Page 11 of The Hallows Queen

I put my hands against the doorframe, stepping close to her. “But unless you’re offering those pretty red lips for round two, do you mind moving aside so I can leave?”

She huffs, taken aback by my words, and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s the wrong move, though, because my gaze automatically travels to her cleavage. I grin like a kid in a candy store, still faded from the Xanax, and let my eyes trail down the rest of her body. Her dress is short and black, hugging hips that would be perfect to grab onto while she climbs on top of me.

She clears her throat, and I look back up, seeing that she’s moved to the side. Waving a hand, she motions for me to pass by her. “Go ahead.”

When there’s a tap on my shoulder, I remember the guy I left on his knees across the room. I turn to look at him, and he smirks like we’re sharing a secret. “So, could I get your number or something?”

I chuckle softly, cupping his jaw. “That’s cute, but that isn’t how this works.”

The woman in the doorway snorts, making my attention return to her. “What are you doing still standing here?”

She smiles at me, her perfectly painted lips curving into a grin that feels mischievous. “You’re a fucking dick.”

I blink at her a few times, my face a mask of boredom. “And?”

A confused look passes across her features, telling me she didn’t expect the response she was given – she was looking for an argument. She wanted to be some justice warrior and defend the poor guy I just pumped and dumped into. Her lips drop open a fraction like she’s going to say something, but then she presses them closed again.

Chuckling, I study her green eyes one last time before I step around her and back out into the club, leaving them both behind me.

I go to the bar, order another beer from the blonde who isn’t as friendly now, then go back to the couch and sit down.

The strobing purple lights are starting to fuck up my high and make me dizzy, but not enough that I want to leave. Drinking my beer, my gaze roves over the crowd of sweaty, salacious people on the dance floor. It’s carnal and animalistic how they move with each other, like they’re under a spell.

The concept ofclubbinghas always fascinated me – putting on an outfit you think is sexy enough that someone may want to fuck you by the end of the night, drinking too much and writhing all over friends and strangers alike, only to probably be disappointed when the person you take home can’t make you come the way you want. But they all do it again, the next night or weekend or holiday or random Thursday, forgetting the disappointment they found within these four walls last time.

But who am I to judge? I’m here, disappearing and ignoring my friends when I’m searching for a reason not to slice my wrists for fun, or even when I just need to let go, get fucked up and nut down some random’s throat in the storage room.

We’re all the same at the end of the day, each and every one of us inside Amethyst – desperate for a night away from the life that haunts us in the daylight, the normalcy we’re sick of.

As I scan the crowd, I see some regulars – past hookups or future hookups – each of them abiding by the unspoken rule that we don’t communicate. We don’t come back for seconds or confront the fact that we’re normal faces in this smoky, purple haze of hormones and desperation.

Then my eyes land on two women moving effortlessly together in the middle of the room, the strobing and rotating lights hitting them as they grind and sway with each other. They ignore every thirsty man around them, pretending like they’re the only ones here. I recognize one – the woman from the storage room.

She’s running her hands down the front of her body slowly while she grinds her hips, even as the song picks up tempo and pulses around her. Her head is thrown back in bliss, her eyes closed, and her mouth dropped open a fraction so she can breathe. She shakes her plump ass to the music and my dick swells in my pants. I barely register the girl with her; she might as well be alone because I can’t find one other thing to give my attention to. Her body rolls sensually to the music as one of her hands snakes up into her hair, and she drags her fingers through it to get it out of her face.

I down the rest of my beer, settling back into the couch, content to just watch her for the rest of the night.

After a minute, her friend steps into her and says something against her ear. She scans the crowd for a moment, stopping when her gaze finds mine. She doesn’t do any of the things women typically do when they realize they have my attention – biting their lips, curving their spines to pop their ass out, checking their cleavage – she just stares at me for a moment before she laughs and walks toward me.

I don’t move, I just wait for her to reach me.

She bends so her face is aligned with mine once she reaches me, her hair hanging over her body like a curtain. “Do you need something?”

My brows pull down a touch. “Do Ineedsomething?”

She looks at me the way Logan does sometimes, with wildness and sass that screamsare you dumb?

“Yeah, do you need something?”

I lick my lips, then press them together, sitting forward so we’re just inches apart. “That depends on what you’re offering.”

She cracks a smile and huffs through her nose before she stands up straight, then she waves a hand in front of my body. “I bet this wholehot-broody-tattooed-asshole thingusually works pretty well, huh?”

I smile smugly, crossing my arms over my chest as I take in her delicious body. After a moment, I find her eyes again and cock my jaw to the side. “Usually, yeah.”

She laughs. “Well it’s not going to work on me, so stop watching me.”

Leaning closer, my mind follows a second later, and I run a finger down the center of her body until I reach her stomach. I pout playfully. “You aren’t attracted to me?”

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