troy looks back as I leave the railing and cross the room. He scowls at me and shakes his head, but I ignore him and push him back to see who it is. “What are you doing here, Josh?” I demand with a frown.

“It’s a club,” he says with a shrug. “Everyone came tonight. I saw you on the railing.”

“I thought you said everything you had to say the other day,” I state. “Why are you approaching me now?”

He looks down and shuffles his feet. “I wanted to apologize about what I said before.”

I glance at Troy and then press my lips together before looking back at Josh. “Apology not accepted,” I say. “You can go now.”

“Haley, please, I know what I said was cruel—but I said that in the heat of the moment. I was just jealous.”

“Viks wouldn’t like this,” Troy says before I can respond. “Tell him you’ll talk to him later.”

Oh, no. There won’t be a fucking later. “It’ll be quick,” I promise, seething.

Troy practically growls when I try to take a step out into the hallway. Josh can’t see the way he quickly shoves his gun into the back of his pants and then grabs my arm. “You are not leaving this fucking room,” Troy hisses into my ear, dropping his voice.

My eyes cut to the side, watching as Josh continues to shuffle in the doorway, glancing up between Troy and me. “Please, Haley?” Josh beseeches. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to let him in and forgive and forget, but I haven’t forgotten and he certainly won’t be forgiven. What I do need to do, however, is make sure that he knows exactly what will happen if he goes around spewing that bullshit about Viks again. If he wants an audience, fine.

“Okay,” I say to Troy. “I won’t leave the room. We can talk here. It’ll just be a few moments.”

Troy looks like he’d rather tie my ass up and duct tape my mouth shut. “As long as I stay in the room, I should be fine, right?” I ask.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering the question, and then nods. “Fine,” he mutters. “But you’re telling Viks this was your idea if he catches us.”

I arch a brow. “Afraid of a little beating?” I taunt.

Troy pulls the door wider and releases me. “If you’d ever sparred with him, you’d know there isn’t a damn thing little about his beatings.”

Josh steps into the room and Troy shuts the door behind him, stepping to the side and retaking his position, arms crossed. Josh glances at him nervously. “Does he have to be in here?”

“You take what you get, Josh.”

Troy eyes him with barely repressed disdain and blatant distrust.

“He’s with Viks, though,” Josh says.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and so am I. Which brings us to why you’re here.”

“I wanted to tell you I was sorry for what I said the other day.” Josh casts his eyes downward. “I know it upset you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I turn away and stomp towards the lounge, slumping down onto it. My hand goes out automatically to pick up the champagne flute, but it’s empty so it’s useless. I slam it back down on the table and cross my arms. “You’ve been pestering me since day fucking one, Josh. Then when you don’t get what you want, you finally drop your fake ‘nice guy’ act and take it out on the guy who did get what you wanted.” I shake my head and laugh, but it’s anything but amused. “I’m not a toy you get to be mad over.”

“I just wanted you to know how much danger you’re in!” Josh protests. “Viks is—”

“Viks is whatever Viks is,” I say, cutting him off. “And what that is—is none of your fucking business.”

“You’re my business,” he tries.

This time, I do laugh. A full, from the stomach laugh. Seconds later, I’m wiping the tears from beneath my eyes and shaking my head. “We’re not even friends,” I finally manage to get out. “So, what the hell makes you think I’m any of your business?” The question is rhetorical and surprise of all fucking surprises, he actually seems to understand that because he doesn’t immediately reply. I stand again and move away from him, heading for the railing. “You say you came here to apologize, but I know that’s bullshit. You just came here to demand answers to questions you don’t even have the right to ask.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I’ve had enough. “You say you’re such a nice guy, Josh, but you know what your niceness is? A mask. You put on the façade of being kind and accepting of a woman’s rejection when really you pester her for months, hoping that if you just ‘keep at it’ she’ll somehow give in and say yes. That’s not nice. That’s predatory. I’ve known too many nice guys like you. Every fucking woman has.”

Josh flushes and his gaze darts to Troy, who, for his part, remains silent.

Josh hurries towards me, stopping at my side and dropping his voice into a whisper as if he doesn’t want Troy to hear. I bet he doesn’t. “You weren’t giving me a chance,” he whispers. “I just wanted—”

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted.” I don’t bother lowering my voice. I clench my hands into fists, fighting the urge to deck him again. “I have no obligation to give you a chance. A real nice guy would accept that and leave me the fuck alone. But here you are—offering a lame excuse of an apology when the only thing you’re really sorry about is that you weren’t the one I chose.”

His face goes slack with shock. Josh takes a step back and stares at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. His brows lower over his eyes and his lips pinch together. “I am sorry,” he insists. “I came here to apologize. I’m just … worried about you.”

I snort. “No, you’re worried that all the work you’ve put into me is going to waste because someone stepped in and snatched up what you wanted.” I shake my head. “I don’t need your apology. The only thing I wanted to do was warn you.” I turn and take a step closer to him until I can practically smell whatever his last drink was on his breath. “You talk shit about Viks again, and you won’t need to worry about him coming after you because I will. As far as I’m concerned, you were never a choice, Josh. Viks is the only choice I need and I’ve already made it.”

He shakes his head fervently and latches onto my arm. “Haley, you’re in danger here. You need to listen to me. That Vikson guy—you know the kind of man he works for.” He’s not listening. It’s like all of my words are going in one ear and out the other. How did I ever expect anything different?

“Yeah, because I worked for him too,” I snap. “You do realize that Nicholas Carter owns Club Outsider, right? In fact”—I shake him off, pulling my arm free of his grip—“I don’t understand what your issue is. Is it Nicholas Carter that you have a problem with? He’s on the board of Directors of Eastpoint too.” Why even go to a school when there’s a man he so clearly hates right there on campus?

“You’re not listening to me!” Josh shouts. “It’s Vikson! He’s the dangerous one. I tried telling you he was a killer and you—”

I shove him. Hard. “Shut. Up.” I practically fucking seethe. My limbs are trembling with fury. All of my previous dislike of Mitchell Vikson has fled and in its place, a new emotion has arisen. Trust. “It doesn’t matter what you say about him. I don’t care. I told you I made my choice and here’s the kicker, I chose him because I fucking love him.”

