Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Peach
Teeth – 5 Seconds of Summer
I pull at the brace around my wrist, wondering if it’s really that useful or if I could take it off. Turning away from my friends, I start to undo the Velcro.
“It’s useful,” Ella says for the third time tonight. Reading my mind yet again. “Now, will you please leave it alone?”
I pretend I don’t hear her over the sound of the piano playing, people chattering and clinking their glasses of champagne, and the loud, snobby men laughing not far from us.
Stoneview ball is always a pleasure.
We’re standing near the open bar, where three men are serving spirits while other waitstaff walk around the room with flutes of champagne.
“I know you heard me, Peach. I’m right next to you,” Ella insists.
“You say it’s useful, but I really don’t see how such a flimsy thing helps," I say as I turn back to them.
I pull at it again, and Achilles groans in exasperation. “It restricts your movements, idiot. Now stop.” Slapping my hand, he throws me a death stare.
“Alright, Doc. We get it, you study medicine.”
He rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with it anyway? Does it not go with your outfit?”
“What’s wrong with you? Why do you care if I’m taking it off or not.”
“Here’s my theory.” He leans down a little as he lowers his voice; that way, others won’t hear him, but I will.
On my left, Ella mumbles, "Here we go."
“The longer it takes for your wrist to heal, the longer you won’t be cheerleading. And the longer you’re not being a cute little cheerleader on the sideline for the lacrosse team, the longer Wren doesn’t get his bi-weekly look under your skort.”
My eyes widen. Did he actually dare to throw this shit at me?
“Do you get where I’m going here? It’s all he has, Peach. He’s going to be insufferable without it.”
“I’m going to punch you in the face,” I say in all seriousness.
He smiles brightly at me. “Think about your wrist.”
“Think about your teeth next time you want to let that kind of insanity past your lips.”
Ella puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe cheer shouldn’t be an activity for you anymore. First of all, you don’t have time, and I’m worried you’re going to have to start selling your soul to the devil in exchange for more hours in a day.” Her gaze flicks to Achilles. “Also, we now clearly know of at least one player who looks under your skort regularly, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“Ella, please. You’ve been a cheerleader for a long time. You’re the captain. Don’t tell me you think the players look into your eyes when you do your jumps?” Achilles shakes his head at her, and both my friend and I shoot daggers at him.
“First of all, that makes no sense. They couldn’t look into our eyes even if they tried because we're moving so much. Secondly, shut up,” I simply say before turning back to Els. “I’ll be taking a break while this heals anyway. I’m just annoyed. I don’t like when something slows me down. That’s why I never get ill.”
“For the millionth time, you can’t decide when you get ill.” Achilles gives me his signature unimpressed look.
“I do!” I defend. “That’s why it never happens to me.”
“Sure.”
“Ella, tell him,” I order.
“Guys, not this again. Come on.”
I down my champagne and look at the crowd. “Alright, time for me to be the perfect daughter. Wish me luck.”
“Try to stay sober, at least until midnight,” Achilles calls out as I walk away.
All he gets in return is a middle finger. I’ve had two glasses. I’m fine. For now. I walk among my fellow Stoneview residents as I look for my dads. Everyone here is just a mix of the same people I see at SFU, plus their families. It’s always the same faces. Grabbing the side of my deep red silk dress, so I don’t end up stepping on it, I smile and nod, letting out some polite hellos.
“Penelope,” Dad Sanderson’s voice calls out from my left, and I join him right away.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask as he puts an arm around my shoulders.
He points at a camera I hadn’t seen and murmurs, “He didn’t come.” Then we both smile and pretend everything is fine as the flash blinds us.
The second the photographer is gone, he takes my hand and pulls me into a corner.
“Red silk, Penelope? This was not part of any of the dresses I had Mabel send you.”
“Mabel is the worst stylist you’ve ever had, and I refuse to let her dress me. Did you see those dresses? I’m not Jackie O. But if I ever become first lady, I’ll ask for her advice.”
He looks at me with that serious Dad stare.
“Okay.” He shakes his head, then his entire body, as if he’s warming up for some sort of dance rehearsal, before focusing on me again. “Penny Pickle…” Oh, not the stupid nickname. “Let’s start with a history lesson. Jackie O. wasn’t first lady when she started getting called Jackie O. So your reference doesn’t work.”
“I’m a scientist, Dad. History and politics aren't really my forte.”
