Page 14 of Don't You Pucking Dare

We're halfway to the kitchen when I feel it again— that same crawling sensation from earlier today. Someone watching. I turn, searching the crowd, and catch a glimpse of eyes that stops my heart.

Among the masked figures stands one without a costume. He's staring directly at me.

And he's holding my music composition that’s supposed to be in my bag.

I touch my purse as if he had taken it right then and there and realize I don’t recall taking it out of my bag in my dorm. He dropped the invite and took my music comp book?

I stare… studying him like my life depends on it.

I need my book back.

Chapter 8

She walks in like she's stepping into another world. The black dress is a nice touch— trying to blend in with the darkness. Cute.

I hang back, watching her and her purple-haired friend navigate through my territory. Every move she makes tells a story: the way she clutches her drink like a shield, how her eyes keep darting to the exits, the nervous shift of her weight from foot to foot. Little prey animal sensing danger.

"Your girl cleans up nice." Jack says beside me, already three drinks in. He's got her composition book dangling from his fingers like bait. "Didn't think she'd show."

"That's because you don't understand good girls. They're all dying to be bad— they just need the right invitation."

"If you fuck this up..." Jack's eyes follow Lola like a shark scenting blood. "Dibs."

"Not happening." My voice comes out harder than intended. "She's mine."

"We'll see." He watches her, but I catch his meaning. If I can't break her the way the Reapers want, someone else will.

The bass thrums through the floor like a heartbeat as I track her through the house. She feels our stare— I can tell by the way her spine stiffens, how she keeps glancing over her shoulder. When our eyes finally meet, she tries to hold my gaze. Points for courage. But her eyes move and she notices her composition book in Jack’s hand.

They have a moment, and she looks furious.

I snatch the journal out of his hands, which makes her eyes dart to mine.

Jack says, "I’m gonna fuck her, dude." He laughs, swigging his drink. "I don’t give a fuck what you say. We can share."

Her friend whispers something in her ear, both of them stealing glances my way. Lola rolls her eyes, playing brave, but her pulse is visible in her throat.

Good. She should be scared.

I step toe to toe with Jack. "This is business, so you don’t have dibs, alright? There is no sharing, and if you fuck this up and get in the way, I promise that you’re going to pay for it."

He starts clapping. "Black has balls, does he now? Fine, but I don’t play by anyone’s fucking rules."

I scoff. I fucking hate this guy. "Then so be it, but you’re not going to get in the fucking way, Jack. Stay in your lane."

I force myself to walk away— Jack is already in with the Reapers, passed his initiation, so there’s no denying what he’s capable of. I steal a last glance at Lola. She’s watching me walk away with her journal. I need to keep this as leverage, and this time I’ll make sure Jack can’t fucking find it either.

The kitchen offers temporary sanctuary, but even the whiskey can't drown out the thought that Jack might fuck this all up for me. Lola looks fire in that black dress. I escape to the back porch, where the music bleeds into background noise.

"Getting cold feet?" Caleb appears. He claps my shoulder.

I match his grin, playing the game. "Just getting started. College is everything Jackson said it would be."

A leggy blonde walks by, and Caleb's gone like a dog after a rabbit. Predictable.

Back inside, the crowd's gotten thicker, sweatier. I scan the room for Lola and find her—

Pinned against the wall by some fuck with his hands on her.

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