Page 1 of Die for You
Chapter 1
Aurora
I’ve escapedfrom danger only to run right back into its arms.
With my stiletto, I stomp as hard as I can on the tennis shoe of whatever asshole has me in his clutches.
He hisses through his teeth and drops his arms long enough for me to spin and aim a kick right between his legs.
His shout of agony echoes over the throbbing beat of pop music and the buzz of drunken college students.
“Jesus!” His friend claps a hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed in a grimace like he can feel my assailant’s pain as his own. “You know how sensitive balls are? You could’ve just sterilized him for life.”
As if in agreement, the guy retches. I step back to avoid the incoming splatter of vomit. “Good. Anyone who grabs random women at a party without their consent doesn’t need to reproduce.”
“He thought you were his girlfriend.”
“Then I did her a favor. No unwanted pregnancies now.”
I turn on my heel and stomp away from the meatheads.
Of course this is how my first frat party would play out. I wanted the whole college experience, and this is it. How disappointing.
Still, it sure as hell beats being locked up by Jeremiah. Being told when I can leave, where I can go, who I can talk to. I spent way too many goddamn years taking his orders, keeping my head down, shutting up when he told me to. I’m done taking orders, and I’m done living my life by someone else’s instructions.
So if I want to go to a frat party and kick some asshole with bad BO and no manners in the balls, I’m going to do it.
Too bad parties are pretty much a bust when you don’t have any friends. No one by your side to gossip, drink, or dance with. Even the booze tastes like shit.
I’m not exactly sure this is a typical frat party. Most of the attendees are wearing masks. Not sure what’s up with that—Halloween was months ago. I must’ve missed the memo.
On my phone, the bright numbers tell me it’s just past eleven. A little early to bail on a college party, but it’s not like anyone is keeping tabs on me. For the past four years, I’ve only had one person in the whole world who claimed to care about me, and I finally escaped him fifteen days ago.
Fifteen days. Three hundred sixty hours of freedom. And yet I still feel eyes on me, like a camera watching my every move.
Bass music rattles my brain, making my temples ache. A far cry from the high, mellow croon of my violin. I can play for hours, until my fingers feel like they’re about to fall off, without a flicker of pain in my eardrums.
Parties are officially overrated.
As I weave through a crowd gathered at the landing in front of the staircase, I spot three giants in gas masks leaning against the wall. One with his head tipped back, mask facing the ceiling. The other two with their masks pointed toward the stairs, all three of them ignoring the girls gyrating against them.
I grind my teeth. What is with all these assholes tonight? They’re lucky to have girls dancing for them, girls eager for theirattention, and they don’t even have the decency to look at them. If I was one of those girls, I’d be pissed.
“Nice masks,” I call as I pass. “I like that they cover your faces.”
Petty? Yes. Bitchy? Maybe. But even if those guys don’t give a shit about what some random girl at a party thinks of them, it makes me feel better.
A low voice floats out behind me, distorted by his mask. “Was that?—?”
“Wait!”
I stiffen at the sharp, raspy command, but I keep going. Fuck those guys. I’m not giving them another second of my attention. They have plenty of other girls to keep them occupied. I’m not looking for a conversation, an argument, or a one-night stand.
I slip through the bodies crowding the hallway and aim for the exit. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Only one of two options—an email, or a text from him.
Please be spam.
When I dare a glance at the screen, my stomach twists.
