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Chapter One
“SO, YOU’RE LIKE, a lesbian or something?”
The lights flashed. Violet turned from the bar, knowing who she’d find. The gray-eyed boy who’d been popping up all night stood beside her stool, one hand in his pocket, his friends not far behind.
“Listen, dipshit”—she smiled at him—“I’m just not interested. You can keep buying my drinks though, if you want.”
He was objectively attractive but forgettable, and he loved himself entirely too much. She snatched her drink off the bar—three fingers of whiskey on the rocks in a cool crystal tumbler that shone against her black nails in the club’s colored lights—and disappeared back into the crowd.
Hands touched her; fingers pressed the smooth leather of her jacket, grazed the rough black denim of her jeans and the smooth skin of her stomach, which was bare below her crop top. Violet gave herself over to it. The night had turned pleasantly soft at the edges three drinks ago, and it didn’t matter that the blonde she’d gone home with a few weeks earlier was pressed against her front, dark eyed and interested again. Violet smiled at her and moved with the music, shedding the weight of the week and reality as she went.
She lived in the haze. Everyone and nobody recognized the mayor’s eldest daughter. She was a regular in places like this, dressed too dark, too revealing, as her bad attitude clung to her like a stain.
“Hey—” Voices tried to interrupt. She brushed them off with a smirk or a middle finger, dancing just to feel eyes on her and to try to feel nothing at all.
When her momentum finally broke, she peeled a red-headed woman’s hands off her, eyed her appreciatively, and decided the redhead was a serious contender for this evening’s aftershow party, before she made a beeline for the exit.
Goose bumps pricked her skin in the cold November air that smelled like pine needles and failure. Frankston, New Hampshire, might as well be Nowhere, and for now, she was stuck here, thanks to Magnus.
It took two tries to light her cigarette, and when she did, Violet leaned back against the cool brick wall and watched the plume of smoke rise from her lips, toward the stars. It was a waxing moon, bright white-silver in a sooty, cloudless sky.
She jumped when something warm touched her collarbone and snapped her gaze down, and Violet was surprised to see gray eyes again, harder out here than they’d been under the lights.Danger,something far off said, and inside, she laughed.
“Woah, Craig. Warn a girl before you creep up all sneaky.” She smiled her best condescending smile.
“My name. Is not Craig,” he gritted out.
Violet shrugged and held out her cigarette for him to take a drag. The back of his knuckles connected with her fingers, fast, then the little white stick was rolling along the floor, and she was flexing her aching hand.
Danger,something insisted in the single breath of pause that followed. Mentally, she shrugged.
“Listen, psychopath,” she hissed, stepping forward into him and ignoring the prickle of foreboding as she realized they were alone, the music thrumming on inside without them. “I get it. You have a small dick, and your smaller feelings are hurt because I’m not fucking interested.” She reached forward to hold his chin, smiling up at him. “You’re not my type, Billy, I’m sorry. But we can be friends. You’re crazy and honestly, I can relate.”
It wasn’t unusual, the spite, condescension, and confidence that lived in her voice. Oil-black and slick like ink, it was armor. When his fist moved too quick to follow and slammed into the side of her head, it didn’t save her.
HER FACE WASstuck to something when Violet blinked again. Leather, she realized. The purr of an engine, the smell of the air freshener Lila had made for her and hung from the rearview… Her car.
“—hottie, man, but come on, you’re really going to do this?”
“Why not? There’s no one interesting in the Bluff anyway. At least this bitch will be fun.”
Panic. Liquor slowed it, but it was there. Staying still, eyes closed, slumped in what she assumed was the backseat of her own car, Violet took quick stock. She was absolutely fucked. Wasted, dizzy, and in a moving vehicle with psycho Sam and his two goons. The slightest press against the seat told her that her phone was no longer in her jeans pocket, and neither were her car keys—obviously.
Worst case scenarios were still forming behind her eyes when they came to a stop. Adrenaline spilled through her anew. The thought that she’d have maybe a moment to catch them off guard before they knew she was awake struck.
“We leaving the car here?”
“Yeah, we’ll come back.”
“Shit, man, it’s a sweet ride. I almost want to hide it a few—”
Conversation cut off, and Violet forced herself to ignore the dread curling around her. Where she’d been liquor-warm and untouchable in the club, now she was forced sober and cold, struck with fear and the need to get home.
The car door opened, and strong hands gripped her. He’d hauled her halfway out when she opened her eyes and smashed the heel of her hand into his nose. The impact hurt, but his grip loosened, and she twisted free. Trees stretched up to the dark sky all around, too dark to see much more. Violet barely took a stride to run when she was caught again; a strong hand around her bicep and then one in her hair hauled her head back.
“Let me go.” She didn’t quite manage to make it a request. It was one of the friends who held her, and he only blinked and shoved her back against the car.
“You crazy bitch.” Graham… Tony… Tom… whoever rushed forward, specks of spittle sprayed her face, and Violet closed her eyes for a blow that never came. When she opened them, he was looming close, one hand squeezing tight around her neck, just enough to be uncomfortable.
