Chapter Twenty-Eight
Annie
After three quick shots of tequila and a beer, the tight knot in my chest has finally loosened. I feel lighter, calmer, and detached in the way only alcohol can manage.
Ella’s out on the dance floor, completely in her own world, when a familiar face appears. My eyes widen as she squeals and throws her arms around him.
Danger.
She glances back at me with a smirk, pointing toward the dance floor. I shake my head, smiling, as she disappears with him into the crowd.
I watch them for a moment.
I knew they had been talking on tour. I just didn’t realize it was still a thing.
Maybe he’s the one she sneaks out to see.
I turn back to the bar and order another shot. The buzz is settling in nicely now, warm and humming under my skin. Being out and unnoticed is exactly what I needed—no screaming fans, no expectations, just noise, darkness, and anonymity.
VIP definitely has its perks.
A hand brushes my back, and I turn to find the dark-haired guy standing beside me.
“Hey, gorgeous!” He leans in, shouting over the music.
“Well, hey there yourself,” I shoot back.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I tilt my head, giving him a once-over. “If you’re lucky, you can buy me two.”
He grins. “All right then. What’ll it be?”
“Something strong.”
He nods and signals the bartender. “Two double Black Johnnies.”
As we wait, his gaze drags over me, slow and assessing. “You don’t look like someone who can handle hard liquor.”
I smirk. “I’ve got more range than you think.”
That earns me a raised brow and a small, approving grin.
The drinks arrive, and he hands me mine. “Bottoms up.”
We clink glasses and knock them back. It burns going down, but the warmth hits almost instantly, spreading through me in a way that feels dangerously good.
I glance toward the dance floor again, where Ella’s laughing, completely wrapped up in Danger, and for a second, I’m genuinely glad she’s happy.
“Ready for that second drink?” he asks.
I look back at him, something in my gut flickering—warning or instinct, I’m not sure, but I push it aside. I don’t care tonight.
“Go on then,” I say, tapping the bar.
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
“So, what’s your name?” I ask.
“Trent.”
Short, sharp, no follow-up.
Works for me.
The bartender sets down another round, and I down mine without hesitation. Trent takes his time, watching me over the rim of his glass like I’m something he’s trying to figure out.
I grin back.
“So, Trent… you come here often?” I ask.
He laughs. “Is that a pick-up line?”
I shrug. “Depends how it lands.”
“Well,” he says, leaning in slightly. “I’m just glad I ended up here with the hottest girl in the place.”
Heat creeps up my neck despite myself. “Debatable.”
He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Not to me.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s soft, easy, and completely empty.
No spark.
No pull.
No electricity.
Just the dull haze of alcohol and the need to feel something, anything, that isn’t Aston.
So I kiss him back. He tastes like cigarette smoke and alcohol. Not exactly appealing, but I don’t pull away. That’s not the point tonight.
Tonight is about forgetting.
We spend the next couple of hours drifting between the bar and the dance floor, his hands on my hips, mine around his neck, moving together in a rhythm that feels more like distraction than connection.
When he pulls back, he smiles. “You’re a better kisser than I expected.”
I huff a small laugh. “Thanks.”
I don’t return the compliment.
Because the truth is… no one kisses like Aston.
“Another round?” he asks.
I nod. “What, are you trying to get me drunk?”
He lifts a brow. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“Not yet,” I say, though the room is already starting to tilt slightly. “You’ll have to try harder.”
He laughs and signals for more drinks.
An hour later, four more shots, another whisky, and a beer, I’m well past tipsy. The buzz has turned into something heavier. My balance is off, my thoughts slower, my laughter easier.
Trent’s not bad company. He is funny even. And whether it’s the alcohol or I’ve just stopped caring, his kissing doesn’t bother me as much anymore.
I’m pressed against him on the dance floor when Ella and Danger appear beside us.
Ella’s frowning.
Danger… looks amused.
I sway slightly as I turn toward her, barely catching myself. “Oh, hey, sissy,” I slur. “What’s Danger doing here?”
He slides an arm around her waist from behind, smirking.
“Annie,” Ella says carefully. “I think you’ve had enough. If you want to be even remotely sober by the time we get home—”
“Oh, relax,” I cut in with a laugh. “I’m fine. Trent’s keeping me company.”
As if on cue, Trent steps in closer behind me, his hands settling at my hips.
Ella’s expression hardens. “Annie, you need to come home. Now.”
I laugh again, louder this time. “Nah. I’m having fun. You should try it.”
“Annie—”
“Oh, just piss off,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than I intend. “Go home with your dangerous boyfriend.”
