Chapter 15
The number of times I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed is insane.
The walk to rehearsal was terrifying enough, but I swear someone was following me.
Campus is safe here at Grimshaw Academy, but that doesn’t stop my mind from reeling with the possibility of a serial killer coming after me.
I know it’s irrational. At least, I thought it was until I saw him—a dark, hooded figure in the back of the theater.
I could feel him. The moment the performance ended, I locked eyes with him.
He took that as his cue to leave. You’d think he would have run, but instead he stalked off casually, without a care in the world.
I’m probably overreacting. He was most likely there to watch somebody else and enjoy our rehearsal.
It’s not uncommon for other students to sit in between classes or after-hours.
Or better yet, he could be a prospective student seeing what the music program is all about.
At least that’s logical. A serial killer?
Not so much. Instead, I’m being irrational.
It was too dark to make out anything other than the shape of a tall person.
Honestly, I’m probably just spooked because of the season.
Clara pulls me along the busy campus’s winding trails. The streetlights hardly offer any light, but there’s safety in numbers, right?
We round the corner and eventually find ourselves outside of the same run-down house.
This time, though, I chose not to dress up.
I’m aware I’ll stick out like a sore thumb, but it’s better than the alternative.
The type of people at these parties are here for one thing.
I’m not. Truthfully, I’m only here to keep an eye on Clara, especially after last night.
This time when we make it to the door, someone’s there already waiting for us. It’s him.
Zain.
I crane my head back, drinking him in. This is the first time I’ve really gotten a good look at him up close.
No hoodie concealing his face. No outlandish make up hiding him from me.
He looks as insane as I imagined, rough even, but no less devilishly obsidian and delicious.
His dark, swirling gray eyes are dead from years of abuse—how deep that runs, I don’t know.
His inky, scraggly hair hangs over his eyes, clouding his vision.
It’s still wet like he’s just taken a shower.
He smells absolutely appetizing and looks like a beautiful mess.
Oddly enough, he’s the type I’d never pursue, but something about him calls me.
Clara shoulders past me to get inside. I didn’t realize I was standing there like an idiot.
I hope I wasn’t drooling like a love-sick bimbo.
“Well, hello again,” Clara smiles. “I’m going to grab a drink.” She smirks, motioning to the kitchen before leaving me alone with him.
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame, blocking my path. He chews the edge of his hoodie string. “Well, what a surprise, little songbird.”
I nip at my inner cheek. He’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. “Are you gonna let me in? I don’t want Clara in there alone,” I admit, peering over his huge imposing body.
He cocks his head to the side, dissecting me. “We have a dress code,” he says as he scans over my jeans and oversize T-shirt.
I bristle and clutch the loose iron railing next to me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—”
He cuts me off with a dark, throaty chuckle. “Relax, little bird, I’m kiddin’.” He steps aside, letting me pass. The usual smell of weed, cigarettes, and sex hits my nose as I step around his towering frame. Damn, he really is absolutely massive. This guy is one you wouldn’t want to cross.
He snicks the door shut with his shoulder, forcing it closed. “Wanna drink?” my eyes shift over to Clara in the corner leaning against the counter. She lets out a deep laugh as Kieran cages her in. She’s wasting no time, I guess.
“Your friend is fine. With any luck, Kieran will move on next week,” he says nonchalantly.
I crinkle my nose and nibble my lip. “Okay,” I say meekly. All judgment has gone out the window. Zain wouldn’t openly drug me, would he? He doesn’t come across as that type. He’s equally deranged as Kieran, sure, but he seems almost…safer? I snort at the notion.
He returns a moment later with a can of Natty Light. “Drink up, little songbird.”
He guides me towards the living room through the mass of sweaty bodies.
I must be wearing a look of disgust on my face, because after he settles down on the aged sofa, he smirks up at me.
“Uncomfortable?” He gestures to the people openly having sex against the wall and on the coffee table, some are even on the opposing couch.
I stand awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself, so I crack open my beer. I lack confidence and really any social skills when it comes to parties and groups. “No, I’m fine,” I lie, taking a sip of the cheap drink before holding back a gag.
He sinks deeper into the couch, fanning out his body like an offering. He looks so unapproachable and downright sinful. A shiver falls over my body.
“Then have a seat, I won’t bite.” But the way he says it doesn’t sound sincere, instead it comes across wolfish.
I have a feeling I’m the prey in this scenario.
Reluctantly, I sink into the seat farthest away from him, leaving an open space between us.
He chugs his beer in long, deep swallows and pops something in his mouth, not bothering to savor the flavor of his drink.
Not that this is the kind you’d savor; it’s awful.