“Don’t I know it.” Putting a hand on my shoulder, he looks down to my toes and back in my eyes. “Onto a fashion lesson. Well done. You’re definitely not looking like Jackie Kennedy tonight, but rather Marilyn Monroe.”
“Cool—”
“Not in a good way. I hired Mabel because she was Delacroix’s stylist for the entire family when he ran for senator. It’s all about appearances, Penny. Please, next time, just do this for me.”
“Dad,” I sigh. “This sounds so?—”
“Stupid? Yes, I know. But I’m a gay man running for mayor of the richest town in the country. If I don’t show them we’re the perfect American family, they’ll use it as an excuse and add it to the list of things they can use against me. Dad didn’t show up, and people are already asking questions about divorce."
"Maybe if you stopped cheating on him he’d show up," I mumble.
He pauses as he smiles warmly at someone I’m assuming is walking behind me before focusing on me again.
"I’m not discussing this with you. Unlike Dad, I keep our problems to ourselves. He doesn’t want to show up? Fine. My daughter showed up, but she’s got on a wrist support like someone’s been abusing her and is wearing a dress that screams sex. Not fine."
“Does it scream sex, or does it scream independent woman?” I wink at him obviously, but it still doesn’t get a laugh out of my fun dad.
Sanderson has always been the chill one. Especially being in his late sixties and having supposedly retired. He used to let me drink with him, didn’t care about anything wrong I did, and let me wear whatever I wanted. Menacci is the one who always cared too much about appearances because he’s a “famous actor.”
“Okay,” I huff. “Clearly, fun isn’t a thing for you anymore, and I shall be the most boring daughter in the world. I’ll talk about…hairstyles.”
“Too superficial.”
“Guns.”
“Too sensitive, Penny.”
“The environment?”
“I know you. You’ll do it from an environmental engineer’s point of view and confuse them.”
I huff. “My favorite dish at the Stoneview Country Club.”
He smiles. “Perfect.”
“Ah, country clubs. The American dream.”
He chuckles and offers me his arm. Taking it, I walk with him.
“Thank you, Penny Pickle.”
“You owe me a whole jar for this stupid soirée.”
“Unlimited jars of my little girl’s favorite pickles.”
I’m perfect all night. Truly. I stay by my dad’s side, laugh at his jokes, make people feel at ease every time he subtly mentions his campaign, and proudly nod when he says that my “school project” might end up in a “very serious science journal.” I don’t even correct him that it’s an important research paper that could, many years down the line, lead me to a Nobel Prize. Hell, I even say that Menacci has the flu when people ask where he is. Not that he’s sick of my dad cheating on him.
Perfect. Daughter.
By the time the older generation leaves, I’m dying for a fucking drink. I couldn’t add drinking too much champagne to the outrageous red dress.
“Kill me,” I sigh as I join my friends again.
Alex hands me a flute, and I down it right away before grabbing another from the passing waiter. Only Ella and Achilles were here earlier, but Alex and Wren have joined them.
Since it’s late, we’re pretty much surrounded by people around our age now, and this is about to turn into a college party on steroids. Except much, much fancier since we’re in the Stoneview town hall. The room looks just like the “Beauty and The Beast” ballroom, and we’re all dressed in beautiful cocktail dresses, wearing jewelry with prices that would make a millionaire faint, and drinking champagne that costs ten grand a bottle. But that’s just what we’re used to.
I’ve downed my second flute when Ella and Alex start cursing at Hermes for their last post, stopping any chance of relaxing. How am I meant to enjoy my night if I’m forced to think about that asshole sending me messages? I’m reaching for a third glass of champagne, when a hand wraps around my healthy wrist, stopping me.
“She’s fine.” Wren’s deep voice resonates next to me as he pulls my hand away from the platter, and I watch the waiter leave with my much-needed alcohol.
“Don’t—”
“The night has barely started,” he cuts me off. “How about you have reasonable fun before having blackout fun. And aren't you taking pain meds? You shouldn't drink on those.”
"Joke's on you. I didn't take them." I flip my hair over my shoulder with my free hand and pull at the one he’s holding. “Let go. The night might have just started for you, but I’ve been chatting up boring old men for two hours.”
“How’s your dad?” he asks in return instead of actually hearing me out.
“My dad is wondering why you still haven’t let go of my arm, Wren,” I sing-song.
