Chapter 16 Violet
VIOLET
Don’t get me wrong, I knew he’d be here, but it doesn’t matter how much time I had to prepare for what it would be like to witness him in his element and outside of school, as soon as our gazes connect, it hits me like a ton of bricks.
The pull. The stupid spark. He’s in all black with skull facepaint twisting his already handsome features into something dark and sinister and strangely… hot.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
I take another peek at Jagger as Lexie’s words turn into nothing but a low hum in my ears.
To say he looks less than pleased to see me here would be a massive understatement.
My chest tightens, and my stomach flips inside out.
I wonder how long he’s been watching me.
If Ford gave him a heads-up that I’d be attending.
By the look on his face, I doubt it. Good.
Let the man be knocked off kilter every once in a while.
He’s on the stage like a king of the underworld. The annoying part is how well it suits him. The facepaint. The position. Above all the lowly, lost souls beneath, mingling with one another and waiting for the immortal kings to announce the details to tonight’s festivities.
And here I am. One of them. A lowly, lost soul.
Until the carnival was shut down, the stage was used for dancers.
To be fair, it was probably used for other things, too, but I remember tutus and proud parents with their phones pointed at the stage.
I was so jealous of them. The girls with parents who could afford dance lessons and tutus and the time off to bring their precious daughters to a recital and watch them dance for a crowd.
Even before my dad showed up and ruined my mom, she still wouldn’t have been able to afford lessons.
Hell, the only reason I got into the carnival all those years ago was because it was free.
The only time you needed money was if you wanted to ride the rides or eat the food, most of which was deep fried.
If I close my eyes, I’m pretty sure I can still smell the corndogs and funnel cakes.
“Still can’t believe I let you come here,” Ethan grumbles while Ford stands at the edge of the stage, announcing tonight’s activities, but I’m too anxious to internalize much of it.
I still can’t believe I decided to come. That I convinced Lexie to come with me.
“You know you love me.” Lexie grins back at her older brother. He returns it with one of his own and turns to me.
“Like the outfit.”
I glance down at my nineties outfit. Not going to lie, it feels a little like a cop out, but it was either a Nirvana T-shirt and jeans or a slutty bunny costume, so I chose the lesser of two evils. “Thanks,” I return. “Your sister dressed me.”
His touch is almost gentle but not quite as he grabs my shoulder, treating me like a doll and maneuvering me until I’m standing right in front of him.
Not that I wasn’t already, but clearly, he likes this angle better.
Looking me up and down, he decides, “She did good. Normally I like a little less, but with you, it works.”
“Oh, you think?”
Mirth dances in his hollow eyes as they meet mine again. “Hell yeah.”
Man, this guy is bold and not in a good way.
Or maybe it is for most girls. But whatever he’s laying down, I am not picking up.
Nope. No, thank you. Now, if I could convince the guy to let me go without causing a scene, that’d be great.
Something steals his attention behind me.
“Hey, Jag Off. How’s the eye?” Ethan calls.
“Still in its socket, no thanks to you,” Jagger returns with a sharpness I don’t expect.
The question is, why is he talking to us when he could be talking to literally anyone else in the sea of people?
Ethan’s expression darkens as he lets my arm go, distracted by Harden’s presence. “What are you tryin’ to say?”
Jagger’s broad shoulders raise in a slow shrug, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply holds Ethan’s stare in a way that’s so unnerving, my sight drops to the ground beneath our feet. Okay, so he’s definitely not here to talk to me. He’s here for Ethan. To prove a point or something.
Good. It’s not like I care. I don’t even like the guy.
Even so. Talk about a staredown. The testosterone is so thick, I can almost taste it.
“Gentlemen,” Ford interjects from behind Jagger.
He jogs closer, cutting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.
Once he reaches us, he steps between Jagger and Ethan like the ref had on fight night last month.
“Breathe. You only need to fight when you’re paid to do it, and since it’s ladies’ night,”—his grin widens—“you two are off the hook.” Then, Ford turns to me. “I see you brought a recruit.”
“Lexie,” my best friend answers. “Lexie Morgan. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Ford gives her a boyish grin that I have no doubt makes most women melt. “And how do you know our Violet?”
“Our Violet?” Ethan growls.
Ford rolls his eyes. “Calm your dick, Morgan. I mean it in a platonic sense.” He leans closer to Lexie, adding, “I like my girls with some meat on them.”
