Page 63 of Oblivion

Unlike what I’d assume most college parties look like, Kingsacre parties are an excuse for the organizer to show off. Instead of bonfires and kegs, we have LED dance floors, full DJ setups, and a fully stocked bar manned by several bartenders, all in the middle of the woods.

Turning so I’m facing my friends but can still see the girls, I wait for the questions that I know must be coming.

“Sooo…” Clay asks.

“Sooo?” I mimic back.

“I think we’re all wondering why Sammy isn’t screaming the house down, cutting the tracker from her skin and making a run for it?” Bastian asks succinctly.

“Because she knows she’s mine, and this is where she belongs,” I deadpan.

“Bullshit,” Hunter snickers. “Are you blackmailing her?”

“Unlike you,” I snark. “I don’t have to blackmail my woman into my bed.”

“So, you’re together, just like that?” Clay asks, shock and suspicion lacing his tone.

“Yep,” I say, popping the letter p like an asshole.

“And she’s not fighting?” Hunter asks.

“I didn’t say that.” I chuckle.

While Clay and Hunter question me, Bastian stares at me, assessing my expression curiously. “Where did you tag her?” he asks, his attention going to Starling every few seconds like he’s ensuring he never loses sight of her.

I let my own eyes scan the crowd of people until I find Sammy, dancing in the middle of the group of girls. Once I’m satisfied that she’s not grinding her ass on some unsuspecting guy, I turn my attention back to Bastian.

“On her scalp above her ear, between her shoulders, and on her ankle.” I admit.

“Does she know?” Clay asks.

“No, and she doesn’t need to,” I tell him pointedly.

“Are you worried she’ll run?” Hunter asks.

“No,” I answer honestly.

“No?” he questions.

“No. She knows I’ll never let her, and deep down, she doesn’t want to. She rebelled when she agreed to marry that douche. But in a couple of days, I caught her and brought her home because this is where she wants to be. She understands fleeing isn’t an option.”

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Four virgin mango margaritas and four beers, please,” I tell him.

“Virgin?” Bastian asks, his brow arched in question.

“Sammy won’t be drinking from now on,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Does she know that?” Hunter chuckles.

“Not yet. I already arranged for all of the wine coolers the girls like to be swapped for non-alcoholic ones, but with the regular labels on them.”

“Why?” Clay asks.

“Because I won’t allow her to drink alcohol while she’s pregnant with my baby.”

The bartender slides the drinks across the bar to me while my friends stay frozen, staring at me incredulously. Using their moment of shock to avoid answering questions, I grab the tray of drinks and leave, striding through the crowd until I reach the girls.

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