She exhales hard, folding her arms. “You’re acting out, and you know it. Stop being a bitch and come home, or I’ll call Mum.”
Anger surges through me, sharp and immediate. “You came out here just like I did, Ella. You tell Mum I’m here, and I’ll tell her you’ve been drinking and dancing with Danger. How do you think she’ll feel about that?” I snap, stepping into her space.
“Right,” Danger cuts in, calm but firm. “I think someone’s had a bit too much.”
He places a hand on Ella’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s give Annie a minute. We’ll come back for her.”
I smirk, tilting my head at her.
She’s ruining this. Ruining the one night I don’t want to think.
“No,” Ella says, her voice tight. “If she wants to stay, she can stay. Let her figure it out on her own.” She fixes me with a look I don’t quite understand. “Have a good night, Annie. I hope you get whatever it is you think you need.” Then she turns and walks away.
Danger lingers for a second, glancing between us. I swallow hard, something about her words sitting wrong in my chest.
“Just… slow down, yeah?” he says, handing me a card. “Call me when you’re ready to go home.”
I nod, slipping it into my hand.
Then he’s gone too.
I turn back to Trent, who’s already at the bar, another round waiting. Like, none of that even happened.
Perfect.
A few more drinks in, and everything feels distant, blurred. My head is buzzing, my thoughts slipping in and out of focus.
Dancing with Trent, I close my eyes for a second, and it’s not him I feel.
It’s Aston.
The way he used to touch me. The way he made everything else disappear.
A sharp ache hits my chest.
I want that again.
And if I can’t have it with him…
Then maybe it doesn’t matter who it’s with.
“Wanna get out of here?” Trent shouts in my ear, steadying me as I sway.
“Yeah… let’s go,” I reply, the words slightly tangled as I laugh at myself.
He grins and wraps an arm around my waist, guiding me out into the cool night air. The walk to his place is short, though it feels longer in my current state. The street spins just enough to keep me off balance, his grip the only thing keeping me upright.
When we reach his flat, something in my gut tightens.
It’s small, run-down, and not somewhere I’d usually set foot in.
“C’mon,” he says, unlocking the door. “Let’s get you inside.”
The smell hits me first, stale smoke, alcohol, and something sour underneath it all. I wrinkle my nose as I step in, taking in the clutter, the mess, the general sense of… not right.
This isn’t me.
I know that.
But I’m too far gone to care.
He guides me to the couch, sitting beside me before reaching for a small box on the table. “Wanna have some real fun?” he asks, opening it.
I glance inside.
Small white pills.
My stomach twists. I know what they are, even if I don’t know exactly what kind. My entire life, I’ve been warned about this.
About what it does.
About how it destroys people.
About what it did to Dad.
A voice in my head tells me to stop.
To get up.
To leave.
But another voice, louder, sharper, pushes it aside.
Tonight already feels like a disaster.
What’s one more bad decision?
“Why not,” I mutter, reaching in before I can second-guess it. I swallow them down quickly, chasing them with whatever’s in the bottle beside me.
“All right,” Trent says with a grin. “Party girl.”
A flicker of guilt hits me, brief but sharp.
Dad would hate this.
But he’s not here.
No one is.
Trent leans in, kissing me, harder this time. There’s nothing soft about it, nothing careful. I hesitate for half a second before kissing him back, letting myself fall into it.
It’s not right.
It doesn’t feel right.
But I don’t stop.
His hands move impatiently, pulling me closer, and suddenly everything feels rushed and unsteady. My thoughts lag behind what’s happening, my body reacting before my brain can catch up.
“Bedroom?” he murmurs.
For a second, I hesitate, because this isn’t what I want.
Not really.
But the thought is already slipping away as he pulls me to my feet, guiding me down the hallway, and I follow.
Because stopping now would mean thinking.
And thinking is the last thing I want to do.
“Show me those babies,” he says.
I chuckle and move to undo my bra. It falls to the floor, and his smile fades into something more sinister.
I’m still getting a bad vibe about this, but because I’m so wasted, I can’t think straight.
He moves back in, kissing me roughly, and it’s nice to feel skin on skin again, even if he isn’t Aston.
“Let me fuck you, Annie,” he whispers into my mouth.
I gasp at his forwardness, but suddenly my libido is in overdrive, and that’s exactly what I want him to do right now.
“Fuck me, Trent.”
He leans down, grabs my leather pants, and pulls them down to my ankles. He undoes my combat boots and then pushes me backward. I giggle as I sit on the bed, and he pulls off my shoes and leather pants. Now, I’m sitting on his bed wearing only my panties.