Josh flinches and then shakes his head. “No,” he rejects my words, but he’s not looking at me when he says it. It sounds like he’s talking to himself. “No,” he repeats. “You don’t mean that.”

How to make him understand? “Yes, I do.” I insist.

Josh just continues to shake his head as if he can’t even comprehend the words that are coming out of my mouth. “You’ve been deceived,” he tells me. “Brainwashed. He’s done something to you, Haley. How can you not see that?” He looks at me with eyes so full of hope and sorrow that it makes me take a step back.

“I think you need to leave,” I say, quickly looking to Troy who takes a step forward.

“Come on, buddy,” Troy says. “Save yourself the heartache. There are—”

Neither of us see it coming. Not Troy and not me. As soon as his hand touches Josh’s arm, Josh jerks around and body slams him. I gape and stumble back as fists go flying. Josh looks like a crazed madman and for his part, Troy puts up a good fight. He slams his own fist into Josh’s face and manages to get the man off of him.

As soon as the two of them are back on their feet, though, Josh lunges for him once more—knocking Troy clear across the room and into the wall so hard that one of the pictures hanging comes crashing down and glass shatters against the hardwood floor. I blink, stunned, as my gaze goes to the fragments.

Troy goes down hard, blood leaking from a cut in his temple. His eyes are shut, but he’s not dead. His chest rises and falls with the telltale sign of life.

“Oh … fuck…” The words wheeze out of me as Josh turns to me. I hold up my hands. “Josh, stop!”

As if he doesn’t hear me, Josh moves forward. “You need to come with me, Haley,” he says. “I can protect you.”

My pistol is a warm comfort against the inside of my thigh, but how do I fucking reach for it without alerting him? I still need to retrieve it and click off the safety button before I can use it and he’s so close, there’s no doubt I won’t be able to. He’ll know I have a gun and worse, he’ll probably take it from me.

My mind is going a million miles a minute in every crazy direction trying to figure out what I should do when Josh decides for me. “What the fuck?” I practically shriek as he charges towards me.

One second, the two of us are a few feet apart and the next—he’s got me wrapped in his arms and his grip is like a vise. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “It’s all going to be okay. All you need to do is come with me. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll protect you from him.”

I struggle against his grip, trying to break my arms out of the hold he has them in. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. “Josh? Let go. You’re fucking insane!”

“No, no, I can’t.” He starts dragging me, but it’s not towards the door and it’s not towards the railing. I’m so confused that I don’t even realize what’s happening until he’s got me pressed against the wall.

My eyes fall on Troy, and I wince in regret. I really should have just stayed alone. I shouldn’t have even given Josh the opportunity. God fucking damn it am I stupid.

“Josh,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, despite the fact I feel a low simmering anger slowly trying to take over. “Let. Go.” My nails sink into one of his arms as I continue to try and free myself from his grip, but he doesn’t even seem to notice it—not even when they cut into his skin and he starts to bleed.

“Josh!” I open my mouth, fully intending to scream my head off, but I’m dumped against the wall in the next instant and his hand slaps over my lips. His face fills my vision, eyes darting back and forth over mine as I continue to struggle against him, my heart picking up the pace. The damn thing slams against my ribcage as my earlier anxiety comes back. Something is really fucking wrong with him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeats, keeping his wide hand over my mouth and shoving his palm so hard against me to stifle any noise I might be making that it hurts my fucking teeth. He reaches over and touches something on the black wall, his fingers running down a part of it until I hear something click.

Shock and horror hits me as I turn my head to the side and a secret compartment door pops open. As if he feels the need to explain himself, Josh gives me a proud smile. “This place used to be a warehouse,” he confesses. “They used the original structure of the building and most of these rooms are connected to emergency escapes in case of a fire.”

Fuck, is the only thing I can think as he quickly shoves the rest of the thin hatch open and pulls me inside. How the fuck does he know that? A dark insidious question rises to the surface of my mind, but it’s too much—I don’t want to ask it.

The inside of the emergency exit is dark and clogged with dust. It makes my throat tighten. I try to talk, and instead, I end up swallowing a mouthful of dry air and what feels like gritty airborne particles—like sawdust or something else that’s floating in the air around us. It makes my tongue feel dry and the back of my mouth hurt as I try to cough and breathe through it. It’s impossible to see anything, so every step is done by touch and touch alone.

Josh continues to yank me after him, but because the narrow staircase is barely able to hold one person at a time is he’s forced to release my mouth and keep his hand on my arm. His grip remains locked on me to keep me from fleeing back, a bruising force.

I turn back, looking over my shoulder. “Josh, you’re making a big fucking mistake,” I try, coughing and gasping for air. “Viks will come for me—you have to fucking know that. He’ll kill you, and I’m not going to save you.”

He doesn’t respond, just yanks harder at my arm, enough to make me stumble against his back as we reach the bottom of the staircase. He fiddles with something in front of him that I can’t see in the darkness of the space. I feel enclosed, almost like this place is a fucking coffin. I can’t see. I’m struggling to breathe. My hand slaps the wall next to me and it’s so fucking close that I can’t even stretch out my arm.

“Let me out,” I grit out, slapping the wall again. “You fucking asshole!”

Something snicks and a door is pushed open and fresh air wafts in. I don’t even care, I shove him forward in order to get out of the confining space. My knees hit the ground as I gasp for more air, feeling the freshness of being outside finally clear up my head.

Hard gravel digs into the skin of my knees. I look up and spot an open entrance down at the end of what’s obviously a side alleyway next to the club. Fuck this shit. With Josh’s hand no longer keeping me locked to him, I don’t even think. I push up from the ground and take off running.

“Haley!” I hear his shout at my back, but I don’t care. I’ve got to get back inside. I’ve got to get to Viks. My heels aren’t as tall as most club goers, but they’re high enough that I’m not exactly running like a track star. More like stumbling along until I feel like keeping them on will only be a hindrance.