“I’m right here,” I snap.
He pats my head like I’m a dog. “There’s a good girl.”
Swatting at his hand, I open my mouth to curse him out, but Lexie does it for me. “Are you always this much of an ass?”
“It’s in their blood,” Ethan interjects.
“Speaking of blood,” Ford returns wryly, “Any bets you’d like to make for the evening, Morgan?”
Suspicion weaves its way through Ethan’s expression. His eyes narrow into slits. “Depends. What are we playing?"
“Like I said, it’s ladies’ night.” Ford hooks his thumb behind him toward the stage. “Weren’t you paying attention to my little speech?”
Ignoring his question, Lexie asks, “And…what does ladies’ night mean?”
A mischievous glint sparks in Ford’s eyes. “It’s for men to know and ladies to find out.” His attention shifts to Ethan. “Follow me.”
Giving his little sister one more sharp stare, he grumbles, “Don’t forget the rules.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She wiggles her fingers in a little wave. “Bye, big brother.”
“Good luck, Vi,” Ethan adds, giving me another onceover that leaves my skin tingling and not in a good way.
I wait for Jagger to follow the stench of masculinity, but he hangs back with us, instead, and honestly, it confuses me.
He confuses me. Why are you here, Jagger Harden?
Not at the party. He's the host, for Pete’s sake, but here.
In front of me. It only makes me want to squirm more.
Seriously, it’s a good thing I’ve never dated a man like Jagger.
I can barely hold his gaze, and he’s been nothing but an asshole since the moment we met.
Can you even imagine how awkward I’d be if he was actually nice to me?
I’d probably start speaking in tongues and forget how to function entirely.
Not that I’d want to date a guy like Jagger.
The man’s a Harden. He’s cocky and manipulative and entitled and the last person I’d ever want to be in the same room with.
And it’s not like I’m any better. He said so himself. I’m not his type.
So why is he still here?
Without a word, Jagger studies me over the rim of his beer like he has all the time in the world. It only unnerves me more.
“There a problem?” I finally blurt out.
“Are you here to steal more of my shit?”
I roll my eyes and reach for the bottle in his fingers.
I’m not sure what makes me do it. Sheer stubbornness, I suppose.
But it works. He’s so stunned, he doesn’t bother fighting me off.
Instead, he gives in and lets me take it, watching as I bring the beverage to my lips.
“Maybe I am here to steal more of your shit,” I quip.
Tacking on a syrupy sweet smile, I take a sip from the bottle and start to turn away, when his hand darts out.
It wraps around my bicep, keeping me in place.
And it’s weird. Because Ethan’s hand was on me, what?
Two minutes ago? And all I wanted was for him to let me go.
To be fair, I want Jagger to let me go, too, but for an entirely different reason.
Because this? The heat of his palm. The slight scratch of his callouses against my skin.
It’s…unnerving. He’s unnerving. Prickles breakout along my arm, and I swallow thickly.
This is not a normal reaction I should have when someone like Jagger touches me, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“I want to talk to you,” he decides.
I share a look with Lexie, exchanging a silent conversation in a way only best friends can.
Her: You good?
Me: I’m okay.
Her: Want me to slap him for you?
Me: I’m good. Really.
Her: Want me to give you two a minute?
Me: Yes, but only because I don’t want to cause a scene.
Her: Fine, but I’ll be watching. If you need help, let me know.
Turning her concerned look into a warning stare that could curdle milk, she gives Jagger a once-over. “I’m gonna grab a drink.” Then, she strides a few feet away, leaving me alone with Jag Off.
Shying out of his hold, I take another sip of his beer, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as he stares at me with those dark eyes.
The same ones that’ve been haunting me for weeks.
The skull makeup doesn’t help. Or maybe it does.
Pretty sure the man has never looked sexier.
They look so…hollow. Add in the sharp jawline and the way his dark hair falls forward, and my mouth goes dry.
Talk about Stockholm Syndrome. Blood thrums through my veins, making my cheeks heat for a reason I refuse to identify as I fight the urge to squirm.
Again. Because apparently, it’s a regular response of mine whenever I'm around this guy.
So maybe I should stop being around this guy, I silently tell myself.
Swallowing past the sandpaper coating my throat, I whisper, “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks.