Page 116 of A Twisted Arrangement

I need a fucking drink, something stronger than the bullshit being served here.

My two younger brothers are still on the sofa when I find them. I reach over Bash’s shoulder and grab the silk pocket square from his jacket. Two eleven-year-olds dressed in suits should look ridiculous, but they’ve been raised for this. Not that they aren’t more than capable of causing chaos if I don’t keep an eye on them.

“Hey. I was looking good.” Bash reaches for the silk fabric, and I lift it out of his reach, pressing it into the cut on my palm.

“I have to step out. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Both their heads tilt at the same time, and they give me matching grins.

Fucking Irish twins. I love them, but they can be creepy as hell.

“Just don’t move, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Of course, big bro.” They nod simultaneously with too-innocent grins.

I groan. I can’t leave them in here alone for long, or they’re likely to set something on fire.

“Be good.”

The second I get outside, I fill my lungs with the crisp night air, washing away the weight of the overly packed hall. I tuck myself behind towering evergreens to my right that provide the perfect hiding spot. The Volkovs carved out this small area for guests who want to smoke without ruining their perfect image. I’d found it when a valet disappeared behind the cover one day, but I’ve never encountered anyone in the year I’ve been coming here. I take out a black flask from the inside pocket of my jacket and twist the cap.

If there’s ever been a night I need a bit of numbness, it’s tonight.

The cool liquid burns the back of my throat as I drink it down, and I nearly choke on my cough. Thank God Damon’s not here, or I’d never hear the end of it.

I watch the parking lot through the small gap in the bushes. There’s a seemingly endless line of black luxury cars, all looking nearly identical, even though they’re different models. In a world of power, sameness has an odd hold on these people.

I swallow more whiskey, the taste swiftly morphing from a burn to a smooth warmth. It had been buried in the back of my father’s cabinet, so it probably cost a fortune. He’ll kill me if he finds out, but thankfully, I never get caught.

The door opens beside me, and I disappear deeper into the shadows. It’s only when I catch the red of Scarlet’s dress that I step out, grasping her wrist and tugging her into hiding. I cover her mouth and pin her against the wall before she can scream and keep her there, wide eyes on me, until she calms down.

“You’re not going to scream, right?” I tease, and I can’t help my smirk. There’s just something about her that brings out this side of me. Having her this close is a mistake. Her skin’s warm from dancing, and her vanilla citrus scent fills my nose. Her soft panting breath, still rapid from the scare of being dragged in here, tickles my neck, sending shivers along my back. I’ve never been this close to her, and it’s fucking with my head. I rip myself away before I do something stupid, like kiss her.

She rolls her eyes dramatically when I cross my arms, putting a semblance of a barrier between us, and whisper, “We need to stop meeting like this, or I’m going to think you’re following me.”

“You wish,” she replies without missing a beat, her voice as soft as mine, but her poised demeanor doesn’t snap back into place. Instead, her eyes travel over me, and pink covers her cheeks.

“You blushing for me, princess?”

“Have you always been this delusional?”

This isn’t the first time we’ve run into each other in a tucked-away spot, both escaping the hell that is one of these parties. I’ve given up on telling her to get lost; I never could follow through on making her. I’m almost used to it now, her presence close in a quiet space, bickering with me about nonsense.

Almostanticipateit.

I take a swig and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “You looked like you were having fun in there.”

Her blush vanishes, a sickening paleness taking its place, and an urge to walk back in there and beat the shit out of that old man settles into my gut. I hand her my flask. “Drink it. You look like you need it.”

She chokes on it, covering her mouth as she stifles her cough. “What the hell is that?”

I shrug and take it back, easily taking another drink. I didn’t tell her I had the same reaction minutes earlier.

“You’re so prissy.”

She ignores my comment, instead grabbing my hand that’s wrapped in silk fabric. Blood had soaked through, turning it a deep red.

“What happened to your hand?” She takes it in her delicate fingers, careful not to touch the cut.

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