Page 41 of Feed Your Fiends

“And your grand opening. You…you don’t like it?”

“No.” It comes out so low, so calm, so…threatening. “Take it off.”

“What? Right here?” Stassi asks, her voice laced with a dare.

“Stas,” a low growl.

“What’s the problem?” It’s just a whisper, one bordering on disbelief and rising panic.

“You wearing it.”

“You picked it!” At the microphone’s screech, Stassi clearly becomes aware that we can hear them, but it’s too late. “Elle’s wearing it. The other girls are wearing it, so you must like it.”

I shrink at my name, at Gant, who’s still hovering on top of the cage like a bloody vulture ready to pounce.

“Not on you.”

My heart freezes with the entire room.

“What’s wrong with me?”

I can hear self-consciousness creeping into her tone.

“You’re not one of them!”

“What makes me different from them?”

My eyes fly to the girls, Hale’s girls, who’ve been stalking around the party all night in hopes of having a chance with him later. But as I spare them a glance, I see what Stassi sees. They're all blonde, but that’s where the similarities between them and her end. They’re tall, long and lean like lingerie models with perfect proportions.

“Where’s Zedd and your father?” he hisses. “Thank God they aren’t here yet.”

I don’t get to hear Stassi’s response because the band strikes up a tune at Rie Rie’s insistence. A second after they do, more screams cut through the music as Stassi jumps from the cage and plunges into the arms of some Bradley boys below. It’s so damn smooth I’d think it was all planned, but then I see that deranged look in Gant’s eyes again and know that nothing is planned.

Nothing is going according to plan.

A metallic click forces Hale to tear his eyes away from an escaping Stassi to Gant, who’s sliding along the side of the cage. It’s descending toward the bar in the original position against the back wall at Rie Rie’s command.

I swallow hard as it inches closer, and closer, and when it’s in earshot, I hear Gant mutter lowly, “I must still be in my nightmare.” His bloodshot eyes shoot to Hale. “Or hallucinating.”

“Gant—” Hale begins, but Gant propels them closer with a swing and jumps just as gracefully as he does in every ballet class once they're dangling over the bar top.

His shoes land directly in front of me as he crouches and reaches across the bar. His knuckles graze my cheek before his fingers gently slide into my hair. And then he tugs on it, just enough for my chair to roll closer. One second my ass is on the cushion, the next I’m wedged between his spread thighs as he pulls me against him and sticks his nose into my hair with the biggest inhale.

“She’s real,” he whispers to himself when he pulls back to peer those crazed eyes into mine.

The unsettling feeling coiling in my gut doesn’t offset my racing heart as I take in his scent, too, a comfort I loathe.

We’re so close, I swear our eyelashes would brush if I weren’t struggling to pull away from him, not that it’s any use. He fists his hands in my nape and holds me tight.

“She’s real,” he repeats as his left hand shoots backward, stopping the cage from finishing its descent. Gripping the bars, he wrenches the door open, and those black, sleepless eyes peel from me to zoom in on Hale. “And you had her. My little dove. This whole time.”

For once, Hale seems at a loss for words. But it doesn’t last long. “She helped me out in a tough spot.”

“And I haven’t?”

“Not lately,” he snaps, clearly agitated at losing sight of Stassi.

“This all over me telling you no?” Gant’s eyes cut to me, his fist tugging on my hair harder as I squirm. “Try to get away from me again, and I’ll haul your ass over the bar.”

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