Chapter 10
Blaise’s POV
My eyes fly open.
Stumbling back, my hand shoots out, and I punch his face.
It all happens so fast.
One minute, he’s taunting me, bringing me to the brink of madness, and the next, my knuckles connect with his cheekbone.
His face whips to the side, and he bursts out laughing.
Disheveled hair shifts forward over his eyes, hiding his own descent down the rabbit hole.
I don’t think I’m ready to see the look in his eyes.
Instead, I stare at my bleeding knuckles.
Straightening up, he leans back against the wall, his hoodie creased from my grip. “Break up with her, or Mom and Dad will see the
video.”
When I finally let my eyes lift from my cracked knuckles to his bruised cheek, he shrugs. “Let’s see how proud they are of you then.”
He walks out without another word.
*****
I love it when a plan comes together without much effort on my part
It all started when a gravelly voice called my name as I passed by the business building. I looked back to see Freddy, the local dealer, leaning against a tree.
Intrigued, I backpedaled.
We didn’t run in the same circles, and we’d never exchanged
a
single word before now, which made me more curious.
He took a drag on his cigarette, watching me through his lashes. “You party?”
When I failed to respond, he shrugged, blowing the smoke to the side. “Preppy boys like you party, too. What are you into?”
“What have you got?”
His husky chuckle rang out in the afternoon sun. “You name it, I’ve got it.”
An idea sparked–a wicked, evil little idea.
Walking closer, I considered him. Dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts, he looked
“What’s the strongest you have?”
so cliché that it gave me a toothache.
“I see…” His amused eyes fell down my body, the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. He took one final drag before tossing the cancer stick to the grass and crushing it beneath the heel of his Vans. “The preppy boys always party the hardest.” Chuckling, he
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Chapter 10
pulled a small bag of pills from his pocket. “This will make you think you’re fucking Santa on the moon.”
That was three days ago, and since then, my mind has concocted the perfect plan. Now, I’m antsy as hell to trap Cole with his own
noose.
A week has passed since my run–in with him in the bathroom.
A full week of him smirking in my direction, taunting me every change he gets.
I have no doubts about his threat.
Unless I act, he will show that video to our parents. I can’t let that happen. Dad would understand–he was young once–but I don’t want Cole to have this kind of power over me. It’s not about my golden reputation anymore. No, it’s about him thinking he can control me, thinking I’ll dance to his tune.
Thinking I’m a doormat.
I’m not, and he will soon find out the hard way.
Tonight is Samson’s birthday party—an extravagant affair held at a local castle–like mansion that’s popular for wedding events. Located in the countryside, it sits nestled amongst acres of woodlands. It is a picturesque place in the daytime and a ghostly setting at night when the shadows thicken and the moon casts an ethereal glow over the turrets.
My veins thrum with anticipation, and I adjust my mask, two seconds away from bouncing on my heels. Samson insisted on a Venetian jester–themed event, and I must admit, the effect isn’t lost on me. My mask is gold with bells, while Mia went for red and white, matched with a tulle dress and heels.
“When will they let us in?” she asks, craning her neck to see above the crowd.
Behind us, Tiago shakes his head to make the bells jingle, and Ronnie punches his arm.
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