He chuckles, caressing the inside of my wrist. “Come on.” A step closer, and I’m suddenly struggling to breathe.
His next words are barely even audible for me. “Do you even know how delicious you look tonight? With all those men looking at you, someone has to show them you don’t belong to any of them.”
I narrow my eyes at him, tilting my head up to make sure I can stare him down. “You wouldn’t be so foolish as to think that it’s because I belong to you, would you?”
The smile pulling at the corner of his lips makes my heart palpitate, but I’m not sure if it’s because I want to punch him or kiss him. This is…confusing. Everything is always confusing when it comes to him.
“I wouldn’t dare think that, Trouble. I know. ”
And there it is. That fucking dominating smugness I want to crush under my red sole. I subtly lick the matte red lipstick on my lower lip. His eyes catch on it, lighting up as they follow the tip of my tongue.
“God, Wren.” A saccharine smile spreads on my face. “Look at yourself. I barely try and you’re practically on your knees for my attention. You can’t take me, honey. If I were yours, I’d crush your balls so hard in the palm of my hand, your next three generations would feel it.”
His mouth drops open, but the challenge is bright in his gaze. He still wants to try to make me his. So I make sure to kill it.
“And keep Trouble out of your vocabulary when it comes to me. We’re friends, not lovers. You don’t get a Wren-only nickname for me.”
There. No more confusion.
His beautiful blue eyes stay on me, refusing to back down. That’s our entire relationship summed up. Neither of us ever backs down.
“I need to step away. I’m scared I’ll get pregnant if I stay anywhere near these two.” Ella’s voice is the only thing that makes us separate.
He finally lets go of my wrist, and I already miss the heat, miss the adrenaline of us defying each other.
“I’ll come with you,” I tell Ella.
Alex does too, and we leave Wren and Achilles behind.
“He’s still looking at you,” Els mumbles.
“Stop looking back,” I tell her, even though I’m glad someone checked if he was watching me walk away.
“Oh, Peach…” Alex laughs. “How long are you going to torture that man?”
“I’m not torturing him,” I say with a huff. “I’m saving us both the disappointment of sleeping together. We’re not compatible.”
"Come on, Peach. We're your best friends," Ella says. "Just tell us the truth…"
Alex insists with lifted eyebrows of encouragement.
"I never slept with him," I defend. "It's not my fault you don't want to believe me."
We settle in another corner of the room, and I shove a few canapés in my mouth. They use the moment to ask more questions.
"Okay, let's say you never actually slept together. Something else happened, right? A kiss? Maybe?—"
"We’ve never kissed." I spit crumbs out of my mouth, and Alex offers me a cocktail napkin.
"The sexual energy is so thick, you guys must have done something. " Ella's excitement is palpable, and I swallow the canapés in one large gulp.
"If you want something to happen with Wren so badly, you do it. You love your men idiotically possessive."
She giggles to herself and shares a look with Alex. "Trust me, if either of us were single, we would absolutely go for him. Definitely our type."
I throw my head back and grab another glass of champagne.
"Sometimes," Alex starts shyly, "you guys disappear together."
"Yes, when I'm angry and he calms me down."
Alex pinches her lips, her cheeks blushing. "How does he calm you down?"
Well, I really fucked myself there, didn't I? When I stay silent, Ella repeats.
"Oh my god, Peach." She practically jumps on the spot. " How does he calm you down?"
"Just— We… I don't know. It depends. Sometimes, he scolds me, and we argue. Sometimes, he's sweet. Sometimes…"
"Sometimes?"
"Jesus, you two! Sometimes, he gives me…" I whisper the end of my sentence. "An orgasm. Are you happy?"
"Yes!" they both exclaim, eyes and smiles comically wide.
"You guys are going to get married," Alex concludes.
It's my and Ella's turn to stare at her. "You are so na?ve," I tell her with a shake of my head. "It's good you've got Xi, because I worry about what would happen if you were left all alone in this world with that cute head full of dreams."
She smiles sneakily at me. "So, does Wren dominate you when he gives you orgasms?"
I choke on champagne, and it almost comes back out through my nose.
"No! Well…"
I think about the times he was stern with me. But it wasn't dominating. It was what worked for me at the time when I was angry or out of control and might have done something I'd regret.
"No," I repeat. "It's more of a fight for power than him dominating me."
"That sounds hot," Ella says. "And you’ve never kissed?"