It’s then I realize everyone is staring at us.
Shifty eyes catch my gaze in every direction.
I absolutely loathe being the center of attention.
The better question is why am I the center of attention?
He stretches his arm out and reaches for a strand of my long, dark hair. He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger lazily. His hazy eyes reach mine. “Isn’t often I interact. Don’t let the stares bother you,”
It’s like he can read my mind. Am I that easily read? I’m not surprised in the slightest that he doesn’t interact with people. He’s intimidatingly, hair-raisingly frightening.
I swallow thickly and pull my hair over my opposite shoulder out of his reach. “Why is that?” I dare ask, taking another drink of the shitty beer, choking it down. My leg bounces restlessly.
A sinister smirk plays over his lips. His eyes hood and he digs out a cigarette from his hoodie pocket, lighting it between his lips. The tip burns a cherry red. “Do you really wanna know the answer to that, songbird?” His lip twitches.
He inhales and holds for what feels like forever before he blows out a plume of smoke in my direction.
I croak out “I don’t know” and place my beer down on the sticky, cluttered end table next to me. I scan around for a coaster, though I doubt he would even bother. My parents taught me manners so, might as well ask. “Got a coaster?”
He sneers. “Does it look like I’d have a fuckin’ coaster?”
He blows out smoke rings, making my eyes water, and I cough. Then he leans his head back against the sofa, keeping his gaze upturned. “Not a smoker? Can’t be with a voice like that, huh?”
I freeze. It’s one thing to know what I’m majoring in, it’s entirely another to know the quality of my singing voice. It was him. It has to be. He was the one hiding in the shadows.
I remain stoic, refusing to wear my fear on my sleeve. “Nope,” I reply calmly. I run my fingers over the rough, ripped fabric of the couch to calm the fear threatening to surface.
He chuckles darkly and extinguishes the cigarette on the arm of the couch. Burn holes stamp the armrest. He glances over in my direction and our eyes meet again.
“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” My lip curls upward in disgust as I scoff.
He lets out a rumbling sigh. “No,” he rasps under his breath so quietly over the bass I almost miss it. His gaze is trained forward, past the mass of people, as he peers out the large bay window.
“Why didn’t she?” I ask, dumbfounded, while following his gaze to the empty street out front.
His face darkens. An unbalanced, manic expression takes over.
He springs forward out of his seat so fast I have no time to react.
One hand comes down on the armrest, and the other slams against the headrest behind me, locking me in place.
He gets in my face, so close I feel his hot breath against my cool skin.
I lean back, hoping the couch will swallow me whole so I can escape the clutches of a monster.
His gray eyes bore into me with intensity.
“Because I never fucking had one,” he says sharply before pushing off the sofa.
The room has somehow gone silent at the last minute. The music is cut off, and Kieran stalks forward from the crowd, clasping Zain on the shoulder. Clara observes from the sidelines with a drink in hand, watching everything unfold.
Zain shrugs him off violently. “Fuck off,” he bites before staggering upstairs. My cheeks flame. I am dying from embarrassment. Kieran looks at me, pure ire on his face. “The fuck did you say to set him off?”
I shake my head, puzzled. “Nothing. I swear. I just said, ‘Didn’t your mother teach you manners.’ I was only teasing him.” I wave my hands wildly.
Kieran taps two fingers against his temple before pointing at me. “The guy doesn’t have a family. His upbringing was shit,” he explains, shaking his head like that’s known information. As if I would have known such a thing. Zain is an Elite. Why would I assume he had a bad upbringing?
“He gets set off easy,” Kieran grits out through his teeth, bringing it down a notch.
Clara shoots me a sympathetic look. It’s her fault I’m here in the first place, but I can’t be upset at her. None of this is her fault. These guys are ticking time bombs. Both of them.
Kieran waves flippantly at everyone. “Alright, alright. Party’s on. Stop gawking.” He cues the music back on.
I shuffle over towards Clara. “I’m going to apologize. I didn’t realize,” I say quickly.
She nods as Kieran grasps her wrist and reels her into his chest. He nips at her neck. “Wanna go upstairs again, I want to taste you,” he murmurs against her jugular, planting kisses there.
She pleads with her eyes, begging me to stay a little longer. It’s hard sometimes watching my friend, a train wreck, continue to go faster when it’s inevitable she’s bound to derail. Still, I nod solemnly.
She disappears upstairs, and I wait a long while before I head to the second floor in search of Zain. He needs time to cool off. If I were less of a decent person, I’d turn back and leave everyone behind. They’re all adults, but I just can’t.
I grip the broken banister and trudge up the stained steps. I have no idea which room is his, so I wing it. What could go wrong?