8. IRIS
IRIS
I sink into the backseat of Ivan's Range Rover, arms crossed, jaw tight. My cheeks burn as I stare at the back of Nate's head in the passenger seat—the seat that should be mine.
This whole setup screams Ivan's control. He didn't want me calling Nate myself, so he rang Nate's parents instead, all polished charm and neighborly hospitality, offering rides to and from prom like some kind of chauffeur service. Except Ivan's no chauffeur. He's a jealous, overprotective?—
"So, Nate." Ivan's voice cuts through my thoughts, low and casual in a way that sets my nerves on edge. "You play football, right?"
"Yeah, linebacker." Nate shifts, clearly trying to sound confident. "Coach says I've got potential for college scouts."
"Mm." Ivan's fingers drum the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. "Good to have goals. Iris has goals too. She's going to be a writer. Brilliant one, actually."
My face heats. "Ivan?—"
"She's also sensitive. Gets attached easily." His eyes flick to the rearview mirror, locking onto mine for a heartbeat before returning to the road. "So I keep a close watch on who gets near her."
Nate laughs nervously. "Man, you're really protective of your stepsister."
"Protective doesn't cover it." Ivan's jaw clenches, the muscle jumping beneath his clean-shaven skin. "See, Iris and I? We're close. Very close. She tells me everything. Where she goes. Who she talks to. What she feels."
My stomach flips. He's walking a razor's edge, claiming me without saying the words outright.
"So here's the thing." Ivan's tone drops, steel wrapped in velvet. "You're going to keep your hands to yourself tonight. No wandering fingers. No trying to sneak off somewhere dark. You treat her like she's made of glass, understand?"
Nate's shoulders stiffen. "Dude, I'm not?—"
"I'm not asking." Ivan pulls into the school lot, parking under a streetlamp that casts harsh shadows across his angular face. He turns, pinning Nate with a stare that could cut bone. "You hurt her, disrespect her, make her uncomfortable in any way, and you'll answer to me. We clear?"
Silence hangs heavy.
"Yeah." Nate's voice comes out thin. "Crystal."
Ivan's lips curve—not quite a smile. "Good."
I slide out of the backseat, heels clicking against pavement, and roll my eyes so hard they might lodge in the back of my skull.
"Enjoy yourself, baby." Ivan leans out the window, that mischievous grin stretching wide across his face—the one that makes my pulse skip and my stomach flip. "Remember. Every hour."
"Yes, Ivan." I yank my clutch higher on my shoulder, fighting the urge to stomp my foot like a petulant child. "I heard you the first three times."
Nate steps forward, his hand beginning to lift in what should be a perfectly normal, gentlemanly gesture—the kind of casual touch meant to guide me toward the entrance. His fingers hover inches from my silk-clad forearm, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"Hands." Ivan's voice cracks like a whip through the night air, sharp and commanding enough to make several passing couples glance our way with curious expressions.
Nate freezes mid-reach, his entire body going rigid as if he's been turned to stone. His hand hangs suspended in the space between us.
"She's got two working legs. She can walk on her own.
" Ivan's dark hazel eyes bore into Nate with laser precision, the streetlamp overhead casting harsh shadows that make his angular features look even more intimidating.
His voice carries that particular edge I know means he's barely restraining himself from something much worse. "Keep your hands to yourself."
My jaw drops, a small sound of disbelief escaping my throat. Around us, more students are starting to notice.
"How exactly are we supposed to dance?" The words burst out of me, pitched higher than I intended.
"Dance without touching." Ivan's response is delivered with the kind of flat finality.
"That's not?—"
"Figure it out."
A group of seniors nearby erupts in barely-suppressed laughter. Heat floods my face, crawling down my neck and spreading across my chest in splotchy patches I know are visible above my dress's neckline.
"Oh my God." I press my fingers to my burning cheeks, mortification swallowing me whole. "You're impossible."