Unfortunately, the second I pause to kick them off, a shadow falls over my front. I look up and freeze. “Well, hello there,” a hauntingly familiar voice says. A toothy grin appears on the man’s face and as he reaches up, sliding his unnecessary sunglasses from his face, I feel rather than see Josh come up behind me.

“I told you not to scare her.” My head turns as if in slow motion at Josh’s words. The familiarity with which he speaks to the man in front of me as he grabs ahold of my shoulders, pulling me back against his slightly larger frame, is the most disturbing thing of all.

Patrick Kennedy steps forward and tucks his chin against his chest as he looks at me from beneath his lowered brows. “Now, I’ve told you, boy,” he says. “Pretty girls are meant to be frightened. Makes ‘em that much easier to tame.”

I should’ve asked the question, I realize. And I should have fucking known better.

22

VIKS

SWEAT MAKES my t-shirt stick to my skin as I roam Inferno. Young women in practically transparent club dresses eye me with interest. I ignore them all in favor of searching for my prey. After Cain’s speech that kicked off the start of the night, the club has been taken over by the elite upper echelon and their partying.

The music is loud. The scent of weed, alcohol, and expensive perfume is heavy on the air. It makes my nose twitch with irritation. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take a step back when a gaggle of laughing and already half-drunk women passes by as I answer it.

“Report,” I say curtly.

“I’m not finding him anywhere.” Jackson’s voice comes through the phone with a clear tone of irritation. “Are you sure he’s going to show tonight?”

“Carter was pretty set on it,” I answer. “And I agreed, I don’t see why he wouldn’t check this place out.”

“But on opening night?” Jackson asks.

I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know what this bastard is thinking. A sense of dread is digging at my instincts, though. Enough that I don’t think we can just call it a night and all go home. Something will happen tonight. I just don’t know what—and not knowing or even having a suspicion is messing with my head.

“Just keep looking.”

Jackson groans into the receiver. With the phone to my ear, I let my gaze drift upward, frowning when I scan the row of balcony rooms above. I see dancers and partiers and even a few businessmen enjoying the scenery down below as they sip their thousand-dollar scotch. I don’t see Haley, though.

That sense of dread only swells within me.

“I need you to check on something for me.” Even as the words come out, I’m already on the move. I keep my eyes trained upward, searching for a hint of her, but still she doesn’t appear. “Look up the security feed for the private rooms on the second floor. Room Number One.”

“You think he’s in a private room?” Jackson asks. The sound of his fingers typing and clicking echo into my ear.

“No.”

My feet pick up the pace as I shove through the crowd towards the staircase on the other side of the dance floor. Anxiety creeps into my veins. She’s fine, I tell myself. Surely, she’s fine. I left Troy with her and he’d never let anything bad happen to her. Troy is as solid as a man gets. Loyal. I trust him.

It’s hard, though, even through that trust—not seeing her at the railing that she’s been practically glued to all night is making me panic.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Jackson asks a moment later.

“There should be a girl in the room with Troy.”

“Uhhh.” There’s some clicking and I can just imagine him sitting there shaking his head. “No, man. No one’s in the room. No girl and no Troy. You sure this is the right room?” Jackson pauses and then, “wait, I think I see something. That’s … shit—Troy’s in there, but I think he might be hurt.”

The staircase entrance and the bouncer come into view. I don’t even respond to Jackson or stop to show the bouncer my ID again. Instead, I leap over the velvet rope and shove the man to the side, my heart fucking pounding.

When he gets back up and begins to follow me, I get halfway up the stairs with the man hard on my heels. Without even hesitating, I reach into my back holster beneath my shirt and pull my gun free, turning and pointing it straight at his forehead.

“Don’t,” I warn.

The man’s eyes widen and he freezes, holding up his hands in the universal ‘I’m innocent and I mean no harm’ gesture. It only takes a moment for my face to register for him.

He drops his arms and takes a step back down the staircase. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Vikson,” he says quickly. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

I don’t bother with a reply as I continue up the stairs, taking them two at a time, never putting my gun back and especially not when I reach the landing and shove through the door into the private room I’d left Haley in. The room she should have been safe in. The room where she no longer is. Jackson was right—Troy is obviously hurt. If it were anyone else missing, someone less important, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but now I don’t have time for that. I go down on bended knee, slapping my gun on the hardwood floor and my phone right next to it as I lift him up by his shirt and shake him. Hard.

“Wake the fuck up!” I bellow. Blood trickles down the side of his face and Troy groans as he finally comes to. “Where is she?” I demand. “Where’s Haley?”

Troy’s eyes open, but they’re unfocused. “Sh-she … fuck, man. I’m sorry.”

“Was it Kennedy?” I demand. “Do you know where they went?”

Troy shakes his head and then pales like he wants to vomit. “No, it wasn’t Kennedy. It was some kid,” he tells me.

Some kid? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t know who he is,” Troy says sitting up. “I think they go to school together or something.” I release his shirt and move back a little—afraid that if I don’t I’ll wring his fucking neck. He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Neither of us thought he would get violent.”

“How’d he get the jump on you?” I demand. He has to make it make sense. There’s no way a trained professional like him could be taken out by a fucking kid.

“Sheer dumb luck,” Troy says. “I hit my head too hard. I didn’t—she was … Viks…” Troy looks up at me and there’s regret in his eyes. I don’t have time for regret. I need to correct this. I need to find her.

I snatch up my phone and put it back to my ear. “Rewind the feed,” I order Jackson. “She was here.” I turn to Troy. “If she’s hurt, I’ll fucking kill you,” I warn him. Troy nods as if he expected as much.

“Holy shit.” Jackson’s voice in my ear brings me back to him.

“Did you find out where she went?” I demand.

“There’s a door,” Jackson says. “I watched a guy enter. There was a fight. Troy’s knocked out—the kid that went in dragged her out an emergency exit. Away from the railing in the corner. It looks like he hit a latch or something.”

“Where does it lead?” I demand, my legs eating up the distance as I hit the back wall. I shove my gun back in its holster and start feeling along the panels.

“Probably outside,” Jackson says. “This place used to be a warehouse. Cain would know better than me.”

“Call him,” I order. “I want to—”

“He’s here,” Jackson interrupts me. There’s a brief crackling noise over the line and then Cain Devereaux’s voice hits my ears.

