Chapter 5
five
The blue diamond point on my left eye makeup doesn’t match my right. No matter what I do, I can’t get it to look the same. Normally, I just wear sharp eyeliner and a pink lip stain. I was excited I’d get to play around with a different look tonight. Not so much now.
My hand shakes with what I’m calling fatigue. But it’s actually the irritating voice by the sink next to me.
Instead of sticking to the lines of my lips, I go over them with a tremulous swath of red. It’ll pair with the deranged clown dress I’ve donned for the Hallow’s Eve party.
But really, is it a costume?
“Yeah, he fucked me so hard on Red Night, I saw stars, I swear.”
The third-floor bathroom is the only one that’s not crammed with tits, sneers, and drama. Or it was. But now it smells like a vanilla and rose swamp. Perfume floats by in pink clouds with the thick, sticky stench of superiority.
Lighted mirrors line the wall like the backstage of a high school theater. The Formica counter, fake-marble print and all, is permanently stained with rouge from years past.
“I thought you were hanging out with Carl…” one of the junior Omega sisters asks Hailey Twinston as they primp next to me.
“Not anymore.” Hailey giggles and tosses her crimped blonde hair over her shoulder. “Besides, Carl isn’t coming back from his vacation. And I think Aiden had everything to do with it.”
At the mention of the asshole’s name, my insides tense. Hailey rests her ass on the counter and addresses the group as they line their lashes and spread glittery body butter over strategic spots of their décolletages.
Zoe Griffin, the Omega with bright pink hair, ignores her and continues doing her dramatic makeup for a zombie look. “Did Carl disappear with the other sisters during Terror Tuesday?”
Hailey’s face is so smug, I want to hit it. “No, after. But Aiden got jealous when he saw Carl and me together before Red Night. He made a beeline for me, first thing.”
Zoe calls her out on her delusion. “Aiden Cardell? He never does that. I thought he had Elowyn and Sutton up in his room— Oh, and that Sigma who’s been hanging out with them recently.”
“Blaire,” Isa Montez says. “I thought Aiden had class only going for ONEs.”
Hailey’s smile drops, and her voice lowers to a murmur.
“I don’t think they were there. Not that I saw.
” She shakes her head to get rid of any negative thoughts.
I pretend to focus on making my silk costume perfect, smearing my hands over the skirt.
“Well, they weren’t when his huge dick was inside me. ”
Isa shrugs. “I thought he only fucked girls in groups.”
Scout Turner, a sophomore with a strange calm no one knows what to do with, slips out of a stall like she’s been listening the whole time.
She doesn’t say a word, just brushes aside Hailey’s makeup bag and washes her hands while the room drowns in silence.
Her gaze lifts to the mirror, scanning each of us with a look that feels like judgment and a scolding all at once.
Then she’s gone. Door swinging shut. The gossip dies with her.
Zoe doesn’t hesitate to resume the previous discussion, like she’s been holding back a point she wanted to make and was only waiting for the eavesdropper to leave.
She drops her deep plum-colored lipstick into her bag, crosses her arms, and juts out her chin at the blonde.
One of her long, coffin-shaped fingernails taps against her opposite bicep.
“You must be special if he was with you alone, then.”
Hailey’s pompous grin is back. “Yeah, I guess. I mean…he is showing up as my date tonight.”
My stomach drops. Nausea rises in my throat as fury lights every hair I have on fire. She cannot be serious.
“He is? Holy shit. Really?” Isa gasps.
Zoe eyes her suspiciously. “Aiden Cardell’s showing up as your date to the party.”
Hailey pulls her black off-the-shoulder top down and uses a finger to correct a wayward line of her red lips. “Yep! Why do you think I dressed as Sandy? I wouldn’t go without my Danny!”
He’s dressing up for her, too? That is not the asshole I know.
Worse? I know it’s his birthday tonight, too. And he’s spending it with her?
Before I commit a felony, I strut the fuck out of the bathroom, teetering on my high-heeled boots. As soon as I grab my phone from my pocket, I text Talon.
Me
where r u? Come to the party.
Talon
I told you. im hiding out at my dads in case 4-0 are still looking for me. cops all over that race.
Me
it’s been 2 damn weeks, Talon. Aiden is fine. They aren’t looking. He wouldn’t press charges.
Talon
i’m not taking a chance.
Bitch. He’s not hiding from the cops. He’s scared of the Cardells. Aiden only had a minor concussion from their accident and totaled his race car; it’s not like it was a big deal. He’s got more. I’ve seen him polish his precious red Porsche when he parks it in the school’s lot.