"We’ve never kissed," I repeat for the hundredth time. "It's just..." I wave my fingers at them, and they both laugh again. "Nothing else ever happened. And even that probably happened, like, three times. It's not my fault I can't get anyone else to give me orgasms."
"Of course not," Alex explains as she grabs a canapé. "He keeps all the guys away from you. And his plan is clearly working. You're going to end up together."
I look at her, deadpan. "We're not."
They disagree. They always do, but I know what I’m talking about. So, instead of listening to them, I drink another flute of champagne and change the topic. We’re joined by other people we know as the night goes on. And as we keep drinking and getting more excited, the need for other substances starts tingling under my skin.
It’s not an addiction, I’m sure of that. It’s just a way to decompress. I’m always so busy, always thinking of the next task on my to-do list. Parties help me forget about the daily pressure I put on myself.
I’m discreet when I catch the eyes of my friend, Conan. He’s always got coke on him, and the new SFU dealer screens my messages. I don’t doubt Xi told him not to provide for me too often. Dick.
I tilt my head toward the ballroom door, and he smiles at me, nodding.
“Just gonna use the bathroom,” I tell Alex before leaving.
It takes Conan about three minutes before he joins me in front of the women’s bathroom.
“Not in there,” he says, putting his hand on the small of my back. “There’s always someone keeping an eye out during balls. Come, the kitchen will be empty at this time.”
He catches me up on his summer in the Hamptons as we make our way, his hand never leaving the silk barely covering my exposed back. Conan is a lovely guy. We have some classes together, even though he wants to specialize in civil engineering.
“Imagine my mom’s face when she walked in on my sister and the fucking chauffeur. Why are our parents so outraged that their staff are normal people? Do they really think we’re better than them? Isn’t that weird?”
I roll my eyes. “Different generation. You need to talk to your mom. I had a chat with my dad the time he told off our cook. I can tell you it never happened again.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “We’re still really taking advantage of the privilege, though, aren’t we?”
He pulls out the little plastic packet out of his inside tux jacket pocket.
“I’m thinking of just fucking off,” he says as he puts powder on the metal kitchen counter. “Traveling to Asia, working as an English teacher, maybe?”
Using his black Amex to cut off the coke, his hand handles all of it like a pro.
“Will you still be using your parents’ money?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Because I think that would cancel out your Eat, Pray, Love experience.”
He snorts. “Nah. No one needs that much money, Peach. You know it. You want to use yours to save polar bears.”
I roll my eyes. “You spend too much time with Achilles.”
He chuckles and points at the table. “Ladies first.”
“How kind.”
We take turns snorting a line, and I glance at my phone to check the girls aren’t looking for me when he puts his head down. Before I know what’s happening, Conan is being pulled back, replaced by another man in front of me. One who simply won’t leave me alone to do stupid shit.
“Get out of here,” Wren tells Conan, his eyes not leaving mine.
“You can’t be serious.” He snorts. “You’re going too far, Hunter. The male population of SFU puts up with enough of your shit.”
My head snaps to Conan, and I feel my eyebrows practically touching my hairline. “What shit? What have you been putting up with?”
Conan smirks. “What? You don’t know about the warning your boyfriend put out to all the guys? Only the brave ones try to sleep with you, Peach. It’s been going on since sophomore year.”
It's not the first time I’ve heard of Wren spreading the word to stay away from me. He used to make jokes about it. But I never realized it's been going on for so long.
"Did you actually tell everyone to stay away from me?" My voice is barely even.
It's hard to not jump him and scratch his face when I understand that I've struggled to get past a few flirty texts with a guy in the last few years because of Wren putting a ban on me.
"I've said this to you many times," he answers casually.
"I thought you were joking !" I throw my hands in the air, unable to stay still.
"I wasn't," he deadpans.
"All guys on campus," Conan insists.
I blink up at Wren. He has absolutely no shame, completely unbothered that he’s been exposed.
“Only the male population, Wren? So, are you not worried about the women?”
Conan laughs, but Wren’s eyes still stay on me when he talks. “Get him out of here.”
It’s only now that I notice Achilles and his sick smile. He grabs Conan by both shoulders, dragging him out of the room.
“What the… What the fuck . Is Achilles your guard dog now?”
“No. He’s my friend, and yours, who knows what’s best for you. What are you doing in here, Peach?”
The surprise can’t seem to leave my face. “The same thing I always do. What are you doing?”
