Page 16 of Reckless Hearts

“You know we wouldn’t intentionally hurt you, right?”

I’m starting to.“I know.”

“Last night was a test run, baby. I think I can speak for both myself and Wes when I say that we’d like to see you again.” His warm, sulphuric breath fans the shell of my ear as he backs me against the door, his raw, natural scent drawing me in. “You were perfect, Tatum,” he whispers.

And just like that, he has me soaked between my legs.

Focus, Tatum.

His mouth hovers over my neck for a moment before he pulls back. “Now, go and find your boy.”

He steps away, letting me face the door. As I reach for the handle, I pause.

“I’m Ash, by the way,” Not-Wes says. I stop, his voice drawing me back. “In case you want to scream my name for real next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, smiling at the thought of a possible next time, as I leave the room and close the door on another chapter of my messed-up life.

9

It’s barely even daylight as I descend the final step into the entryway, where less than twelve hours ago I stood, full of excitement and eager anticipation, oblivious to how the night would unfold. Despite the early hour, everything feels clearer somehow. Every room is empty. There’s nobody here. It’s almost like the party never happened.

But the stack of pizza boxes covering a portion of the worktop, and a cluster of bin bags by the back door tells me otherwise. On the kitchen island, there’s a takeaway coffee cup with my name scrawled across it, a brown paper bag, and... my phone. On the assumption that there’s only one person in this house who this was meant for, I open the bag.

The almond croissant has me salivating, just thinking about that sweet, buttery fix I’ve been craving. I take a big bite, savouring the flaky layers, and pop open the lid of my coffee. As soon as I breathe in the warm, spicy aroma of my pumpkin spice latte, that sugary cinnamon goodness hits me, making this October staple feel like the perfect cosy treat.

I wrap up the croissant and head outside with my breakfast, stepping around a small mountain of bin bags by the back door. I make a mental note to find the wheelie bin and deal with the mess—it's the least I can do after bailing on a party to fuck not one, but two random strangers.

The morning air is eerily quiet, an unsettling kind of calm that makes me wonder where everyone has gone. I sink into the outdoor sofa, eyes drifting across the empty garden as I unlock my phone and open my gallery. The screen fills with videos—clips of me, ‘Wes,’ and ‘Trick,’ all so familiar, yet now carrying a different weight. One video, in particular, catches my eye—a shot of me, unconscious on a bed.

I hit play, anticipation mingling with a strange sense of satisfaction. In the video, Wes—his slighter frame unmistakable—moves toward my still body. I watch with rapt attention as he injects a clear liquid into my arm, the syringe vanishing as quickly as it appeared. A slow smile tugs at my lips as he heats the blade of a knife with a lighter, the flickering flame illuminating the dark room. My pulse quickens, not with fear, but with the thrill of seeing him press the glowing blade to my skin, carving into my flesh with deliberate precision.

I continue watching, captivated, as they take turns marking me. Each incision is a claim, a testament to something I can’t quite name but know I crave. Wes eventually dresses my wound with practiced care, his touch both tender and possessive, before pulling the sheet over my body. The camera cuts out, leaving me with the image of my seemingly peaceful self, a stark contrast to the excitement thrumming just beneath my skin.

Without hesitation, I lift my T-shirt and peel away the dressing, hissing softly as fresh blood oozes from the wound. The sight is raw, visceral, but it doesn’t repel me. It draws me in. The pain is muted, almost an afterthought, drowned out by the satisfaction of knowing those marks are mine. How did I notfeel this last night? And why do I barely feel it now? I press my fingers gently against the wound, a shiver of pleasure running through me. The peaceful morning around me feels like a facade, masking the dark, thrilling secret I now carry, etched into my flesh.

Unknown: Enjoying your breakfast?

Startled, I jerk my head up, tugging the T-shirt down and quickly closing the video. The screen goes dark, my reflection staring back at me with wide eyes and a racing heart. Then, something else catches my eye—a shadowy figure, just behind me, mirrored in the black glass.

My breath hitches, heart pounding in my throat. I whip around, but the space behind me is empty, the morning air still and silent. A nervous laugh escapes me, tinged with the edge of doubt. Either I'm losing my mind, or he’s really fucking good at lurking in the shadows. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement twisting in my gut. I can't tell if I want him to be there or if the idea terrifies me more than I’m willing to admit.

Did he just happen to guess that I’m a pumpkin spice fan? That almond croissants are my ultimate comfort food? The thought sends a chill down my spine. Maybe he’s been watching me longer than I realised. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this, clutching at something real so last night doesn’t have to end here.

Maybe I shouldn’t like that idea so much.

I counter his question with ayou got mein the hope that I’ll finally get to see his face. After all, I was well and truly tricked—it’s the least I deserve. What’s one more rule being broken at this point?

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I whisper to myself, a mix of challenge and anticipation lacing my voice. Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my hand, startling me.

Unknown: Tatum.

I watch the bubbles dance across the screen, eagerly awaiting the message.

Unknown: My sweet, haunted house.

My heart pounds with anticipation as I sense his presence before I see him. Finally, the real Wes steps out of the shadows, a dark force dressed in black, his figure imposing and magnetic. The colorful ink on his thigh peeks through the rips in his jeans, vibrant against the monochrome of his outfit. He’s impossible to ignore, every inch of him demanding my attention.

I suck in a breath, steeling myself for the moment I’ve been both dreading and craving. Slowly, I lift my gaze to his. His face is obscured beneath a black hood, but I can just make out a straight nose and a sharp jaw, half-hidden in shadow. The details are teasingly out of reach, keeping him cloaked in mystery.

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