“Let me go!” Arsen roars, spitting, wild-eyed.
“You’ve got a fucking death wish.” I twist against Raze’s grip.
“Take a fucking walk,” Raze barks as someone shoves Arsen toward the door. Arsen rips free, face a bloodied mess, and storms out.
I shake off the hands on me, blood dripping down my temple. “What the fuck is his problem?”
“He’s unhinged,” Raze mutters, eyes still on the door. “Don’t let him get in your head.”
“He’s been trying to call you all night,” someone adds.
I glance at the desk where I left my phone. Screen lit up with missed calls. Dozens. Maybe more. I walk over, pick it up. Scroll through the notifications. Arsen. Over and over. I delete all of them.
“Forget him,” Raze grins. “We’re celebrating tonight. The fuckingPrincesaved the Trinity!”
More cheers.
I don’t smile. I don’t respond.
I fucking hate that name.
And Raze knows it.
The house is vibratingwith bass. Bodies grind and sway in every corner. The stink of sweat, sex, booze, weed, even blood. Feels like a Sovereign carnival from hell.
Raze is balls-deep in some Sovereign Slut on the dining table, her heels digging into the wood. He’s high out of his fucking mind, eyes glazed, fingers gripping her throat.
The gum in my mouth turned to rubber half an hour ago. I spit it onto the floor and shove the bitch off my cock. Her mouth was sloppy. She whines, her lipstick smeared halfway to her chin, mascara dripping. Nipples raw and blue from being slapped.
Another Slut crawls into my lap. Blonde with pierced tits. She rubs her nipple against my mouth.
“Come on, Priest,” she moans, grinding her soaked panties on my jeans. “Bite them. Please?” I shove her off. The other Slut tries again. I backhand her jaw to shut her up and stuff my cock back into my pants.
“Fucking boring,” I mutter, yanking up my zipper.
They whimper desperately behind me, still trying to make it worth my while—but I’m already done. Nothing gets me off. Not tonight. Not with my mind spiraling back to shit I should’ve buried deeper. Shit IthoughtI buried.
I snatch a beer off the table, crack it open with my teeth, and take a long pull.
Stealing a lit joint from some rookie Sovereign too scared to meet my eyes. He opens his mouth to protest—then thinks better of it. I blow smoke in his direction as I stalk toward Jackson.
He’s hunched over a Slut’s ass, tattooing the wordownedwhile she drools into the cushion, high off whatever cocktail they pumped into her.
I slump into the chair beside him and rip off my hoodie, tossing it onto the sticky floor. I scribble what I want on a napkin and shove it toward him.
Jackson glances up, brow raised. “Since when do you get tatted when you’re sober?”
“I’m not. And I’m leaving tomorrow. Might as well bleed before I go.”
He slaps the girl’s ass. She yelps and scrambles away.
He glances at the napkin, then at me. “Where?”
I point to my forearm.
Jackson frowns. “I can’t tattoo broken skin.”
I glare.