Ivan just grins wider, leaning back against the headrest like he's won some grand prize. "I'm just parking. Go on." He waves a dismissive hand. "Enjoy your prom, Iris."
I spin on my heel, curls bouncing, and march toward the gymnasium entrance where silver and gold balloons frame the double doors. My heart hammers against my ribs—part embarrassment, part something else I refuse to name.
The gymnasium sparkles under a thousand fairy lights strung across the rafters, transforming our usually dingy basketball court into something that almost resembles magic.
Almost. The DJ spins some overplayed pop song while couples sway together, bodies pressed close in ways that would make Ivan's jaw tick.
Nate keeps his distance like Ivan threatened him with bodily harm—which, knowing Ivan, he probably did in ways I didn't hear. We dance with a solid foot of space between us, awkward and stiff, like two magnets repelling each other.
"Want some punch?" Nate gestures toward the refreshment table.
"Sure."
He weaves through the crowd, and I catch his eyes sliding over Jamie Cooper's low-cut dress as she passes.
Then again at Jenna Harris, who's practically spilling out of her sequined number.
His gaze lingers, appreciative, before he remembers I exist and snaps his attention back to me with a sheepish grin.
I should care. Any normal girl would be furious that her prom date is eye-shopping other girls like he's browsing a catalog.
I don't.
Because the only person whose eyes I want on me is probably circling the parking lot right now, brooding in his Range Rover, checking his watch to count down the minutes until my next call.
Nate returns with two plastic cups of bright red liquid. "Here."
"Thanks." I sip. It tastes like sugar and artificial flavoring.
"So, uh, your stepbrother's pretty intense." Nate takes a long drink, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"You have no idea."
"He always that... protective?"
"Only recently." Heat creeps up my neck at the memory of exactly when Ivan's protectiveness shifted into something else entirely. Something possessive and consuming and completely inappropriate for two people whose parents are united by marriage.
Time crawls. I check my phone. Forty-five minutes since Ivan dropped us off.
The music shifts to something slower, more intimate. Couples pair off, bodies melting together. Nate glances at me, then at them, then back at me.
"We could, uh, actually dance?" He holds out his hand, careful not to touch me without permission. "I promise I won't make your stepbrother hunt me down."
I laugh despite myself. "One dance."
He keeps his hands high on my waist, respectful, while mine rest lightly on his shoulders. We sway with all that space still between us, and I catch him looking over my head at another girl—this time at Brittany something-or-other in a dress that leaves nothing to imagination.
The song ends. Nate's eyes light up suddenly, like he's had a brilliant idea.
"Hey, you want to see something cool?" He tilts his head toward the side exit, the one that leads to the outdoor courtyard. "They decorated the garden area. It's actually pretty impressive—way better than this." He waves at the gymnasium with its grocery-store fairy lights.
I hesitate, fingers tightening around my clutch.
"I should text Ivan first." I pull my phone from my clutch, thumbs already moving toward the screen. "He's kind of strict about knowing where I am, especially now that you've met him and?—"
"It'll literally take two minutes." Nate's hand closes over my wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop me mid-motion. His smile stays easy, charming. "I promise. We'll be right back before anyone even notices we're gone. You can text him after."
Something flickers in his expression, too quick for me to catch.
"I don't know?—"
"Come on, Iris." He drops my wrist but doesn't step back, his presence suddenly closer than before. "You said yourself your stepbrother's being ridiculous. Do you really need permission just to look at some decorations? We're not disappearing into the night. It's right outside that door."
He points to the exit, where I can see the edge of the courtyard through the narrow window—soft lighting, paper lanterns swaying in the breeze.
"Two minutes," he repeats. "Then you can call Ivan and tell him every boring detail if you want."
My phone feels heavy in my palm. Ivan's rules echo in my head. Every hour.
But Nate's right. It's just the courtyard. Nate's smile is easy, harmless.
"Just for a minute," he adds. "Then we can come right back."
I glance at my phone. Fifteen minutes until my check-in call.
"Okay. Just a quick look."
