Page 48 of Inception

“Believe me,” he grumbled. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder then. Shouldn’t this already be like second nature to you by now?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning in again.

I matched his advance. “It means, you should have plenty experience staying out of my life since you’ve pretty much treated me like I was the Plague ever since I moved here.”

He raised his brows slightly. “Is that what you think?”

“Are you saying it’s not true?”

His eyes flickered down to my mouth. Something flashed through them though it was gone before I could make it out.

“All I’m saying is, I think you should be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” I scoffed, though it lacked punch.

He seemed to be assessing me again, looking for unspecified particulars on my face, in my body language. “What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been there that night? If I didn’t come out when I did?”

I felt a cold chill zip down my spine. I know exactly what would have happened if Trace hadn’t been there to save me.

“Yeah, it’s none of my business,” he agreed, leaning back again. “But if I were you, I’d make sure I was ready fornext time.”

“Next time?” I repeated incredulously. I hadn’t exactly thought as far asnext time, or what I might do if I came face to face with another one. I was still pretty swamped with trying to forget the last time. I crossed my arms in defiance. “I’m not planning on a next time.”

He laughed grimly. “Life doesn’t give a shit about your plans.” There was real truculence there, dark undertones of anger, and pain, and regret. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of this had to do with his sister—with her murder.

Even though what happened to his sister and what happened to me the other night were completely different and unrelated, I could see howhemight equate the two. And I could certainly understand where he was coming from, and the point that he was trying to make, despite its crude delivery. We lived in a dangerous world, and the bottom line was that I needed to learn how to defend myself against predators—whether the human variety, or otherwise.

I nodded weakly, the only response I was willing to give.

He licked his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Like I said, none of my business.”

15. FACE OFF

Dominic arrived at the house around a quarter past nine, dressed to kill in black slacks and a button-down dress shirt. He had a penchant for black clothing, it would seem, though I could hardly be persuaded to mind. It made his skin and hair absolutely glow in contrast, and when necessary, allowed me to easily coordinate my own outfit—dark jeans and a simple black lace camisole.

Like most of the privileged people from these parts, Caleb and Carly’s house sat at the base of a cul-de-sac in a gated neighborhood not far from my uncle’s house. The grand moonbeam-colored house was lit up with spotlights and was belting out music that reached far past the borders of their sprawling front yard. It was a packed house, evidenced by the circular driveway filled to the brim with cars that spilled out onto the surrounding street, forcing us to park several houses down.

An obscene ice sculpture greeted us on the front stoop.

“Is that a—”

“Indeed it is,” answered Dominic as he ticked his chin to a sign that read, “Enter all ye who like to party.”

There was no way Carly approved this. “How gross.”

Dominic walked in ahead of me, towing me behind him as I acclimated to the change of scenery, to the watchful eyes. It was dark inside, heated, and loud, with people packed in at every corner—dancing, grinding, chatting in small groups, and throwing back questionable drinks from oversized, red plastic cups. One could easily be swallowed up by a crowd like this but Dominic glided through it with ease. It was like the parting of the seas the way people stepped out of his path; girls snapping their necks around to look at him, to devour him with their eyes as he passed. I wondered if he knew the effect he had on the opposite sex. The sheer desire he incited in them.

He had to know. Nobody could bethatoblivious.

Taylor came sailing out of the kitchen as soon as she saw us round the corner, her golden hair bouncing freely around her back as a look of mischief danced across her face. I caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces over her shoulder, namely a disinterested Trace who was leaning back against a counter, his personal space completely swallowed up by a brunette in a skintight blue dress—undoubtedly Nikki.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” she squealed, throwing her arms around my neck and bouncing us around like a jackrabbit.

She pulled back and eyed Dominic, grinning her approval.

“This is my friend Taylor,” I bellowed over the music, making an official introduction.

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