Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Work, work, work, fucking work.
I try not to come to the island. It’s entirely way too much face-to-face work. Did Brenda order enough sheets? Do we have a spare chapstick? Oh, Billy Bob and Joe Blow got into a fight, and now there’s only one of them to run the entire kitchen. Will you come flip the grilled cheese?
I suck the joint pinned between my fingers and hold my breath, looking down on the woods beyond from my private balcony. It’s just past the first event, and everyone’s out doing entirely too much.
I pull in another puff, enjoying the burn in my lungs.
The Hunter’s Club is far more than a regular club, but I try not to think about it.
It’s not that I’m against murder, or really debauchery of any kind, but it’s almost always way too much effort.
Why be pissed when you can sit back and feel nothing?
And nothing is what I feel. I can barely feel the weed anymore. I need another hit of the good stuff, goddamn it. I pat down my pockets. Did I bring any with me? I try to think back over the travel to get here. Surely I would have stashed some, right? As long as I didn’t take it all at once.
There’s nothing in my pockets. I sit back, glaring at the woods. Reality is far too close. I can feel it creeping around the edges of my awareness.
Not safe. You’ll never be safe.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Sometimes the weed hits funny, and my brain starts getting all paranoid. I need something else.
I stalk inside to grab my vape and take a few hits. Nicotine pales in comparison to what I’m used to, but it manages to dull the panic that had started creeping in. Not as good as drugs and sex, though.
I rack my brain while I trace the skull pattern on the side of the vape.
Why the hell can’t I remember if I brought my Molly?
As I think back, I realize that Bobby Bill might have some, or whatever his name is.
Plus, he owes me for making sure lunch got out on time.
Unfortunately, Bionic Bob is not someone I’d like to bang.
I’ll fuck any adult—man, woman, anything in between, but Buttcheek Ben smells like cigarettes. And I won’t do that for…reasons.
Not safe.
Fucking hell. I shove the anxiety down and stalk downstairs. Where the hell is this anxiety coming from? I’m not anxious.
I start chewing on the inside of my lip. The pain grounds me. Brings me back to my body. Not as quickly as cutting would, but it’s something.
I am in control. And I’m fucking safe because I’m in control.
I’m tasting blood by the time I find the kitchen employee. Turns out, he does have what I need. He hands it over, shaking a little, and his skin is pale.
He must need a hit of it too.
I take one of the tablets as soon as I walk away, swallowing it dry. I wander aimlessly, finding a private conference room that looks out on the beach. If I can’t feel numb, then I can at least choose what I get to feel.
And right now, I choose happiness. Sexy. Confidence.
It doesn’t take long for the drug to kick in, and I find the most delicious disconnected feeling settling over me. Life is gonna be okay, because the lights in this room are pretty, and I feel good.
Finally.
I’m floating for a bit before someone passes by the doorway of the conference room I’m in. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall, although not taller than me, with dark shaggy hair and stunning blue eyes. And I realize I’ve seen him before. He’s the man from the club. Bathroom Boy.
Pretty-boy-emo glances in like he’s looking for something, and when he sees me, his eyes linger for a second. Suddenly, I wonder what his name is. What all that pretty dark hair would feel like in my fingers. What his lips would taste like smashed against mine.
So I’ll find out.
Bathroom Boy is flitting away, but I stalk after him, finding him in the hall. He looks over his shoulder and jumps when he sees me.
“Where you going?” I ask, and the man glances over his shoulder. His light blue eyes widen for a fraction of a second, like I’ve caught him doing something wrong.
“Just, uh…looking for the head master.”
Head master? No one calls him that. My interest piques, and I re-evaluate the man. “Yeah?”
Bathroom Boy’s shoulder twitches. His jawline is incredible, cutting like a knife up to his earlobe.
A biteable earlobe. Fuck, he’d look hot with a piercing there.
I feel fucking good. I want to lick from the bottom of his neck all the way up to his ear.
Then I want to bite it, nibble until he whimpers and tries to pull away from me.
“Yeah,” he says, breaking me out of my thoughts. He’s watching me with wide eyes, not unlike an animal scanning for threats. A mouse. Just waiting to see what I’ll do. Waiting for me to take control.
My groin tingles, and I realize that I’m hard. I’m hard, and he hasn’t even touched me. I flex my dick, and it bobs. Yep, definitely hard. I need to know how he smells. How he tastes. What his name is. Maybe figure out how soft the inside of his asshole is.
“What do you need?” I stalk up to him. “Maybe I can help.”
The man glances down the hall, then back up at me. His gaze hardens. “It’s fine, I don’t want to bother you.”
He’s looking at me with open suspicion now, but it doesn’t stop his pupils from widening.
“No bother.” I’m getting closer to him, and he presses his back to the wall to avoid me like a pretty little prize that wants to be caught. His chest rises and falls, and I suck in a breath, trying to smell him.
“What are you—I just need to find—”
Then, we’re touching. My chest is on his, and fuck does he feel good, all lean muscle and trembling breaths.
And he smells like sandalwood and…something flowery.
Lavender maybe? I need more. Pressing my nose into his neck, I pull in a breath.
I can almost see the purple hues coming off him, which somehow fits him so well.
“What the—get off me!”
Oh no, the little mouse is squeaking at me. No, little mouse doesn’t sound right. I need to know his name. Pulling back, I lock gazes with the man. “I’m Kyan. And you are…?”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then retorts, “Fourteen.”
Does he have purple highlights in his hair?
I blink, then slowly realize he’s telling me his player number. As if I don’t have the connections to find out exactly who he is, down to his social, hospital records, and anything else I might want.
Mouse Boy shoves me, trying to get me off of him, but he’s not pushing with all of his strength.
In fact, I can feel him pulling in tiny breaths as his heart flutters against my chest. He could push harder.
It’s like he’s asking me to make the next move.
To decide whether we’re staying here or breaking apart.
That fills me with a rush of power, and whatever anxiety I was feeling earlier is gone, and all there is now is him. And I don’t even know what to call him.
“What’s your name?” I grind out again, running my hands down his arms. His toned arms.
A shiver racks his entire body. “Oakley! Now…I need to go.”
Oakley. I run my tongue along my teeth. Yes, that sits good in the mouth. Bathroom Boy is Mouse Boy, and Mouse Boy is Oakley.
It’s my lucky day.