Page 4 of Wicked Scorn
“Oakley…” Her name’s a whisper on my lips, drowned out by the chaos of this party, but she doesn’t hear me, lost in her own little world amidst the madness. I need her attention, need those crystal blue eyes on me.
“Oakley!” Louder this time. And just like that, I’m close enough to reach out, to pull her away from all this noise and into the quiet battle building within myself. Because I can’t fucking stand it anymore—the distance, the silence. It’s been too long, and right now, I’m nothing but raw need wrapped in human skin. I need her to be part of my life, and this is my second shot at it.
“Jeremiah?” She turns, and there’s a flicker of recognition, a spark that ignites something dangerous within me. Her gaze locks onto mine, and it’s like we’re the only two people in this godforsaken place.
“Hey, bunny.” My voice conveys every emotion I’ve been harboring, rough around the edges but sincere as hell. “It’s been a while.”
Her eyes widen, those deep royal pools drowning in a storm of emotions. She stumbles a step closer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me—something light and slightlyfloral. Something that reminds me of her virtue in this fucked up world.
“Oakley, what the hell are you doing here?” my voice cuts through the noise. She’s the only person that could cause the kind of volcanic explosion that is threatening to spill out of me.
“Jeremiah Blackwood,” she slurs, her eyes wide with a drunken innocence that doesn’t fool anyone. “Fancy seeing you here.”
She lets out a scream, loud enough to slice through the bass. And then the words I never wanted to hear spill from her pouty little mouth. “Ugh, I fucking hate you!”
It’s a slap to the face, a punch to the gut. The crowd’s noise fades into a dull roar, her voice the only clear sound in my head.
“Hey man, what the fuck? Get your own bitch!” A frat boy, all smug grin and cheap cologne, steps up, his glare stabbing at me.
“Back off,” I growl, low and menacing. He’s just another obstacle between me and Oakley, and I don’t have time for this shit.
“Make me.” That’s his mistake.
The frat boy’s eyes widen as I step in, my voice a dangerous purr. “Shut the fuck up and get out of my face unless you want to end up buried in a canyon.” My words are laced with venom, a clear threat that chills the air between us.
He hesitates, his bravado crumbling under the weight of my gaze. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze darts around, looking for an escape. And like the coward he is, he backs away, slinking back into the circle jerk of frat bros that are standing behind him. Like little cookie cutters of each other with their Greek letters displayed proudly acrosstheir chests. I make eye contact with each of them, daring someone to step to me. The need for a little bloodshed is thrumming underneath my skin, but they all avert their own gazes, one by one.
I turn my attention back to Oakley, her eyes glazed with something more than alcohol—a vulnerability that fucking rips at my insides. She giggles, a sound that’s both sweet and sad, directed at the retreating figure of the frat boy. “I wasn’t even going to fuck you,” she says, and there’s a defiance there, a spark of the girl I knew before everything went to hell. The girl that was all sunshine unless you made her mad and then you got a little demon.
Her words hang heavy, tinted with amusement that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I’m caught in the moment, watching her lips curve into a mischievous smile, the sound of her laughter mixing with the thumping sounds around us. It’s intoxicating, and for a second, I forget the chaos, the heat of bodies pressing close, and the sticky floor. I forget the fuck boy still glaring at me from his circle of ‘protection’.
“Christ, Oakley,” I mutter under my breath, the need to protect her gnawing at me. Her innocence is a red fucking flag, and I’m drawn to it, the darkness in me craving the light she exudes, even now.
“Jeremiah,” she slurs again, reaching out to me with a fidgety hand, her movements clumsy yet somehow still graceful. “You’re here.”
“Always,” I reply, the irony not lost on me. Always, except when it mattered most. She went from I hate you to you’re here and I know if she was sober, I wouldn’t be getting the back and forth. I catch her hand, steadying her, feeling the softness of her skin against mine, the contrast sending a jolt through me that I have never felt with another person.
“Let’s get you out of this mess, bunny,” I say, but the pet name feels like a betrayal on my tongue right now. My guilt gnawing at me and warring with my need to get Oakley out of here and to myself. I have questions.
She leans into me, her body warm and pliant, her head tilting back to look at me, her expression a complicated tangle of emotions I can’t begin to decipher. “Why do you care, Jeremiah?” she asks, her voice a whisper that cuts through the noise.
“Because I never stopped,” I confess, the words slipping out before I can stop them. Because it’s the truth, no matter how fucked up this whole situation is.
“Fuck off, pretty boy,” she snaps, using the old nickname, and my patience has fucking run out as well. Before she can protest further, I bend down and hoist her up and toss her over my shoulder. Her legs kick, her hands smack against my back, but it’s no use. I place one hand at the bottom of her ass where it meets her leg to keep her fucking flirty dress down. She won’t be fucking flashing anyone at this goddamn party.
“Put me down, you neanderthal!” Oakley screeches, but I just tighten my grip, my jaw set in determination.
And as I guide her through the throng of bodies with her weight leaning on my shoulder, I know I’m fucked. Now that I have eyes on her again, hell, now that I have hands on her again and I can feel her fucking heartbeat through her damn thighs…I’m not letting her out of my sight again. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is getting Oakley safe, away from prying eyes and hands that aren’t mine.
Tomorrow I’ll decide who’s getting their ass beat for thinking they could look at her tonight.
“Fuck,” I curse softly as I navigate the maze of intoxicated college kids. This isn’t love or lust—it’s obsession, a feeling Ihaven’t been able to shake in the last three years. And as much as I hate myself for it, I relish the feel of her against me.
I look down at her legs and I know there’s nothing pure about what I’m feeling. It’s desire, raw and unyielding, and it scares the shit out of me because Oakley is the only one I’ve ever felt this way with.
“Jesus, Jere, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” my brother says, unable to hide his amusement.
“Shut up, Lincoln,” I grunt without turning back. “And help me get her out of here before she pukes on my shoes.”
