Chapter 40
YELENA
This might have been a bad idea.
Yes, the music is loud, and great. Yes, throwing my head back and just dancing in a shoving mosh pit of complete strangers to headbanging indie dance-rock might be a fantastic way to clear it of the million questions about myself and my feelings about Achilles that have kept me keyed up for the last week.
And yes, not being carded at the bar and being about five vodka and Red Bulls deep has me feeling outstanding right now.
Well, drunk and caffeinated to a near-concerning level. But still. Outstanding.
That said, the longer the three of us are here, the more obvious it’s becoming that we shouldn’t be.
You know when you walk into a room and feel like everyone is staring at you? In this case, all three of us are absolutely being stared at, by everyone.
And “everyone” at The Garage tonight seems to be creepy, and male.
Okay, one of the bartenders is a woman, and there are maybe ten other women here for the show. But the crowd is overwhelmingly guys, and beginning to stare at us like we’re a buffet table.
Lucia, with her tats, fits in a bit better. But then there's Galina, who for reasons beyond me decided to come to a dance-rock metal concert at a dive bar looking like she just walked out of J. Crew, complete with a sweater over her shoulders.
I mean, come on.
As one pounding rock song rolls into another, and as the alcohol and Red Bulls roaring through my veins fight to slow me down or wind me up, the feeling that I’m being watched is getting too hard to ignore.
“HOW LATE DOES THIS GO?!” I yell over the wall of sound into Lucia’s ear.
She shrugs, still banging her head to the music, then leans closer.
“I don’t know!!” she yells back. “But honestly, I can leave whenever!”
I smile nervously at her. “You getting that vibe too?”
"YUP." She nods her head dramatically as Galina dances closer to us.
“HEY!” our redheaded friend screams. “This is fun, but it’s getting a little creepy in here!”
“Bail?!” I yell.
They both nod emphatically.
Okay, Standish. It’s been fun, and this band honestly kind of rules. But when the vibes are off, they’re off. Time to go.
For a second, I feel eyes piercing into my back. I tell myself not to turn around, because I’ve been having this feeling all week, and every time I do look, there’s no Achilles standing there like I’m both dreading and hoping.
Don’t turn around. Don't turn around. Don’t—
I turn around.
No Achilles, just a bunch of slightly creepy guys in their twenties and thirties eying me up like a snack.
Yup, time to go.
I pull out my phone to order an Uber. Just as I thumb it open, though, the battery dies.
Shit.
“My phone just died!” I yell at my friends over the music.
Lucia grimaces. “Mine kicked fifteen minutes ago.”
“Fuuuuck,” Galina pouts. “Mine too.”
Crap.
I turn to the crowded bar, weighing shoving my way through a pack of drunk men who’ve been watching us like legit predators for the last hour and a half to ask the bartender if she’s got a charger.
“First time here?”
My head snaps around at the deep, honeyed voice.
Okay, we’re not the only ones here who are out of place.
The tall, blonde guy looks more like Galina’s type than the motley crew of tattooed bikers filling the rest of the club. He flashes a winning, blindingly white smile at me, then turns that charm onto my friends.
“You ladies look lost,” he laughs over the music. “You Explosions fans?”
“Guilty!” Lucia yells, grinning. “I dragged these two with me!”
He introduces himself as Travis, and swears despite his clean-cut, preppy look, he’s actually a huge Explosions fan.
He’s a pre-med student at Yale, which isn’t that far away up in New Haven. His family summers on the coast of France.
He’s charming, vanilla, regular, and apparently has eyes only for me.
It’s not that I’m into him, at all. I don’t feel “special” or flattered or anything when he starts dancing with me, winks at me, and leans in to tell me I’m beautiful.
And that’s part of why I’m so twisted inside.
I don't want to want Achilles, or anything like him. I do want to want someone “normal” like Travis.
Charming and golden, without it being a mask. Beauty with nothing illicit and venomous hiding beneath it. Sexual practices that include missionary with the lights off, maybe from behind on special occasions.
If only that was actually what I wanted.
But it’s not.
None of Travis—not his looks, his charm, his pedigree, his lofty, saint-like musings on working in pediatric oncology—interests me in the slightest.
So when he starts to dance a little closer, and puts his hand on my hip, it’s not that I want him to touch me. I’m just tired, and drunk, and too caught up in trying to figure out why I can’t just erase Achilles from my head to tell him to stop.
But I don’t have to. Because suddenly, a black, venomous shadow does it for me.
Violently.
