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33
Pen
Xeno grips my hand tightly and pulls me through the crowd behind him. My cheeks are flushed from York’s kisses, but it’s Xeno’s urgency that has my heart racing.
“This way,” he demands. His voice is strained, angry. I try to pull my arm out of his hold, but he just yanks harder.
“Let me go!” I hiss, slamming the flat of my hand against his bicep.
“Don’t fucking test me, Pen!”
When we reach one of the rooms situated off of the dancefloor, he kicks it open with his foot. The room is dimly lit and there’s nothing in the space but a loveseat against one wall, a cabinet against the other and a weird cross thing with silver hoops at either end, a rope threaded through it. He yanks me inside the room and my stupid heel on Clancy’s shoe snaps, pitching me forward. Shit. She’ll murder me. These are her favourites.
“Sit the fuck down!” he roars, pointing to the loveseat as he shoves me away from him. I stumble on unsteady legs, only to be held upright by two strong hands.
“What the fuck, Xeno?!” Zayn shouts, steadying me on my feet as York comes barrelling into the room behind him. He takes two steps towards Xeno, then punches him in the face. Xeno stumbles back from the force, but he corrects himself quickly and within a couple of steps has his forehead pressing against York’s. He’s vibrating with anger, but he doesn’t fight back. For a few seconds they remain head to head, their nostrils flaring.
“Come on then. Fucking give it to me!” Xeno taunts, a nasty sneer on his face.
York pushes against his chest. “DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH HER LIKE THAT AGAIN!” he yells.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
I whip my head around and watch Dax enter the room. He’s so huge, he practically fills the whole doorway. Xeno and York don’t acknowledge him, and Zayn’s gaze remains fixed on his bestfriends going head to head. I catch Dax’s eye as he steps slowly into the room and closes the door behind him, locking it. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes that has me swallowing hard.
Fuck. It’s just me and them.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, motherfucker? To push me to act and now that I have, you don’t fucking like it? Well, fuck you and your damn games, York,” Xeno snarls back, blind rage making him seethe.
“I’ve been pushing you to open your motherfucking eyes! To see what’s right in front of your stubborn arse face. She doesn’t know anything. Can’t you see that? Can’t you fucking see that she’s a goddamn victim in all of this?”
Xeno’s gaze flicks to me, and I can only stare open-mouthed, trying to wrap my head around what the fuck’s happening. What don’t I know anything about? What does he mean by victim? What do they think they know?
“Stop fucking talking, York,” Xeno warns, focusing back on me as Zayn’s arms tighten around my waist. “Pen here has a habit of listening in on conversations she shouldn’t.”
“Screw you, Xeno. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this room,” I snap, but it comes out choked.
“Listen, Pen—” Xeno starts but Zayn cuts him off this time.
“No, shithead. You need to listen for once. You’re so fucking blinded by your anger and the betrayal you still feel that you can’t see this for what it is. I never took you for a fool, but fuck, man, you’re the biggest fool there is.”
“Get her out of here. Right the fuck now!” Xeno shouts.
No one moves.
It’s like a damn standoff, and I’ve had it. I’ve fucking had it.
The silence is deafening until music begins to play into the room. The haunting voice of Jacob Lee singingDemonsfills the space. It couldn’t be a more perfect song. The beat of the drum echoes the pounding beat of my heart and the throbbing tension surrounding us. This song has a dangerous side to it, a darkness that sits right in the pit of your stomach. It’s sensual, but edged in threat. Like the blunt edge of a knife running over bare skin, or the coarseness of a rope wrapped around your wrists, just like the one hanging from the cross.
Making a split second decision, I kick off my shoes, shrug out of Zayn’s hold, and walk slowly over to the rope, swaying my hips to the beat of the music.
Picking up the end of the rope, I grasp it in my hand and step slowly backwards letting it unravel onto the floor. With my back to the Breakers, I spread my legs, drop my head backwards and raise my hands up in the air, the length of rope dangling from my clasped fingers. Holding onto the end of the rope with one hand, I curl my other hand around the thickness, then widen my arms slowly before snapping the rope taut above my head.
My heart pounds so loudly that it rivals the beat of the song. My body trembles with what I’m doing, but I have to get them to understand. Feeling like this, so fucking caught up in this mess is like a rope around our necks. We need to sever it. We need to be free from all this bullshit between us. Lifting my leg, I wrap it around the section of rope hanging from my hands, then spin to face my Breakers.
Jacob Lee sings about internal demons, about secrets and betrayal. His words are the darkness that throbs between us all, the pain and the anguish. The bass vibrates up through the floorboards, every beat echoing my thrashing heart as I lower the rope over my shoulders, so it hangs around me like a necklace.
I see anger. I see desire. I see hurt. I see lust.
