Page 54 of Deadly Sacrifice

Asher rolls his eyes. “Yeah, until you fucked up at that party and ruined your chances. Anyway,” he trails off, turning to Griff again, whose eyes are downcast. “You haven’t put in any effort. What happens when they find out?”

Griffin shrugs, not raising his eyes while he signs, I don’t think I care anymore.

“Dammit, Griffin!” Asher snaps. “They could kill you.”

When Griffin looks up, his eyes are as empty as his expression. So let them.

28

Prudence

I’m sprawled out on the top of my bed, earbuds in while I do homework. I have classical music playing softly, just for some calming background noise while I try to make sense of math. The bedroom door opens, and I look up as Annie slips in with a deep frown. Tugging out one of my earbuds, I study her and ask, “What’s wrong?”

I know, dumb question. Her ex is a cheating, manipulative dick, and he caused a scene in front of a bunch of people the other day while trying to manhandle her out of the cafeteria. Oh, and he hit me. Good times.

Annie shakes her head, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over her chest. “Just saw Mark outside. I was having such a good day too, until he started walking across the street like he had more bullshit to spew my way.”

I sit up, tucking my worksheet into my math textbook before shutting it. “Are you alright?” I ask carefully. Nothing looks wrong physically, so I’m confident he didn’t get his hands on her, but fuck, the guy can certainly cut her just as deep with his words.

She shrugs, walking with heavy feet to her bed and sitting down. “I rushed inside before he could make it to the front lawn,” she mumbles, tucking her silky black hair behind her ear. “He scares me. But what am I supposed to do? Hide away for the next three years of college and pray that he doesn’t ever get me alone? Hope that eventually, he’ll give it up and forget about me?” She rolls her eyes, flopping backward and sicking into the plush mattress. “This is the most miserable life ever.”

I get up and walk the few feet from my bed to hers, laying down beside her and staring up at the ceiling. “Pretty sure I might have you beat there, but I don’t want to brag or anything,” I joke, earning a soft laugh from her.

Annie turns to look at me with a barely there smile and a rare spark in her eyes. “Want to get drunk and bake cookies with me?”

I blink at her, my own smile curling up my lips. “Um, hell yeah, I do.”

***

“Oh, fuck, shit,” I breathe out through my drunken giggles.

Annie is leaning on the counter on her elbows, a hand slapped over her mouth as she tries to contain herself. “These are going to taste so bad,” she whisper-shouts at me.

Undoubtedly. I’ve never baked cookies from scratch in my entire life. I grew up on the tub of pre-made cookie dough that you just popped into the oven whenever you wanted.

“It’s not my fault!” I argue with a giant smile, swiping off the flour that I just spilled all over the counter. There’s not much I can do with the large amount I accidentally poured into the bowl, though. I may have read the recipe wrong through my tipsy haze and Annie was too slow to correct me.

She tosses back another vodka shot and then hip-bumps me out of the way, taking the wooden spoon out of my hands as she goes. “My turn. You’re a mess,” she sasses.

“This was your idea,” I point out while I pour myself another shot. I hiss through the burn in my throat after downing it, and then shrug. “We’ll just leave them out on the counter. Whoever wants to do a taste test is more than welcome. But it won’t be me.”

Annie hums in agreement, mixing the ingredients together and tossing in things by eye like some cute, experienced baker. Once we get the disaster cookies into the oven, she turns to me, swaying a little on her feet. “In the mood for a movie?” she slurs, wiggling her brows. “Magic Mike, perhaps?”

I groan in appreciation, nodding and taking her hand to drag her into the living room. “Yes fucking please,” I answer.

We get the movie on, and a couple of other girls end up joining us in the living room for the night, all of us howling and whistling whenever the guys on the TV grind all over the stage. At some point, most of the others clear out of the room, and Annie and I end up knocked out on the couch.

I wake up the next morning, squinting through the bright sunlight coming in through the windows. I stretch and groan, accidentally kicking Annie’s leg. She grumbles in her sleep, turning over to her side and curling up into a ball. The thought of sleeping off my hangover is nearly orgasmic, and I almost settle back in for a few more hours.

Until I remember something.

Jerking upright, I say, “Shit, Annie! The cookies!”

She springs up in a second, deep brown eyes wide, both of us looking over to the kitchen. I don’t know about her, but I’m fully expecting the space to be filled with smoke and flames. It’s not, thankfully. I can’t afford the cost of this place if it burns down.

She stands first, and I follow her over to the kitchen. “Well, this is a first,” Annie drawls, opening the oven to show me the raw dough still sitting in little globs. “We didn’t turn the fucking oven on,” she adds, turning back to me. “We’re pathetic.”

A laugh tumbles out of me. “Honestly, I had no intention of eating those, anyway. But we had fun and got your mind off of Mark. That was the point, right?”

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