My brain tries to catch up with my eyes as I gape at the sudden circle of surprised concertgoers that's formed around us, staring at Achilles as he looms menacingly over Travis, who is now slumped on the floor holding his bleeding nose.
A million thoughts rush through my alcohol-slowed brain.
How did he find me?
How is he here?
Why is it so weirdly hot that he’s just knocked this other man to the ground in a Neanderthal show of…what, possession? Ownership?
But the most pressing, confusing question is trying to figure out if I’m relieved or furious that he’s here at all.
A week ago, I’d have been over the moon if he'd swooped in to make sure charming blond Travis kept his mitts off me. I’d have thrown myself into Achilles’ arms, kissed him, and sealed myself as tight against him as possible.
But that was before I learned the cold, hard truth that this whole thing has been a lie.
A farce.
A play; produced, directed by, and starring the man who’s now slowly turning to level his black devil eyes at me in a way that sends a chill down my spine.
I want him, so badly. But I can’t ignore the things I saw.
The things he did.
The machinations he set into place.
Part of me ignites at the thought that Achilles quite literally stalked me: hacking my computer and socials. Spying on me. Taking photos of me while I was asleep. Learning literally everything about me, including the parts I keep hidden even from myself.
Like, that’s hot, sort of…albeit in a super fucked-up way that makes me question my ability to see reason and make safe decisions.
But the other part of me feels completely violated, almost to the same extent I felt with Kyle this past summer.
The obsessive interest turns me on.
Removing my ability to consent to that interest makes me furious and scared.
So when Achilles fixes me with his piercing gaze as the music roars around us, my unwanted suitor lying defeated at his feet, I don’t run into his arms.
I turn to my friends instead.
“Let’s dance!” I yell.
Galina’s brows shoot up. She and Lucia glance at each other nervously.
“Come on!” I yell again, moving my hips. “We’re here to have fun!”
A presence seeps into my back. Dark menace wraps around me like fog.
“We’re leaving,” Achilles growls right in my ear, his tone edged. “Now.”
I turn to face him. “No,” I hiss back, “we are not.”
His jaw ticks. “This isn’t an argument, little—”
“Do not call me that,” I snap.
Achilles’ eyes glint.
“You’re walking out of here with me right the fuck now. That, or I’m going to be carrying you out.”
I bark a laugh. “You and what army?!”
His brow furrows in amusement. I’m suddenly reminded that I’m, one, drunk, and two, over a foot shorter and probably a hundred pounds lighter than him.
But then I feel a hand grab my arm, and a very defiant-looking Galina steps forward to glare at Achilles.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” she snaps, cocking a hip.
On a scale of one to ten, Galina’s current threat level, given her size and that fucking Jackie Onassis sweater over her shoulders, is approximately negative one million. But I still love her to death for standing up to Achilles right now.
“You’re coming too,” Achilles growls, turning his witheringly cold gaze on her.
Galina gulps, but juts out her chin. “How about go fuck yourself, asshole?”
“Yeah.” Lucia appears on my other side, arms folded over her chest. “Fuck off.”
Achilles sighs, as if he’s bored, his eyes stabbing into mine.
“I’m counting to three.”
“I’m not—”
“One.”
“She said fuck off, asshole!” Galina yells in his face.
Suddenly all three of us are gasping and stepping back as another tall, built, stormy-eyed figure shoves his way through the crowd to loom over us.
Galina pales as she looks up into Lochlan’s grim face. Then her throat bobs and she purses her lips.
“What are you doing—”
“Not fucking counting to three, I can tell you that.”
In one motion, before any of us can do a thing, Lochlan grabs Galina and throws her kicking and thrashing over his shoulder.
“See you outside,” he grunts at Achilles before he turns and walks away.
“Um, what?” Lucia gapes after them before she turns to me. “I—I should—”
“Yeah, go. I’ll be fine,” I tell her.
She glances at Achilles dubiously, scowls, then runs after a screaming and flailing Galina as she’s carried out of the club.
“Two,” Achilles growls.
“Fuck you.”
I shove past him and march after Lucia.
The chilly night air hits me when I step out of the sweaty, crowded bar into the parking lot. In front of me, Galina is staring daggers at an impassive Lochlan as he buckles her into the front passenger seat of a matte black Land Rover Defender.
“You good to take those two back?” Achilles says behind me, startling me.
Lochlan nods grimly. “Yeah.” His gaze lands on Lucia, his brow arching.
“Do not even think about picking me up,” she says coldly.
“Yeah, hard pass,” he grunts, opening the back seat door for her. “And put the claws away.”
When Lucia turns to me I nod, swallowing heavily. “I’ll be fine. Really.”