Page 62 of The Deceptions
“I know it's not a diamond or anything. But I want to show you that I mean it. One day, Olivia Viotto, you'll be my wife.” He traces the ring on my finger with a slight smile pulling at his lips. “I found it at the Coliseum. It's a treasure, just like you. You're my future. My treasure. My troublemaker.” I grin at the nicknames he spews.
“You’re the one who is trouble,” I quip, kissing his stubbly cheek with a hum.
“Always your trouble. Promise you’ll take care of me when I’m ninety and barely able to move?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Always and forever. And my answer is yes. I’ll be your wife. But you better hurry, Gary is eager to…” I don’t get thewords out of my mouth before his lips are smothering mine, and his tongue plays and twists with my own.
Some treasure I was. In under a month after he gave me the ring, took my virginity, and professed his love to me, he murdered me.
My fingers tighten into fists as the three girls move on from the kitchen, giggling to themselves. He moved on, alright. To the girl he was repulsed by in high school that made my life a living hell. I shake off the memory that’s hanging in the back of my mind and begging to come forward to torture me more. No thank you, brain. I don’t need to think about all the times that bitch cornered me and swore she’d take my men from me. Well, mission accomplished, Amanda. You really got what you wished for.
I hate these memories. I hate remembering how they made me feel. How good it was between the three of us before it all went to hell. Sometimes, when alcohol runs through my veins and I’m drowning in my misery, I wonder how it led to this? My destruction? Why they suddenly turned their backs on me and ended me?
Nope. Nope. This is exactly why I should stay away from alcohol. It brings me nothing but heartache and tears and massive hangovers. Sure, it’s my crutch in the best of times when I need to unwind and get my head on straight. But I know it doesn’t do me any favors. It opens sealed doors that have no business being forced open again. Oh, and makes me bone people I shouldn’t.Here’s looking at you, Malic.
With reluctance, I set my half-empty glass of strawberry margarita on the counter. Fuck. I want to drink it all, but it’ll only make me think of them more. I’d probably do something stupid like walk to the treehouse and maybe burn it down.
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll add that to my ‘destroy the boys’ list, for later.
I have to get out of here. First, I have to collect Simon and possibly his new gal-pal. Hopefully, he's quiet when he gets down.
With that in my head, I make my way out of the kitchen and into a tight hallway, leading toward the front door. I could be an asshole and leave now, but I like my roommate. And no man gets left behind. Especially a drunk man who happens to be a super lightweight, unable to handle his booze. Or keep his tongue to himself.
The narrow hallway separating the kitchen from the foyer is clear of anyone. Even in the small bathroom and empty room down the hall. Surprisingly. When we came here, the place was packed, but now it seems to have cleared out a bit. Much to my damn relief. With so many bodies in here, it was like a sauna. And getting overly heated with this binder on is a recipe for disaster. And uncomfortable, too. God, I’m so sweaty beneath these clothes. I can’t wait to shower.
Once I’m awkwardly standing in the front foyer, trying and failing to take in several deep breaths. I linger by the stairs, contemplating jumping over the chain blocking anyone from going upstairs. Sure, the sign hanging there says do not enter, but when has that ever stopped me before? What would they do? Kill me? Been there. Done that. They can try. I’m nosy enough to risk everything and claim I was looking for the bathroom.
Just as I’m about to climb over the rope, loud footsteps hurriedly coming toward me stop me in my tracks. Drats. There goes that idea. Maybe another time. I’m sure this won’t be the last party Oliver Davenport is forced to show face at. Two guys with flushed faces murmur secrets beneath their breaths as they march into the foyer and nearly mow me down.
“Party next door!” one guy hisses to me with wide, glassy eyes. “I heard they got strippers and body shots. It's epic!” He pumps a fist in victory.
I wrinkle my nose. How classy. A frat with a stripper and body shots. But whatever floats their boat, and good for the strippers for being so confident.
I had to be an undercover stripper once. It was… awkward. And my dance moves? Pathetic. The club owner called us in because their girls were going missing, and the cops were doing fuck-all about it. He had to beg me not to get on stage again. Thanks, asshole. I know I’m not coordinated. Thankfully, that job only lasted a month, and I got the hang of being at the club and serving drinks in my skimpy outfits. Thankfully, we caught the bastard who was taking girls and selling them on the black market. God, why does the black market have to be a thing? Why do we need to sell girls, guys, and body parts, anyway? Can’t everyone just be morally good?
“You think Mal and Wilder will take any pledges this year?” his friend asks, darting his eyes behind him and catching me lurking. “Rumor is they are. We should totally fucking do it!”
“One can only hope, bro. Getting in their organization would be epic as fuck. No one knows who their boss is. But they're badass. I heard Malic killed a guy this summer for looking at him funny.”
“Bro! All the more reason.” They high-five like some dudebros and walk out the front door, making a mad dash next door.
Killed a guy?Yeah, that’s reassuring. Note to self, never get into bed with Malic again. If that bastard finds out who you are and who you work for, you’re screwed. That should be enough to calm down the ovulation activities.
But it’s not. Ugh.
This place just keeps getting better and better. The mystery deepens, and I have a feeling that by the time I'm done at GU, I'll have grey hair and need a massage. Or need to be laid again to loosen me up.
But not with Malic. Nope. Not him. Or Wilder. I need a bar, a stranger, a bathroom, and… No, we’re not letting history repeat itself. Even if it was a good time. Psychopath. Tracker. And so on.
More people pile out of the party, while stumbling over their feet to get to the party next door. Those strippers must be a sight to see, because this party is dwindling into almost nothing. I’m half tempted to follow them over there just to see the sights. Soon, the air isn’t as heavy with bodies, and I can take a full breath. Well, kind of. I really need to drag Simon out of here so my tits can breathe for the night. I rub my temple, fighting off the headache already forming. How am I going to get Simon out of here?
I peek into the half-full room and groan. He’s still having dance-sex with the girl on the dancefloor. Only now, there’s another girl with her and him, sharing a hot and heavy three-way kiss.Huh. Never tried that before.He’s clearly having the best night ever, and I’d hate to drag him away, but I’m no longer having fun. I pout to myself, feeling the slight effects of my margarita. Mentally, I cheer the alcohol on, aching to feel its effects more. Maybe I should go back and down another glass.
Yeah, sounds like a plan.
Leaving Simon to his amazing three-way—Go Simon!—I take a step back into the foyer with the intention of going into the kitchen. But the sight before me has me stumbling back a step, nearly losing my balance. Golden fur streaks by, heading down the hall toward the kitchen. His claws click against the worn wooden floors, echoing as he moves. My chest tightens at the sight of him.
The golden fur. The big, furry ears. The familiar black nose with dark whiskers.