“A lot of the private rooms have an emergency exit in case of a fire or a disaster or something,” he states. “Check the corner about four feet up from the floor and run your fingers along the top of that panel. There’ll be a—”

“Found it!” I grip the small handle that’s flat and practically invisible against the wall and pull. A door pops out and I curse.

Troy looks around me. “Where does it lead?”

I hand the phone to him and he presses it to his ear, I don’t hear what Cain tells him as I shove the slim door wider. Fuck, it’s not gonna fit me. I’m going to have to go sideways.

“You go this way,” Troy says, pushing me when I turn back to him. “It leads to an alley on the side of the building. I’ll meet you on the outside.”

I nod and turn to the side, shuffling into the entryway. My attention is called back a second later, though, by a hand on my shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” Troy says as he slips my phone into his back pocket. "If she’s hurt, you can kill me with my own gun.”

“Just hurry up,” I say. I don’t really want to focus on the possibility that Haley could be … no, I shake off the unwanted and completely unneeded thought. She’s going to be fucking fine. I nod to the still open door across the room that leads back into the main part of the club. “Meet me in the alley. I’m going to get her.”

He sucks in a breath, jerks his head into a stiff nod, and then takes off. I shove myself further into the pitch black of the emergency exit.

“Wait for me, baby,” I mutter, sliding my hands along the wall. “I’m coming.”

23

HALEY

“NO.” I still can’t believe it. “No fucking way.” I gape at the man before me. My gaze goes from Kennedy to Josh and back again.

“I can explain everything, Haley.” Josh puts his hands out as if he’s placating a wild animal. I fucking feel like one. My heart is pounding. My skin feels like it’s been stretched tight over my bones and muscles.

Dark memories that are better left forgotten crop back up. The sour pill thrust into my mouth, dissolving on my tongue that I can’t spit out. The unwanted fingers digging into the skin of my stomach and down my thighs. Right behind the fear and the revulsion that makes my skin crawl, anger is a fast-approaching friend.

Fear, I hate. Anger, I can handle.

“I wanted to take care of you, Haley,” Josh says, his feet shuffling forward.

The only thing that doesn’t immediately make me turn and run is the feel of the now warmed metal of the pistol against my thigh. He’s right there—the man who almost raped me. Viks was going to take care of this, but I meant it when I said I didn’t need him. If anything, I have more of a right to kill the man. Neither one suspects that I have a weapon on me. I can use this to my advantage.

“Take care of me?” I repeat Josh’s words lightly. “What do you mean?” It’s better to keep him talking. The more he talks, the more time I have, and the less they’re really paying attention to me.

Josh’s lips tighten. “It’s not easy, you know,” he says. “When your parents are fucking idiots.”

That gives me pause. I wrinkle my nose in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

His teeth clench together and his arms drop to his sides as he shakes his head in a way that can only be described as pure disgust. “Those stupid fuckers spent every fucking dime they made. Lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on bad investments. The debt piles up. My mom wants to keep up appearances despite the fact that their management skills are slowly leeching away my life. Mine!” Josh hits his chest. “My fucking inheritance is gone because of them. How the fuck am I supposed to take care of you without money? Girls like you…” He drops his arm again. “You need money to be attracted to a man.”

“So I developed it—a new drug more addictive than coke, than heroin. Patrick had the connections, I had what little cash influx was left in my trust fund. It was a perfect plan, and it was going well. Then you…” He trails off, turning away and then flipping back in the same second, glaring at me. “Your new boyfriend,” he spits the word out, “got on my case. Why the fuck did you have to choose him, Haley?” Josh’s eyes plead with me. “You should’ve been mine. I was doing all of this, and you just—ugh!” He scrubs a hand down his face and shakes his head.

He's not just insane. He’s certifiable. “You’re fucking crazy…” I shouldn’t have said it, but the truth comes out all on its own. Call it what you want—a brain malfunction or word vomit—whatever the case, it does the exact opposite of what I need at the moment. It pisses Josh the fuck off.

His expression morphs from one of irritation to purely enraged fury. “What the fuck did you say to me?” He storms towards me and I back up, scrambling until my now bare foot lands on something sharp.

I yelp and go down in a heap on the ground, whatever it was that hurt my foot cutting into my palms as I attempt to break my fall. Josh rears up over me, grabbing me by my hair. He yanks my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

“I did everything I could to get you to notice me!” he screams in my face. “I was fucking kind to you. I was a nice guy. But did you notice? Fuck no. You went and spread your legs for Nicholas Carter’s bitch.” He spits the last word. Something wet hits my cheek.

“I fucking sold my soul to this motherfucker,” Josh continues, gesturing back to where Kennedy is standing to the side, his sunglasses back in place and a cigarette in his hand as he watches on with apparent disinterest. That can’t be right, I think. Can it? Does he truly not care what’s happening? I thought I would be his target, but he isn’t acting like he gives a shit.

“I started an enterprise that would make any fucking woman want me.” Josh’s insanity is growing, his own sense of self-worth inflating as he brags. “Kennedy here is my partner, my employee,” he tells me.

“Yeah?” I bite down on my tongue as anger whips through me. “Well, did he tell you he drugged me and almost raped me?” I snap.

Josh’s eyes lower down to my chest automatically at the word ‘rape.’ “He did,” he confesses. “but he didn’t know that you belong to me then. He knows that you’re mine now. He won’t try that again.”

“I still think you need to kill her,” Kennedy pipes in, taking a long drag off of his cigarette as he inhales the smoke.

My limbs tremble with strain and the little bites of pain that shoot through my flesh every time I move my hands over the ground seem to hone my focus. Josh’s head turns towards Kennedy. His lips part and just as he’s about to say something, I rip my head free of his grasp—feeling several strands yanked out as I roll over and snatch the hem of my dress up as I reach for my pistol.

Josh’s eyes widen as I lift it and point it right at him. “Back off,” I growl as I hurriedly get to my feet.

“Shit.” Kennedy’s hiss grabs my attention for a split second but it’s just enough time for Josh to dive at me.