“The same thing I always do. Except this time, instead of picking up after your shit, I’m trying to prevent it so I can save myself some time and trouble.”
“No one asked you to help. Especially not me.”
He smiles, and it pisses me off. The energy within me is thrumming, and it’s only being accentuated by the powder I just snorted.
“You don’t want my help? Then I better not pick you up off the floor somewhere. I better not stand between you and some dude twice your size you just couldn’t help but put back in his place. And I better not get a call from the girls saying they can’t wake you up.”
I pause while I think for a few seconds.
“Whoever that hypothetical dude is…he deserved it.”
It’s his turn to not be able to talk, clearly struggling to stay serious when he wants to laugh.
“You’re set on getting under my skin for your entire life, aren’t you?” The seriousness in his voice is completely unexpected. He keeps getting too serious about this.
He closes the space that separates us, making me crane my neck to face him. The silence drags on for so long, it feels like he's sucking my soul right out of my body. Not able to take the intensity, I try to say something.
“I—”
“Give it to me.” The perfect blue in his eyes brightens with the hint of a challenge again.
My heart rate explodes, spreading a strange feeling through my stomach and…lower.
“What are you talking about?”
He wraps an arm around my waist, the other starting to roll a strand of my red hair around his index finger.
He can’t quite seem to find it . What he meant, exactly. But I know, so I push him.
“What you want, Wren, is for me to stop being a woman who thinks rationally. It is my strength. That’s what you want. For me to hand it to you, so you can crush it. Because that’s how you’re wired. And I know men like you. They see a strong woman and equate it to the biggest challenge of their lives. You fetishize us like it’s an entire kink in itself.”
I can feel his whole body buzzing. He could combust any minute.
“But here’s the issue.” I put a hand on his chest. “I’m not giving it to you. In fact”—I push onto my toes. My mouth can’t reach his ear, but it still drives my point—“I wouldn’t give you anything until you’re on your knees, begging for it like a good boy.”
His face falls, and he lets go of me as he takes a step back. It’s slow, but after a few seconds, I can finally see a pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Huh,” is the only thing that comes out.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it? When I smack you in the face with how incompatible we are.”
He rubs a hand across his face, and the way he then licks his lips tells me he’s probably feeling the exact opposite. I’ve just made it even more enticing.
“Do you really never think about it, Peach?”
He keeps his hands to himself this time, but he might as well be caressing every inch of my skin.
“How it would feel to have that one person with whom you could let down the arms? For once in your life to let someone guide you in the way they can bring you pleasure? Surely, you think about the times you've come on my fingers, about the way I can bring you back down when you lose control. We’re attracted to each other. That, at least, you’ve never pretended to hide when it’s just the two of us. And you told me at the last end-of-year party that you could potentially choose me. Drunk you doesn't lie like sober you."
I gulp. Is it the coke or the temperature that’s making me sweat? It’s because we’re in a kitchen. It’s so hot in here.
Yes, that must be it.
“Trouble,” he purrs, basking in the fact that he’s rendered me speechless. “I know all the ways we’re incompatible. I’ve learned them by heart. I’ve thought about it so many times, for so long, that I’ve become best friends with them.” He shrugs like this is the most ordinary thing to say. “They’re not an issue for me.”
“They’re an issue for me , Wren,” I finally say with the strength of a kitten.
He processes my words, nodding to himself, pretending he’s actually taking in my opinion. And then something I’d never seen flares in his eyes, dilating his pupils and blackening the blue that I usually find so comforting. Something so terrifying I’d never thought it possible on a man like Wren.
“I don’t have to give you a choice, Peach.”
My lungs halt their movement. Did I hear that right? Did my childhood best friend really just say that, or is the alcohol getting to my head, mixing with the coke? Maybe it’s the weed I smoked before the ball?
Something isn’t right. I fucking know that much.
“Did you just?—”
“I can be nice enough to make it seem like I’m giving you a choice, if you’d like.” His rasp sends a shiver down my spine. “You know, like Chris did to Ella.”
“ What? ” I hiss.
But he ignores it. “Or I could just…take.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my right hand tightening into a fist and the tips of my fingers pressing into the splint.
“Peach.” He chuckles, almost sweetly. Like some manipulative bastard who gets whatever he wants.
Who the hell is this guy?
He goes to touch my forehead with his thumb, but I slap his arm away.
“Don’t tou—” My voice is cut off by my whimper as he grabs me by the hair at the back of my head, keeping me in place.
