I shake my head, trying to force air into lungs that feel two sizes too small. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Bullshit,” Kayla says, stepping closer, her eyes narrowed. “Who is that guy? What did he want?”
“Nobody,” I grit out, scanning the street for any sign of our taxi. “Just some drunk asshole.”
Mark watches me with knowing eyes but says nothing, just places a steadying hand on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off, to retreat into the protective shell I’ve built over the past five years, but I’m afraid I might collapse without the support.
The cab finally turns the corner, headlights sweeping across us. I step forward, waving frantically. The moment it pulls to the curb, I yank the back door open and slide across the seat, putting as much distance between myself and the frat house as possible.
Rina slides in beside me, with Kayla taking the front passenger seat. Mark folds his tall frame into the remaining space, pulling the door shut behind him. As the taxi pulls away from the curb, I allow myself one glance back.
Alex stands alone at the edge of the property, a dark silhouette against the gaudy lights of the frat house. Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of his stare.
I press my hand against my chest, trying to calm the painful hammering of my heart. The taxi turns a corner, and Alex disappears from view. I wipe at my face, erasing any trace of emotion that might have leaked through. The lingering scent of his cologne clings to my wrist where he grabbed me, a ghost I can’t quite shake.
Beside me, Rina and Mark exchange concerned glances. I stare fixedly out the window, watching the college town blur past, determined not to meet their eyes. Let them think what they want. It’s better than the truth—that five years and hundreds of miles weren’t enough to escape Alexander Orlov’s orbit. That one look from those ice-blue eyes was all it took tomake me feel eighteen again, terrified and exhilarated and utterly lost.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a sharp breath. No. I left that life behind. Alex Orlov might be a ghost from my past, but I’ll be damned if I let him haunt my present.
4
Alex
THE SIREN IS A dump. Not the artistic kind of dump with character or history—just a regular shithole with sticky floors and the stench of stale cigarette smoke clinging to every surface. I’ve been here for an hour, nursing a watered-down whiskey I don’t even want, strategically positioned in the darkest corner where the lights don’t reach. Perfect for watching without being watched. Perfect for waiting for Vincent to materialize on that stage.
It’s been a week since I saw him at the frat party, and I still can’t get the image out of my head—Vincent, half-naked and glittering, performing for a crowd of drunk college idiots. The boy who used to dance ballet in the moonlight. The one person who made living under my father’s roof bearable.
I drain the rest of my drink, grimacing at the burn. The music pounds against my skull. On stage, a man with electric blue hair works the pole mechanically, his eyes vacant as hecollects bills. The crowd isn’t exactly enthusiastic. They’re waiting for something better.
Someone better.
I check my phone. 11:47 PM. According to the schedule I memorized from the club’s website—and isn’t that pathetic—Vincent should be on in thirteen minutes. The “Golden Prince,” they call him here. Makes me want to puke.
“You look like you could use another drink.”
I glance up at the stranger who’s materialized beside my table. Tall, gym-built, probably mid-thirties with that specific brand of confidence that comes from money and mediocrity. His smile is too wide for someone I’ve never met.
“I’m good,” I say, voice flat enough to kill the conversation.
He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he slides into the chair across from me, uninvited. “First time at The Siren? I’m a regular. Know all the performers.” He leans in like we’re sharing a secret. “I could introduce you to some of them after the show.”
I stare at him until he shifts uncomfortably. “No.”
“Just trying to be friendly, man.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The Golden Prince is up next. He’s the main attraction. Worth every penny.”
My fingers tighten around my empty glass. “Good to know.”
“You into guys? Because if not, you’re in the wrong section. The female dancers are—”
“I know where I am.” I cut him off.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, just checking. Most straight guys accidentally wander in here and freak when they realize—”
“I’m not most guys.”
“Clearly.” His eyes narrow, reassessing me. “So you’re here for thePrince, then? Can’t blame you. That boy can move like—”
“We done here?” I interrupt again, and this time there’s enough edge in my voice to finally get through his thick skull.