A scream echoes up the alleyway as he slams into me like a professional linebacker—slamming me back down against the concrete hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. I fight to keep the gun locked in my grip even as his fingers lock around it and rip it from my grasp.

Instead of tossing it as far from me as he can, though, he holds it above his head and curses. “You stupid fucking bitch!” he screams. “I could’ve given you everything. Why the fuck don’t you just listen to me?”

It’s an instinct to know not to anger the man waving a gun around in front of your face, but the rage I feel at having the gun given to me by Viks taken away overrides any such logical thought. “Because I don’t want you!” I scream back at him. “You think nice fucking guys try to kidnap the girls they like? You think they call them whores?” I demand, shaking my head even before he can answer. “No, they don’t. You were never a nice guy, Josh. You were pretending to get what you wanted. You’re nothing but a snake.”

Shock crosses his face and he gets to his feet, standing above me with my gun still in his hand. “You really think that?” His question is breathy, as if he, too, has had the air knocked from him. How the hell has he not realized it after everything I said back in the club?

A door creaks behind me and I look back just in time to see Viks step out of the same emergency exit we’d come from earlier. His eyes are hard and his own weapon is drawn, at the ready in his hand. I hear the cocking of a gun, and realize a split second too late that it’s far too close to be his.

My head turns just as Josh lifts my gun and aims it like he actually knows what the fuck he’s doing. He’s a drug dealer, though—or at the very least Kennedy’s fucking enterprise partner—why wouldn’t he know how to shoot a gun?

“No!” I scream just as he pulls the trigger. I push up from the ground and take him down, punching, kicking, shouting as the gun goes skittering down the alleyway. I don’t even have time to look back and see if Viks has been hit as Josh slaps me across the face and rolls me off of him, slamming me into the ground with his hands around my throat.

“Fucking … goddamn … bitch…” he mutters, clamping his fingers against my throat. My airway cuts off and my head goes foggy. I turn my cheek, kicking underneath him. I don’t even care that my dress is practically up around my hips and I’m naked from the waist down. I need to see Viks. I need to know he’s not dead.

In the distance, the sound of grunting reaches me. Kennedy flies past me, another gun drawn. I’m surprised we haven’t drawn the eyes or attention of other people, but Inferno’s pounding music can be heard from out here so I doubt anyone inside has any clue what’s going on. How we’re fighting for our lives.

I don’t know where Viks is at the moment, or even if he’s still breathing, but as Josh leans harder on his forearms, pressing me into the gravel and concrete at my back, I realize I can’t wait for him. I can’t fucking sit here and hope he saves me in time. I slap my hands against Josh’s face, grasping at his chin and shoving my thumb up until it’s against his eye.

I have to know if Viks is okay, I think. And I don’t care anymore what I have to do to make it happen.

Without any more hesitation, I grit my teeth, close my eyes and push into Josh’s eye socket. He screams, jerking his head to the side, but it’s too late. His hands loosen on my throat and I suck back a breath, turning and dragging myself out from beneath him.

“My eye!” he screams. “My fucking eye!”

I spot what looks like a broken iron bar sticking out of a mound of trash next to a nearby dumpster. I scramble towards it, grasping the end of the damn thing even as the sharp metal end cuts into my hand, and yank it free.

Using the thing like a club, I turn and as soon as I see Josh charging towards me, bleeding from his one closed eye and enraged, I swing. His lone good eye widens and he tries to duck at the last minute but it’s too late. I clip him right in the jaw. As I do one of the bullets flying past pierces him right in the shoulder, and he goes down hard on the ground. My eyes widen as I gape down at him, blood draining from him as he rolls over and groans.

Another gunshot rings out, and air whizzes past my ear, making me freeze. Wrong move, I realize as the shooter—Kennedy—pulls the trigger again and this time a burning sensation hits me in the side. I drop the iron bar and go down. Fire burns up my hip and I look down, noting the blood—my blood—right before I hear a familiar shout.

Head hazy, body cramping in pain, I watch a bleeding Viks shove Kennedy against the wall, and down at the very mouth of the alleyway, Troy is charging towards us. It’s too late for me though. Kennedy grins, despite his circumstances, and the gun in his hand—still pointed in my direction—cocks back one last time.

24

VIKS

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU!” Haley’s scream reaches my ears as I finally squeeze my body down to the bottom of the emergency staircase. My muscles are tight, sweat clinging to the back of my neck. I hear more words spoken and then eerie silence.

I step off the last stair and shove the door open, coming around the side with my gun drawn to see Haley on the ground. There’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek and she’s shoeless—but otherwise, she seems fine. She glances back at me, eyes widening as she jerks her head to the asshole standing over her. He’s holding her fucking gun, I realize. Fuck.

“No!” Haley screams again just as the fucker pulls back, cocking the pistol and pulling the trigger. I don’t have a second to fucking retaliate with my own as the bullet flies through the air and slams into my shoulder.

My arm spasms and the gun in my hand drops to the ground as the entire limb goes dead. I can feel the muscles spasm and the pain washes through my head, but I grit my teeth. I can’t stop now.

Haley—my little fighter—attacks the kid in front of her and thankfully, he loses control of the gun. I’m both proud of her and furious because all she’s doing is pissing him off. And even if she’s strong, even if she’s got the gun away from him—he’s still a man and he still has the upper hand. With a growl, I fly towards the two of them only to be stopped as none other than Patrick Kennedy steps in my path. He swings and narrowly misses as I duck back at the last second, his fist passing in front of me with a rush of air.

Fist up, blood singing in my veins, I punch back, and even with my non-dominant hand I nail the bastard in the jaw. Where the fuck is Troy?

Kennedy spits out a wad of blood and circles me. I can hear Haley’s gasps for air and then the kid's scream.

I put my head down, unwilling to waste any more fucking time, and plow into the fucker like a footballer. I slam him down into the ground, the two of us nothing but a tangle of limbs. The scent of weed and garbage rises up in my face. I ignore it, punching down again only to be nailed in the face and flipped onto my back. Kennedy’s fists fly against my side and something cracks along my ribs. My teeth clamp down at the sudden agony and I damn near bite my tongue off. A piece of oversized gravel beneath me stabs into my shoulder wound, making me hiss out a breath as Kennedy scrambles across the ground, heading away from me.

