Then, predictably. “Oh shit,” she says dryly. “Is this the part where you pretend you’re like…gentle?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I reply, rising back to my feet. “I know exactly what I did, and I have no regrets.”
“Good,” she says. “I’d hate to think you were second-guessing yourself now.”
Someone pounds on the door, loud and irritated.
“What the fuck is going on in there?”
I don’t look at it.
She glances at the door, then back at me with a wicked grin. “Wow. Didn’t realize this many people came to a rave just to piss.”
“They can wait.”
Her expression softens just a fraction. I study her—still fucking smug. Still, our valentine, and for now, the night exhales, and I let it.
7
KROSS
If hell ever decided to throw a rave, it would look exactly like this—sweat-slick bodies, seizure-inducing lights, bass heavy enough to rattle your fucking teeth.
Same circus, just a different fucking night.
The floor sticks to my boots like it’s trying to fucking claim me. The bar is overcrowded and feral, slick with spilled liquor, sweat, and bad intentions. The air’s thick—hot, humid, and heavy with perfume, sweat, and that metallic bite of adrenaline that always shows up when too many bodies get packed too goddamn close together. The bass crawls up through the soles of my feet and settles in my chest, slow and relentless, like a second heartbeat that doesn’t give a shit if I make it out alive.
I fucking love places like this.
Not just because they’re fun, but because they’re honest as hell.
Raves strip people bare. Rip the manners and filters right off and leave everyone louder, bolder, and way more willing to grab for whatever the fuck they think they deserve. People come here pretending they’re free—free from their jobs, their shitty relationships, their boring little lives they hate, but reallythey’re just burning it all off in sweat and noise and bad fucking decisions for a few hours.
And honestly? I respect the shit out of the hustle.
You can always tell who’s hunting and who thinks the lights and the crowd mean they’re safe. Who’s here to disappear, and who’s here to be seen. Who’s pretending this is an escape, and who knows exactly what kind of mess they walked into and showed the fuck up anyway.
I lean into the bar as much as the wings allow, forearms braced against the slick wood, feathers brushing backs and shoulders behind me like a warning I’m not really in the mood to repeat. I tip my head forward, paying my respects to the altar of terrible fucking decisions. Sweat slides down the back of my neck, trapped under straps and heat and too many bodies packed too goddamn close.
Some asshole slams into my wing and shoulder hard enough to snap my jaw tight and keeps moving like he’s got a death wish and zero self-awareness.
No apology, or fucking acknowledgment.
Like the drugs pumping through his body make him completely oblivious to everything going on around him.Fucking idiot.
My pulse still hasn’t slowed since the dance floor. Sinceher, and those sweet fucking sounds she made when she forgot where she was. Forgot how many people were around us, watching while she came apart at the hands of a killer. Those sounds are still echoing through me, living somewhere behind my ribs, and humming under my skin like a live wire I haven’t decided what to do with yet.
Fuck.
A shot glass slides across the bar toward me.
I don’t remember ordering it. Don’t care what it is either. I just wrap my fingers around the cold like it might groundme, lift my mask just enough to expose my mouth, and knock it back in one pull—burn, cheap sweetness, and a whole lot of regret. Tastes like tomorrow’s headache and a decision I’ll likely stand by without apologizing. It barely registers against the buzz already wired straight into my bloodstream.
Yet it’s still not enough to make me forget how she felt.
I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and realize I’m grinning—loose, feral, and halfway already fucking gone. The kind of grin that makes bouncers nervous and mothers disappointed. I’m just settling into it when I hear her name.
It’s loud, ugly and slurred with fucking entitlement.