Of course, I didn’t learn Aiden’s status from him. I found out by listening to a group of Marauders the next night, who gossiped worse than Southern grandmas. Cardell wiped out. Concussion. Walked away. I smiled and nodded, glanced around like it meant nothing.
Then threw up in the alley two minutes later, my hands still shaking.
Talon got away from the wreck while everyone at the starting spot scattered like dandelion puffs as soon as they got wind of the crash. Talon swung by to pick me up, and we were on our way to his family’s place. But that was two Fridays ago. No one’s going to come for him…
But it fits his bad boy image to tell his fellow Deltas that he’s having to hide out from the fuzz.
Fine. If the asshole does show, I’ll have to come up with a sporadic plan. He said once with me was enough for him… Can he truly mean that?
I don’t think so.
Fluffy gold pigtails flopping at my sides, I catch one last glimpse of myself in the hall mirror—shiny and unhinged enough to look appetizing to the deranged.
Makeup? Deliberately off kilter to entice those who want to smudge it in the best of ways.
Maybe on the inside of a thigh or on the flat of a hand after a slap.
Either way, I win.
If he releases wrath on my body? It’s more battle scars for me.
Even if it hurts…
Especially if it hurts.
A few rounds of vampire bite shots and zombie brains shooters are passed around in the bar area downstairs.
I take each alone in the back of the group while my sisters chant “Ours to Cherish!” loudly enough that I want to hurl the alcohol in their faces to see if it makes their foundation melt off in waves.
No one asks me how my night is going or if I’m having a good time. No one hands me a drink or pulls me onto the dance floor. Even the maze we rented is quickly transformed from minimally engaging entertainment to a make-out spot for voyeurs.
I want to go back to my freshman dorm and get into bed early. Maybe catch up on my shows. But curiosity keeps me hanging on the edge of the room, waiting… Observing.
“I need… Can you please move?” Scout shoves a pair of glasses up her nose as she steps in front of me. I thought she was going for a nerd look. But now it’s clear, this is how she is.
“Okay…”
“I hate these things,” she says, ignoring my tone, and grabs an anatomy textbook from the ivory-painted shelf behind me. Her mumbled words aren’t directed at me. They’re a statement of declaration.
I nod in solidarity anyway. “Me, too.”
Her intelligent eyes snap to mine. As she tilts her head, strands from her messy brunette bun fall into her face.
“Half the people here are going to have mono by Monday,” she says dryly, shoving the pencil behind her ear back into place.
Gaze sweeping the room, she flares her nose at a particularly slutty angel costume.
“But I guess that’s how natural selection works. ”
Of course. The one person to talk to me happens to be teenage sardonic.
But she doesn’t leave me room to reply before she’s off again, heading back toward the stairs.
I can’t decide if I hate her or respect her. Maybe both.
One more breath. One more beat of music. One more eye roll as one of my sisters stumbles from too much spooky juice.
Then the front door swings open.
And in walks Satan himself.
Red, curled devil’s horns crown Aiden’s head, perched above an intricately threaded black and crimson mask that covers his icy-blue eyes—elegant, cruel, and utterly unreadable.
A three-piece, high-neck black suit adorns his tall figure, the tailoring so precise it clings to every line of muscle hewn from years of self-hatred and the fear of losing control. His jaw is set to crush diamonds.
And everyone in the room knows what he is.
Not dressed like him. He is the devil.
Tripping through the doorway next to him, Landon sways like a drunk Viking god who already peaked at 6 p.m. His Hawaiian shirt is open, exposing half his chest and all his regrets. Discordant swim trunks clash with the outfit—somehow neon and depressing at the same time.
As he stumbles into the party room, his flip-flops slap against the marble.
Long blond hair hangs stringy and wet, probably from someone’s bathtub or a catastrophe of a keg stand. Who knows?
Still gripping the dregs of a half-crushed red Solo cup, dripping beer down his arm, he grins like a man who can’t get hard anymore but doesn’t care because at least he tried.
The room collectively turns as the two men enter, but I slyly head toward the bar and away from the shifting masses. Not because I’m not like other girls, but truly, I know that the best way to catch a demon is to let him think you stopped believing in Hell.
Aiden’s statuesque pose matches his stoic countenance, drawing women like a museum exhibit. Something admired, never touched.
First, Elowyn, in black leather lingerie and a tail up her ass. Then Sutton, dressed as Harley Quinn—because of course she is. Both press a lipstick-stained kiss to his cheek, murmur a few flirting words, then vanish into the crowd like they know their place.