It takes me a split second, but when I realize what he’s going for, a roar erupts from my throat. “No!” Kennedy snatches up my fallen gun and then turns—pointing it not at me, but at the very thing that keeps my heart beating.

Her.

He gets off one shot. I roar once more and attack, shoving him against the wall hard enough that with my sheer size the outside brick rains down on us in a cloud of red dust. It sticks to the sweat on my skin, gets into my eyes. But fuck it—I don’t care if I go blind. I can’t let anything happen to her. I’ve already failed her once.

Kennedy’s toothy grin is in my face, his teeth coated in his own blood and his nose slightly crooked. Another shot goes off and Haley’s stunned cry echoes against the side of the club’s outer walls.

It happens so quickly. Footsteps pound the pavement—Troy, rushing to get to us. But it’s too late. Kennedy struggles to lift the arm with the gun and I reach for it, but his finger is already on the trigger. The gun goes off one … last … fucking … time just as the fingers of my good hand lock around his wrist. I tighten my hold and twist his hand to the side and keep going—relishing in the crunch of bones as it breaks and the weapon drops from his grip.

Kennedy shouts in agony, but it’s not enough. Despite the fire burning down my right arm, I punch him and I don’t fucking stop. His teeth shatter under my knuckles. Blood pours down his face. His eyes grow swollen and I know I’ve shattered his cheekbone. I can’t stop.

It isn’t until a familiar hand takes hold of my arm, clamping down on my wound and making my whole back bow in pain that I finally drop him. The pissant little shit collapses to the ground.

I turn, fully intending to take out the new threat, but it’s Troy. He stares at me wide-eyed, his own gun drawn. I don’t think. I just snatch it from his grip and before he can stop me, I whirl back around, press the barrel straight against the fucker’s skull and pull the trigger.

Brain matter splatters against the side of Inferno, staining the brick in a dark splatter of crimson. No one survives a fucking headshot like that. The gun falls out of my grip.

“She’s fine.” My eyes jerk up to him and then down the alley and I see why it’d taken him so long to get to us—because he’d been busy grabbing back up. Andrei stands over Haley, and her beautiful blue eyes are open and aware, though a bit dazed.

The relief is so sharp it nearly takes me to my knees. I stumble towards her, wavering on my feet. “Shit, man, you’ve been shot,” Troy says as he grabs ahold of me, trying to stop me.

“I need … Haley…” I say forcing my feet to move forward one step at a time.

Troy takes one look at me and curses. A moment later, he shoves his head beneath my good arm and wraps an arm around my waist to help me. I hiss as he bumps into what I’m now sure is either a cracked or broken rib—I’d say cracked since breathing isn’t too difficult. I don’t care, though, all I can focus on is my girl.

“Viks!” She doesn’t hesitate. The second I get close, she pushes Andrei away and despite the wince she gives as she tries to stand back up, I can’t help but just feel fucking grateful that she’s still alive.

Troy releases me, moving away as she comes right to me—right where she belongs. In my arms. Tears streak her beautiful face. The dark streaks of her make up have now been smeared even further down her cheek.

“Fuck, baby…” I close my good arm around her and pull her closer. Fuck, nothing but being inside of her could be close enough. I want to tear her apart and crawl inside of her. I want to know that there’s absolutely nothing that can separate us.

“I’m okay,” she whispers as if she knows I need to hear it. “You’re okay?”

I jerk a nod against her shoulder, leaning into her soft, smaller frame. My sweet girl in my arms? Yeah, I’m fucking okay. I’m the greatest.

“I should spank your ass,” I growl as I squeeze her despite my pain.

“Okay,” she says, nodding her head against my chest. “You can spank me, fuck me, do whatever the fuck you want to do to me. I don’t care.”

“Yeah?” I close my eyes and just inhale the sweet feminine scent of her. “Then marry me.”

“What?” She pushes back and looks up at me, her brows pinched down.

“You said do whatever the fuck I want to do,” I remind her. “So, this is it, I’m staking my fucking claim, Haley.”

She blinks at me as if comprehending words are far beyond her capabilities right now, and looking at her—her bleeding arm, the burn across her hip where a bullet grazed her—it wouldn’t surprise me. I blow out a breath and just pull her back against me.

“We can talk about it later,” I promise. Maybe I was rushing things.

“No.” Her voice is quiet and she doesn’t push me away again. Instead, she curls closer, locking her arms around my waist, burying her head against my chest. “No, we don’t need to talk about it.”

“I’m not letting you walk away,” I warn her. “We will talk about it later.”

She just shakes her head. “We don’t need to.” Her head tilts up and she looks at me. I reach up and thumb away a thin strand of brown hair clinging to her sweaty cheek before cupping it in my hand.

“Why don’t we need to?”

“Because I already know my answer,” she replies, “and it’s yes.”

EPILOGUE

HALEY

6 months later…

I’M NERVOUS. I hate being nervous. I pace from one side of the room to the other, feeling a skittering up my spine. “Baby, calm down,” Viks says from where he sits on one of the green room’s couches. His words don’t have any effect on me. I continue walking, biting my nails. Alyssa’s fucking late and there’s no telling how many people are waiting in the art gallery downstairs.

On my next pass, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me onto his lap. “What are you freaking out about?”

“Everything?”

He grabs my hand and pulls it away from my mouth, replacing it with his lips. I sink into the kiss with no remorse. His tongue invades and moves over mine, stroking into me.

“I bet I know what will take your mind off things,” he says. I bet he does too, and when his hand goes beneath my shirt, I don’t stop him.

“Will you?” I ask. I don’t care if I’m practically begging.

He opens his eyes and pulls back, a hand arching up to cup against my face. His fingers skim down my jawline. “You want me to distract you?”

I nod, reaching up and clutching onto him as I turn and settle my legs on either side of his hips. The thickness of his cock brushes against my cunt and I lower myself down on it, rubbing insistently through the fabric of our clothes.

“Please?” I pant against him. “I need it.”