We step through the exit, cool night air kissing my overheated skin. Paper lanterns glow amber overhead, casting dancing shadows across the brick courtyard. Nate's hand hovers near my lower back—not quite touching, but close enough that I feel the pressure of almost-contact.
He steers us past the benches where other couples sit, past the fountain with its cheerful bubbling, toward the far corner where the lights thin out and shadows pool thick between the hedges.
My heels click against pavement. "So where's this cool thing you wanted to show me?"
Nate stops, turns. His silhouette blocks out the distant glow from the gymnasium windows.
"Right here."
His hand dips into his pocket, like he's searching for something. I hear the metallic rasp of a zipper sliding down, loud in the sudden quiet.
Then he turns fully, and?—
Oh God.
My stomach drops like I've missed a step in the dark. Heat floods my face, then drains away just as fast, leaving me cold.
He's exposed himself. Right there. His small cock jutting from his open fly like some kind of grotesque offering.
"What—" The word catches in my throat.
"Surprise."
Nate's grin stretches wider, predatory in the amber glow. My stomach twists, bile rising hot and acidic in my throat.
"I know you want me." He takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something sharp and expensive that now makes me want to gag. "That's why you told Ivan I was your boyfriend, right? You've been thinking about this all night."
"No—" My voice comes out strangled, small. "You don't understand. I was just?—"
"Just what?" Another step. The brick wall hits my back. I didn't even realize I'd been retreating. "Playing hard to get? Being all innocent and sweet?"
"My stepbrother was teasing me." The words tumble out in a rush, desperate, pleading. "I didn't mean anything by it. I don't—I'm not interested in you like that."
"Sure you're not." He plants a palm against the wall beside my head, caging me in.
His other hand reaches for my wrist. "You know what I'm tired of?
Easy girls. All those cheerleaders and party girls who spread their legs for anyone with a pulse.
" His fingers circle my wrist, tightening.
"What I want now is a virgin. And you're gonna give it to me. "
"I'm not—" Panic claws up my chest, stealing my breath. "I'm not a virgin anymore."
He laughs, the sound ugly and disbelieving. "Right. Because uptight little Iris Calloway, who dresses like she's going to a convent and can't even look at guys without blushing, has suddenly discovered sex."
"It's true!" The confession rips out of me before I can stop it, before I can think about what I'm saying. "My stepbrother—Ivan—he's the one who took it. He's the one I've been with. So, I'm not the one you want. Let me go!"
The words hang between us, terrible and true.
Nate goes still. His eyes widen, then narrow, something dark and calculating sliding across his features.
"Your stepbrother." He says it slowly, like he's tasting each syllable. Then his grin returns, sharper now, meaner. "Well, well. Turns out you're not such a prude after all."
Relief floods through me for half a second—maybe he'll let me go now, maybe this confession will be enough to?—
"That actually makes this better." His grip on my wrist shifts, yanking it up and pinning it to the wall. His body presses against mine, trapping me between brick and muscle. "Now I can get back at that arrogant asshole who's been treating me like trash all night."
"What—no?—"
His free hand catches my other wrist, forcing it up beside the first. He holds both in one large palm, pinning them above my head while his body weight keeps me immobile.
"Telling me to keep my hands off. Threatening me. Acting like I'm some kind of criminal." Nate's breath is hot against my face. "But turns out he's the one screwing his own stepsister. That's rich."
"Please—" Tears blur my vision. "Don't?—"
"You're gonna give me exactly what you gave him.
" His voice drops lower, darker. "And then when Ivan comes to pick you up, when he sees that look on your face and knows something happened, he'll witness just how destroyed you look, knowing I'm the one who caused it.
By the time he tries anything, my family and I will have vanished from this place, same as we always manage. "
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I think they might crack. This isn't happening. This can't be?—
"After all—" Nate's knee forces between my thighs, spreading them despite the resistance of my dress. "If you could spread your legs for family, you can spread them for me."