Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“A say-what-now?” My fingers drift toward Ashley's silky brown hair, drawn to its shimmer.
She swats me away. “Powdered X. Me and my ex used to drop some occasionally.”
My head crashes against the cool bar surface.
Yana backs away, jaw tight. “Watch her. I need to find Phoebe.”
I jerk upright, the room spinning. “I'll be fine. I'm a little...”
The room tilts, warps, then snaps back into focus like a rubber band. My heartbeat echoes in my skull, but it's not fear pounding through me. It's something else. Something electric.
I press my palms against the bar top, cool beneath my burning skin. “I shouldn't feel like this,” I whisper.
But I do. Every colour intensifies. The bar lights fracture into beams. When I move, my body flows like water, each sensation amplified and beautiful.
This isn't right.
Last time, the edges closed in like curtains drawing shut, frame by frame—a boy's grinning face, a red cup tipping toward me, a bathroom tile with a crack shaped like Florida. Blackness. Then nothing until I woke up raw.
But now my skin buzzes like I've licked a battery. I drag my fingernail across the bar top, leaving invisible trails that glow neon in my mind. Bass notes punch through my chest, each thump a separate heartbeat. I want to press my body against someone, anyone. I want to run my tongue along the condensation on my glass.
I remember the weight of hands holding my wrists to the mattress. The sound of laughter. The smell of beer and cheap body spray.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, unexpected and genuine. I clamp my hand over my mouth, shocked by the sound.
Why am I enjoying this?
The guilt crashes over me like a wave, even as my skin hums with pleasure. My body betraying me all over again.
Ashley continues to pat me like a broken doll. “You've been drugged, Melissa. Sit down.”
Through the haze, I track Yana as she stalks toward Lisha. Their voices spike like fever charts, tension crackling between them. Then Yana lunges, a blur of motion and rage, her fists hammering into Lisha's face.
I lurch forward, but my legs dissolve beneath me. Voices tunnel away. Ashley's worried face swims in and out like a tide until blackness drags me under completely.
Voices pierce the darkness like needles dragging me toward consciousness. The world smells wrong. Burnt wood, concrete dust, something metallic that coats my throat. My body floats weightless, disconnected, but the voices anchor me.
“Yana! Follow my voice!” Phoebe's shout cuts through the ringing in my ears.
I try to open my eyes, but my lids weigh a thousand pounds. The molly still pulses through my system, everything soft and strange even as chaos erupts around me.
Strong arms lift me, and I know it's not Phoebe. These arms are solid muscle, ink etched into the skin, the scent of leather and motor oil overwhelming my senses.
“Give her to me.” Phoebe's voice, sharp with worry.
“No.” Hella's chest rumbles against my cheek. “Not happening.”
“She's gonna fucking kill you if she wakes up in your arms.”
“Then she can kill me.” His grip tightens protectively. “Nobody else touches her right now.”
I want to protest, to say something, but my tongue feels thick and useless. The drug makes everything dreamy, disconnected, even as my body registers the warmth of his arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
We're moving. Hella's stride changes, picking his way through what sounds like debris. Glass crunches under heavy boots. Someone's crying in the distance, high and panicked.
“Jesus Christ,” Phoebe mutters somewhere behind us. “The whole back wall's gone.”
Explosion. The word filters through my fog. That's what happened. Something exploded.
Cool night air hits my face as we emerge from whatever destruction we left behind. Hella keeps walking, carrying me away from the noise, the chaos, the smoke that still burns my nostrils.
“She's almost unconscious,” he says, and I realize he's talking to someone else now. Yana maybe. “What the fuck happened to her?”
Blake continues. Asshole. “She said pulling triggers was easy, but could you do a backflip? Her words.”
“I can still do backflips,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” Blake laughs, “but you couldn't then. Launched herself off the second-floor balcony trying to prove her point. Stubborn little shit.”
Yana laughs. “You didn't.”
“She did,” Zane confirms. “Landed like a sack of potatoes. Fractured her shin clean through.”
“And still tried to walk it off,” Blake adds, his voice softening with something like pride. “Limped around for three days before Ma found out and dragged her to the hospital.”
“Ah uh!” I wiggle my finger. “Don't skip the best part!” My eyes widen in excitement.
Ade's laugh ricochets through the air. “When Ma dropped her? All three of us prospects were already laid up in the hospital. One with a busted back. Another with a damn fractured spleen. All sacrificed at the altar of little Wild Child and her stubborn-ass pride.”
Hella's breath warms my neck as he leans in. “So you've always been this stubborn.”