His lips twitch in both amusement and arousal—I can finally understand that about him. He smiles when he’s horny. He smiles when he’s in love. And around me, he’s constantly smiling.

“Your wish is my command, Haley girl.” He divests me of my clothes in record time, pulling my shirt up and off of me, dropping it to the floor. My bra goes with it. My skirt, however, is shoved up around my waist as he reaches underneath and shakes his head in mock disappointment. “What have I told you about wearing panties?” he asks.

“That you enjoy ripping and cutting them off of me?” I supply.

He chuckles darkly and reaches back, pulling free a slender pocket knife and flicking out until the blade flashes—the sunlight pouring in from the window glinting across the steel. “Yeah, I fucking do.”

I don’t hesitate to lift up, giving him more room to work with as he slips the sharp edge beneath the sides of my underwear and cuts them away, leaving me wet and bare for him. “I think you like this,” he says, sliding the cold knife up my chest, between my breasts. “Are you a kinky little slut?”

My pussy tightens. He knows what it does to me when he talks to me like that. It’s so fucking filthy, it makes me lose all sense of myself and I’m okay with it because I know no matter how far I float away, he’ll always bring me back. I rock against him, whimpers catching in my throat.

“Please,” is all I offer as an answer. “I want you.”

“And you’ll have me, baby,” he promises, the knife moving across towards one breast. My breath stops in my lungs as he uses the very tip to scrape over the skin of my nipple. I stop grinding down against him, a quick bubble of fear bursting. I know he’d never hurt me—but one wrong move and he could accidentally cut me. The danger is a high, one I never would’ve known I’d enjoy if it weren’t for him.

He circles one nipple with the sharp edge of the knife and then passes over to the other. I can feel my wetness leaking down my inner thighs.

“Mitchell…” I shudder as the knife moves upward and he turns it until the backside is pressed against my neck.

His eyes meet mine and he grins. “You’ve learned to say my name when you want something rather than when you’re angry at me,” he comments. “I like that.”

“I’d like it if you fucked me,” I reply, pointedly.

“Would you now?” The knife is drawn away and he raises one brow as his other hand moves beneath my skirt, up my thighs, straight to my pussy.

My eyes roll back into my head as his fingers touch me, rolling across my clit, and then slipping down as he inserts two fingers into my cunt and thrusts upward. I clamp down on him, biting my lip as a moan threatens to escape.

“Viks…” Fuck, I want him so badly. I want him inside me. All over me. Fucking me. Loving me.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he mutters, fucking me with his fingers as his thumb comes out and rubs across my clit. White and black spots dance behind my eyes. I’m so fucking close and all he’s done is touch me.

“More.” The whine in my voice should be shameful or embarrassing, but I’m so far gone for this man, there are no more fucks left to give. “Please, Viks … I need more. Fuck me.”

“You want my cock in your pussy?”

“Yes.” I cry out as he presses up into me, curling his fingers as his thumb presses and circles against my clit.

“I don’t have a condom.”

A beat passes. "I-I’m on birth control,” I finally say.

His fingers pull free of my cunt and I sigh in disappointment. I don’t need to worry, though, because in the next second, his hands are locked around my waist and he manually lifts me, dragging me closer. He reaches beneath the two of us and frees himself from his pants. His cock strains upward, the soft side of his shaft sliding against the inside of my thighs, a fucking tease.

I reach down, grasping it and lifting it. “That’s it, baby.” Viks’ voice is so full of lust and encouragement, it drives me forward. I fit him to my entrance and then slowly sink down on him, inch by delicious inch. He stretches into my cunt, filling me so full I don’t know where I even end and he begins. “So tight around me,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “My baby’s pussy is so hot.” He slaps my ass, jostling me enough that I release another cry. “Ride me, Haley. Ride my cock and make me come.”

It’s rough and hot and hard. I lift myself up and then slowly descend over him again and again, picking up the pace as I start to feel the flutterings of my orgasm wash over me. I contract around him, sweating and so fucking turned on that I can’t see past his face as he cups the back of my skull, drawing me forward. His lips push over mine.

Viks kisses me hard, like he’s staking his claim. I gasp and shake, trembling around him, over him, on top of him as my own orgasm slides through me. The room fades and I lock my fingers onto his biceps as I rise up, both fighting to escape the frightening amount of pleasure that crashes over me and fighting to feel even more of it.

“Come for me, Haley,” he urges, rocking his hips into me as he finishes unloading himself inside of me. “Come again on my cock like a good girl.”

And I do. I couldn’t stop the second orgasm even if I wanted to. He grunts his own release into my ear, and I come apart—exploding in panting gasps. When I finally return to myself, I’m slumped over against his chest. Maybe at one time I would’ve felt vulnerable being mostly naked to his mostly clothed, but now I don’t. Not with him. I know he likes me like this. Naked and his.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as the orgasm leaves my system, my thoughts come screaming back at me and I stiffen in his arms. His hands pause against my backs and he groans. “Again?” he mutters.

“I’m sorry.” I pull back and wince. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Viks brushes my hair out of my face. “It’s going to be amazing. Everyone will love it.”

“We should get dressed,” I say, looking away. He had tried and for a brief moment, the sex had helped, but I’m still viscerally aware that in … I glance at the clock hanging on the wall of the green room … fuck, less than twenty minutes there will be nearly a hundred people walking through a gallery filled with artwork. My artwork. My senior exhibition, the only special case in Eastpoint history to ever get her own with no other artist displayed. Will they love it? Will they hate it?

I can tell that he doesn’t want to, but Viks lets me climb off his lap and redress. I sigh down at my shredded underwear, but ultimately use them to wipe up the mess between my legs before tossing them into the nearby trash can. I can still feel a little bit of his cum inside of me. I glance back at him as he straightens his shirt and stands up from the couch, tucking himself back into his pants.

I almost wish I could ask him for another round, but we don’t have time. Maybe next time, I’ll ask him to fuck my ass. It’s hard to think about anything else when the soreness of a well fucked asshole is distracting me.

Viks holds his hand out to me and I take it. “Hey,” he says, pulling me against his side, “don’t think too hard. Your friend will be here.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” I say, chewing on my lower lip.

