I should turn the question back on him every once in a while, I suppose.
He has as much blood on his hands as I do.
Dom’s not just my second.
He’s a fucking killer, for Christ’s sake. A bona fide contract killer
On the ice, they call himThe Assassin.I always thought the nickname was a little on-the-nose, but hell, he earns it.
“Drinks, women, loud music,” Dom says as the guys start heading out into the hallway. “What’s not to like about that? I’m in. You coming?”
I nod. “Give me just a minute. Tell them I’m indisposed, if they ask.”
Conor happens to be walking by as I say this. He doesn’t look at me. Just holds up a thumb like he’s logging a goddamn message for dispatch.
“Taking a shit. Got it. I’ll relay the message.”
“Yebuchiy mudak,”I mutter.
Fucking asshole.
2
LEANNA
“The music’s way too loud!”I yell over the thumping bass, swaying a little. “Seriously, who decided electronic pop was a good idea?”
Rylee throws her head back, laughing. “Leanna, you’re here to have fun, not critique the DJ! A few more shots, you’d like it better.”
“Fun, sure,” I shout, “but fun with my wits intact. I like to know which way the exit is!”
Still, a few drinks in, and I’m loose enough to bounce alongside my three roommates like this is the best damn night of our lives.
I take another sip of my drink, letting the warmth loosen my edge. Just enough. Never to lose control.
I made a few mistakes in my early college years, back when rebellion was my favorite hobby and humiliating my father was practically a sport. I learned my lesson, at least when it comes to alcohol.
Other risks? Let’s just say I’ve got an appetite.
The club version of a pop classic hits, and Rylee yells, “Everybody, hands up!”
We throw our hands up and jump like idiots, laughing at ourselves. No boys, no drama, just neon lights and loud music shaking the walls.
Rylee’s finally smiling again after getting dumped by her “boyfriend.”
We gave her a strict two-week pity window. Tonight?
Mandatory heels, glitter, and dancing like fools.
It’s good to see her moving, hair wild, eyes catching on someone tall and handsome across the floor—no boys rule be damned.
I tell her, yelling over the thumping bass, “You are a freaking pixie goddess, and you deserve so much better than that prepubescent sack of hairless ballsacks!”
Rylee cracks up, nearly spilling her drink. “Hairless ballsacks? I love that! Can we make that his official title?”
“Official and trademarked,” I shout back. “Right next to ‘childish little Snapchat quitter!’”
Makayla snorts, braids bouncing as she points at Rylee. “He broke up with you over Snapchat? That’s… actually kind of impressive in a horrifying way.”