The shock is what has me stilling, rather than the pain. Something completely unknown reverberates through my body, and my mouth falls slack when he delicately pinches some of the shorter strands of hair that frames my face.
He brings it to his eyeline.
“You really ought to stop stress-chewing on your hair. You’ll ruin it.” He laughs softly, probably from the fact that I still haven’t reacted. “God, I really do love it when you’re speechless. The anger is still visible, though. Right”—he caresses my forehead with the tip of his thumb—“here.”
And then he presses a little harder to make me realize what it is. That stupid, ugly vein that pops out when I’m furious. I swallow thickly, wondering if whatever he's holding back is about to snap. Cracking his neck slowly, he keeps me in his hold while a thousand thoughts seem to go through his head. Time stops as his eyes become the window to his soul, and I see the torment there. The pros and cons. The weight of consequences.
He inhales, and I barely catch the words he breathes out.
"Fuck it."
His hand in my hair pulls me to him, and his lips press against mine with the strength of a hurricane. And it’s on a path to destroy everything. My sanity first. My anger. My reflex to push him away. It's all gone as I melt into him and let him take over my mind. Mainly, he has complete control over the kiss. He angles my head, pushes his tongue inside my mouth, and I lose my mind.
The kiss is almost violent, and for however long my thoughts rest, I enjoy the most passionate moment of my life.
Until I come back down to earth, and I shove him back.
He stops kissing me, but he doesn't release me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I pant. "I don't…" Fuck, I can't catch my breath. "I don't want to kiss you."
His wet lips spread into a knowing smile. "Oh yes, you seemed to hate that."
I clench my jaw hard. So hard I’m pretty sure I break a tooth or two. And then the strength finally comes back to me. Before I know what I’m even doing, I’ve grabbed whatever is on the steel kitchen counter and I’m swinging at him.
I only realize what I’m holding when he fists my wrist, stopping my movement right before I hit his head.
“A meat hook? Ouch.” He chuckles. “You’ll have to be a little less predictable to hurt me, though. I’ve known you for sixteen years, and you’ve been hitting people who piss you off with whatever’s near you since kindergarten.”
His grip doesn’t even hurt, and weirdly I want it to. Because if he could just take it one step further, I could unleash hell on him. Right now…right now, I struggle to think my best friend is creating such chaos within me.
Finally letting go of my hair, he takes the hook from me, and something solidifies in my stomach with the way his eyes light up.
Who. The fuck. Is this psycho?
“Wren…” I say with a warning that sounds more like a plea as I eye the hook.
Slowly, so…slowly that I feel every single one of my cells freezing in fear, he brings it to my neck. He grazes the thin skin with the deadly tip. He looks like he’s in a trance as he drags it to the nape of my neck, sending goosebumps down my back.
My eyes flutter shut, fear liquifying into something else. Something indescribable, but that tightens the lower it goes.
I’m pretty sure I’m a split second away from bursting into flames when he places the curve of the hook around the back of my neck, the tip barely pressing into my skin, and pulls me forward.
I slam against his chest, and his lips hover over my ear.
“I think I could get you there, Trouble.” Suddenly, that nickname holds a different meaning.
I hate him using it. I hate when he thinks he has something over others, that he’s closer to me than our other friends.
But the truth is, he is. He’s always been, or it wouldn’t have become a running joke. And I’ve never felt it more than now. In a few minutes, he’s made me desperately want to be someone he uses a nickname for.
“Get me where?” I murmur against his chest.
“To a state of complete submission.”
He releases me before I can fight back. Casually placing the hook back on the counter, he smiles warmly as he walks backward.
And just like that, he’s back to normal, pretending this whole thing that brought me under his spell didn’t happen.
“No more drugs, Peach. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I blink at him as he disappears through the doors.
Motherfucker.
I stride after him, but by the time I get back to the ballroom, he’s nowhere to be found. I look around to find my girls while my heart threatens to break my ribcage and my lips sting from his kiss.
“Peach!”
My head snaps to the side, and Elijah stops right next to me, observing me as his eyebrows draw together.
“What’s wrong?” He searches my face, picking up on all the clues.
“Your brother is a fucking psychopath,” I hiss. “That’s what’s wrong. How you guys are related is beyond me.”
His face falls, and worry drips from his voice when he asks, “What did he do?”
“Nothing.” I grit my teeth and look at the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”