Page 9 of Once A Villain

“Fuck off.” I brush past him, heading straight for the bar. Grabbing a bottle, I pour a hefty shot and down it in one gulp.Oh, that burn feels good!

“Woah, easy there.” Jamie chuckles, sliding up beside me. “What’s with the shitty mood?” My eyes fill with tears at his question, and I quickly blink them away.

“I just want to forget about it,” I reply, my voice unsteady.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie of white powder. “It’s good stuff,” he says, handing it over. “You’ll forget your fucking name.”

“Perfect.” Snatching the bag, I head straight for the bathroom.

Inside, I dump the powder onto the counter, roll a dollar bill, and bend down. The burn sears through my nose, sharp and punishing, but the rush is instantaneous. My heart pounds, and a wave of euphoria crashes over me, numbing everything else.

The room spins as I stumble back into the living room. Everything is too bright, too loud, the world shimmering with a surreal, hazy glow. People are dancing, their bodies blurring into a swirl of colors. The music’s a deafening roar, shaking the walls.

“Rory, you good?” Jamie’s voice pierces through the heavy bass.

“Yeah, I’m great,” I slur, plastering on a wide grin. I stagger to the bar, pouring myself another drink.

The mix of alcohol and drugs sends me floating, all the gnawing fears and suffocating worries slipping away into the haze. I dive into the crowd, letting the music swallow me whole. Jamie’s right there with me, his hands all over my body as we grind together. He kisses my neck, but I feel nothing. And for once, I’m grateful. I don’t want to feel a damn thing.

We haven’t hooked up in a while. Jamie is a typical Sovereign: cocky, confident, and a player. But right now, he’s exactly what I need—a distraction, an escape from the shitstorm of my life.

He grabs my hand, leading us to his bedroom. The second the door clicks shut, his lips crash against mine, his tongue forceful and demanding. It’s hungry, almost desperate, and I melt into it, the haze blurring the lines between reality and whatever the hell this is.

He shoves me onto the bed and then yanks off his clothes. His hands are on me in an instant, exploring every inch of my skin.

“Fuck, Rory, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against my neck, his lips trailing fire down my body. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through me, making my back arch, craving more. His kisses, rough and heated, stir a storm of sensation.

“Jamie, please,” I gasp, desperate for him to be inside me. Pulling my pants down, he thrusts inside me with a deep groan.

No talking, no foreplay, just pure fucking.

His pace is rough and fast, and he pounds into me relentlessly. I’m lost in the pleasure, my mind floating away in a euphoric whirl where nothing else exists but the moment—pure bliss. He tightens his grip on my hips. His grunts and moans fill the air, and I cry out as my orgasm tears through me.

Following me, he groans my name as he spills inside me. Burying his face in my neck, he stays inside me for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Your pussy is still as good as ever, Rory,” he pants, his lips grazing my neck. I can’t even open my eyes, but a lazy smile tugs at my lips as I savor the heavy weight on me. Our breaths mingle in the silence.

Finally, he shifts off me, the bed dipping as he moves away.

My thoughts are sluggish, tangled in the haze of whatever the hell he gave me. Everything’s numb. The high is too strong, too overpowering, dragging me down into a restless sleep filled with twisted nightmares.

The first raysof sunlight slice through the curtains, sharp and unforgiving. I groan, wincing at the pounding in my head and the dull ache in my muscles. Jamie’s sprawled beside me, snoring softly, his arm draped across me like a heavy blanket.

I fumble for my phone, wincing as the screen lights up. Twelve missed calls. Spencer. Of course. I swipe the notifications away, not ready to deal with his worry.

Jamie stirs beside me, his arm tightening around me.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is rough with sleep.

“Like shit,” I mumble.

He chuckles, “Told you it was good stuff.”

Memories of yesterday crash back like a tidal wave, and tears prick at my eyes. I turn to him, my voice trembling.

“Jamie, what can you tell me about Axel Hawthorne?”

The question seems to wake him up fully. He stares at me, his expression tight with concern. “He’s a dangerous motherfucker, Rory. Stay the hell away from him.”

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