Page 57 of Don't You Pucking Dare

"No." She turns to me, mascara smudged but eyes clear. "I know him. He's different with you."

The alcohol loosens my tongue. "It has something to do with my father. It’s not even for me." I raise my eyebrows.

She grins. "Welcome to our world."

I spit a laugh. "I’m being blackmailed and used. My mom is in––forget it," I sigh. "Everything's so messed up."

She falls against me, smelling like vodka and Chanel. "Tell me about it, but that’s why we're here and drunk." She smiles, dropping her head to my shoulder. "Let’s forget our problems… just for the night."

"I’ve never been this drunk before." The words feel heavy. "Where even are we?"

She giggles, "At a Reaper party. I think we became best friends tonight."

"Shit… a Reaper party? This isn’t good. It’s not a good place."

Then the garden goes quiet. Even the party sounds fade away. Amanda freezes. "Do you hear that?"

The crunch of gravel makes Amanda rigid. "Tell me you fucking heard that."

My alcohol-soaked brain takes too long to process the sound of footsteps. Through the dark archway of hedges, a figure emerges—wrong height, wrong stance. Not Brody's mask, but one I've seen before.

Amanda's gone before I can process what’s happening, the click of her boots fading into the maze. Each step takes her further away until there's nothing but silence and moonlight and me.

And Jack.

"Where are you going?" I ask Amanda, but she’s gone. "Come back!"

"Well, well… hello, Lola." My name in his mouth sounds like a promise of violence. "All alone in the garden?"

"No, my friend––"

He smiles. "Left you alone in this garden."

I try to stand but the tequila makes everything tilt. The stone bench holds me prisoner as he moves closer, each step measured and deliberate.

"You made a very big mistake, Duchess." His mask catches the moonlight. "I offered you protection. Instead, you chose him." He's close enough now that I smell copper and expensive cologne. "Your boyfriend can't save you from what's coming."

"I don't—" My tongue feels thick, useless. "I don't have a boyfriend."

But the words don't matter. What matters is that I'm alone in this maze with a man who knows how to make people scream. And no one can hear me over the music that is in fact still loud in the distance.

I continue, slurred words and all, "And you pulled a gun on me, told me I had to fuck you to get that protection. I wouldn’t say I made a very big mistake, Jackass."

His smile turns wicked. "Baby girl––"

"Does the deal still stand?" I ask, wondering which direction this is going to go.

His lips twitch. "Well, looks like you’re learning how to play, little mouse."

I smile. "If I’m the mouse then you’re the pussy?"

His laughs. "Got me there."

He watches me closely, and I’m so drunk I can barely comprehend what’s even being said. I search my memory for what I’m supposed to be doing tonight, and that is: taking thesemotherfuckers down. Wait, my mom is in a trunk somewhere. I inhale. I have to get my shit together.

"If you want me to protect you tonight, get on your fucking knees," he whispers.

I stare up into his eyes. He’s hot and tall, covered in tattoos that burn in my memory, but his face isn’t as nice as Brody’s. Plus he has a shitty, entitled attitude. Such a turn off. Too bad. And he can’t be serious, asking me to get on my knees. What is it with fucking my mouth? I don’t have lip fillers. I would say I have fuckable lips, but goddamn, they all want the wrong hole.

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