Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I like to do things properly.
Keep my shit in order.
And yes, being me is exhausting, too. Managing my own life, my schoolwork, and keeping the boys in the frat in line. In my house I don’t have to accept the type of petty violence that Sev craves like a drug.
I scan the room for Sev now but I can’t place him. No one’s sleeves are rolled up yet, and without seeing his tattoos it’s difficult to tell which one might be him.
I take a spot along the wall and I try not to look over at the man next to me. I can already tell he’s a fighter, judging by the scars and a mottled old bruise on the back of his hand.
Who the fuck am I surrounded by?
Only a minute passes before the man at the center speaks again.
Another guy with shaggy blond hair is standing at his side, now, too, wearing a long, velvety red robe.
“Welcome back to Zenith. Or, for the new attendees we have tonight, welcome home.”
He’s facing in my direction as he says it. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me, but I’m certain he knows I’m a newbie. My mask is more basic than the others here. It’s simple and shiny gold.
“For those newcomers, we only ask one thing: leave your other world at the door.”
The redheaded guy nods, looking right at me.
“We are primal, here,” he says in a low, slightly raspy voice. “That is one of our only rules. We remain unchained. For the next four hours, you exist in a different world. Our other rule is easy: no masks come off. There will be consequences if that rule is broken.”
My heart’s still pounding like it’s trying to launch itself through my upper ribcage, but I’m ignoring it.
No reason anyone has to know I don’t belong.
I wasn’t even ready to let that truth out until the past year.
The part of me that looks at men differently. Noticing men, every place I go. Fucking fixating on men in ways that make me feel like an animal, when it’s wildly inconvenient and my cock responds to things in ways I’m utterly unable to control.
Another urge I need to put to rest tonight.
Then I can go back to my real life.
The man at the center seems to be done talking. And the moment his speech is over, he suddenly takes one leg and brings it around the back of the other man’s knees.
He drops to the floor and they start wailing punches on each other already, and every instinct inside me is begging to go break up the fight.
Not what I’m here for.
I take off across the room, my eyes darting around as I try to avoid any contact. Being here is like willingly putting my body on display for whoever wants it, but there’s only one man here that I’m trying to find.
I search below the sleeves of people’s suits, trying to find his raven tattoo.
A glass breaks across the room and a woman shouts, then breaks out into low laughter. I turn and see a man hovering above her, pouring liquor from a half broken glass down the front of her body, down past a strappy black corset with gauzy material above it. Two patterned snake tattoos flank her breasts, which are bare and on prominent display above the cinched corset. Another woman comes over and starts undoing the buttons on the front of her pants, one by one.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
I spot a few men leaving through the back doors toward the vast back lawn. The rain has lessened to a drizzle and people here don’t seem to care, heading right out into the wet grass.
Where the fuck are you, Sevan Berlant?
I should not be here, and the only reason I am is for you.
The crickets out back are deafening. The air is cool but humid after the downpour, and I walk out into the drizzly mist, past a stately marble fountain rushing with water.
Two men are grappling at the edge of the fountain, alternately laughing or grunting depending on how hard they’re hit.
Another group of people are already stripping bare next to a hot tub, pawing at each other like animals.
“You’re lost,” I hear a man’s voice say from behind me.
A strong hand grips around my wrist in an instant, and I yank my arm backward, trying to pull away.
“Get the fuck off me,” I tell him in a low tone. “I’m not here to fight.”
He pulls my arm harder and I spin around, glaring at him from behind my mask.
“Wrong. Everyone is here to fight.”
I have no idea who this guy is. I watch his cold, calculating brown eyes as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket, and he gives me a quick shove back toward the house. I walk back in, hoping someone will see and get him off of me.