“Then what’s the problem?” he demands, stopping me as we reach the door heading out into the hall. We didn’t even lock the door, I realize. Anyone could have walked in and seen us together. A flush steals over my cheeks.

“Nothing,” I lie, but Viks isn’t one to take my lies. His hand slams against the door, slapping it shut when I pull it slightly open.

“Throw it away, Hales,” he says suddenly. “Throw it all away.”

“What?” I can’t understand what he’s talking about. “Throw what away?”

“Everything,” he replies. “Respectability. The weight of other people’s expectations. You don’t need them. We don’t need them. All we need are just you and I.” He leans over me, pressing his forehead against mine. “Say it.”

I know what he wants. The words stick in my throat. His hand comes up, wide and firm and unrelenting. It closes around my throat, holding me in place as he backs me against the door and pins me there. His eyes open and focused on me. “Say. It,” he commands. “Tell me who you belong to.”

My heart hammers inside my chest. Sweat sticks to the back of my neck. I don’t want to because I’m afraid. I’m afraid that telling him that I belong to him will be more truth than I’m willing to commit to. I’m afraid that there will be no going back once the words are out of my mouth.

“This is about the art showcase,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze.

“No, the fuck it’s not.” His growl does something to my insides. It makes my thighs tighten and my breasts tingle.

As if he can sense what I’m thinking, Viks chuckles—the sound low and deep and almost threatening. “Even if you don’t say it, you know,” he tells me, “that doesn’t mean it’s not true.” His body moves against me, over me, caging me in until there’s no other place I can look but him. “You’re mine, Haley. All fucking mine. You were mine the day you walked into Club Outsider looking like jailbait fresh out of high school. You just didn’t know it then, but I did.”

His eyes bore into me. “Maybe I don’t deserve you, but I don’t care. I want you and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. I’ll please you. I’ll love you. I’ll fuck you to within an inch of your life, Hales. I’m gonna fill you so full of my cum that it sloshes around in your belly. I’m gonna give you a baby and then I’m gonna give you another. I’m going to make you so fucking content in my arms that you won’t even realize you’re trapped and there’s no way out."

“Viks…”

“What happens from this point on, there’s always just going to be you and me. They’re going to fucking love you out there. Not the same way I do, because if they do, I’ll fucking kill them. Now, fucking say it.” I close my eyes and he shakes me, forcing them back open and on nothing else but him. “Do it.”

“I belong to you.” I relinquish the words, letting the truth slip past my lips and enter the air, never to be denied again. “I trust you.” A trust I’m not sure I’ve granted anyone else in the world.

He smiles, a genuine Viks smile. All smugness. The happiness radiates from his eyes where they squint just the tiniest bit. “That’s right, Haley girl. So, trust me again when I say we’re gonna go down there and you’re going to smile and show off your art and everyone’s going to fucking adore it.”

I suck in a breath. “Yeah,” I agree. “You’re right.” They’re going to love it because why wouldn’t they?

Viks’ smile widens. “Then you’re going to greet your friends with my cum inside of you, aren’t you?”

A blush steals up my face, the heat of it spreading through my cheeks. I glare at him. “Asshole," I mutter.

He chuckles and brings me forward, kissing my forehead. “And if you’re good, I’ll make good on my promise sooner rather than later,” he says. “This is it, Hales. You and me.”

I blow out a breath and repeat his words. A promise. An oath. Everything I need. All the games are over. “You and me.”

If you enjoyed Haley and Viks’ story, please don’t forget to leave a review and check out the first official book in the series following this prequel if you haven’t already > Pretty Little Savage

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lucy Smoke, also known as Lucinda Dark for her fantasy works, has a master’s degree in English and is a self-proclaimed creative chihuahua. She enjoys feeding her wanderlust, cover addiction, as well as her face, and truly hopes people will stop giving her bath bombs as gifts. Bath’s get cold too fast and it’s just not as wonderful as the commercials make it out to be when the tub isn’t a jacuzzi.

When she’s not on a never-ending quest to find the perfect milkshake, she lives and works in the southern United States with her beloved fur-baby, Hiro, and her family and friends.

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ALSO BY LUCY SMOKE

Contemporary Series:

Sick Boys Series

Forbidden Deviant Games (prequel)

Pretty Little Savage

Stone Cold Queen

Natural Born Killers

Wicked Dark Heathens

Bloody Cruel Psycho

Bloody Cruel Monster

Vengeful Rotten Casualties (coming soon)

Iris Boys Series (completed)

Now or Never

Power & Choice

Leap of Faith

Cross my Heart

Forever & Always

Iris Boys Series Boxset

The Break Series (completed)

Break Volume 1

Break Volume 2

Break Series Collection

Contemporary Standalones:

Poisoned Paradise

Expressionate

Wildest Dreams

Criminal Underground Series (Shared Universe Standalones)

Sweet Possession (reverse harem)

Scarlett Thief (menage)

Sinister Engagement (M/F)

Fantasy Series:

Twisted Fae Series (completed)

Court of Crimson

Court of Frost

Court of Midnight

Twisted Fae: Completed Series Boxset

Barbie: The Vampire Hunter Series (completed)

Rest in Pieces

Dead Girl Walking

Ashes to Ashes

Dark Maji Series (completed)

Fortune Favors the Cruel

Blessed Be the Wicked

Twisted is the Crown

For King and Corruption

Long Live the Soulless

Nerys Newblood Series (completed)

Daimon

Necrosis

Resurrection

Sky Cities Series (Dystopian)

Heart of Tartarus

Shadow of Deception

Sword of Damage

Dogs of War (coming soon)

Table of Contents

SYNOPSIS

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Epigraph

1. Haley

2. Viks

3. Haley

4. Viks

5. Viks

6. Haley

7. Haley

8. Viks

9. Haley

10. Haley

11. Haley

12. Viks

13. Haley

14. Haley

15. Viks

16. Haley

17. Haley

18. Haley

19. Viks

20. Haley

21. Haley

22. Viks

23. Haley

24. Viks

Epilogue

Untitled

About the Author

Also by LUCY SMOKE