Yes, and that only made me angrier. I don’t want to want her. She belonged to my brother, fucked him, worshipped him—and she hates me.
“Earth to Nic! Dude, what’s up with you today? Chill out and have some fun,” slurs my best friend as he stumbles, clearly more than tipsy, toward the lounge. He collapses next to me on the couch.
After the scene with Amelia, I went back to my apartment briefly, then headed straight to Purge.
Ced raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. Eric, the fourth member of our group, who rarely joins our wild nights but decided to come along tonight, shoots Damien an irritated look.
“Shut the hell up, D. No idea if you’ve finally drunk away your last brain cell, but I’m not in the mood for fun, you ass,” I snap, my irritation squarely aimed at Damien as he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Whoa, relax. I’m just trying to help. Be like me…” He gestures sloppily at himself with a drunken grin. “I’m doing great. Having fun, enjoying life. Who cares about the rest? You didn’t before Phil died, did you?”
Before he can blink, I grab him by the collar and yank him close. Fury. All-consuming fury. It boils in my veins, burning.
“If I were you, I’d shut the hell up unless you want to be eating pureed food for the next few weeks. Got it?” My voice is quiet, but the cold, threatening edge makes my best friend’s eyes widen briefly with fear before raw sorrow fills them again. The sight of it nearly guts me.
“He… I… Fuck.” Damien wrenches himself free, and from the corner of my eye, I see Ced move closer, ready to intervene. But there’s no need.
I watch as Damien stands, looking at me like a cornered animal.
“You don’t get it. None of you do… It’s… Damn it, I can’t do this.” He turns, knocking over a standing table behind him, grabs the vodka bottle sitting on it, and storms off.
Shit.
Pain stabs through my chest, and I want—no, Ineedto go after him. But Eric is already on his feet, waving me off.
“Let me. He’ll just insult you if you follow him now. I’ve got this,” Eric says, not giving me time to respond before hurrying after Damien.
“Something’s not right.” Ced’s voice comes from beside me, and I nod, still staring at the spot where my friends just disappeared.
“Definitely not. I’ve never seen him like this. Sure, Phil’s death hit him hard, like it did all of us, but for him to spiral like this, to lose control—NO.” I turn my head to look at Ced, my expression serious.
“Why is everything turning into one giant pile of shit? Isn’t it enough already?” The question is directed more to myself than anyone else, but Ced answers anyway.
“I’ll handle it. You focus on sorting things out with Amelia. You’ve got your hands full with that.”
I let out a snide snort and lean back against the couch as Ced gets up and moves to the railing overlooking the club.
The Purgeisn’t some high-end club where the elite flaunt their wealth and guzzle champagne by the liter. This place is for former street kids from my support program. Yes, even Prince Selfish has a social side sometimes. They come here to have fun, to celebrate, to escape. This is where the everyday people gather, and I enjoy every second of it.
The club is better guarded and cleaner than any other in the area, thanks to the former shelter residents who built it. The oldwarehouse was reimagined by our foundation as a sleek, modern club, preserving part of the original brick facade for character. A long bar with a large mirror and neon lights stretches along one wall, while a sprawling dance floor with central platforms dominates the space. The club’s design features two distinct color schemes, divided by a dramatic rift across the hall. One side, in white and silver, represents light, while the other, in black and gold, embodies darkness, mirroring the contrasts in the lives of the boys and girls who gather here. Everything is high-tech and polished, nothing feels shabby or rundown.
The Purge is an ultra-modern club where sharp riffs blend seamlessly with pounding beats. The kids regularly hold dance battles here, and I’m proud of them—at least they’re spending their time on something meaningful.
A staircase leads up to the lounge area, something similar to a balcony overlooking the action below. Separated from the rest of the club by a glass wall, it’s a space where you can talk more easily. Or drink. Or, for those who want to, hook up. Security doesn’t let just anyone up here; only select guests are allowed, especially when we’re around.
“What’s there to figure out? That little, prudish bore will be moving into the castle with me in two days and will quickly learn how things work. What am I supposed to do with her?” My tone is sharper than I intended, but the mere thought of Amelia makes my stomach do strange things, and I hate it.
Cedric gazes intently at the dance floor before turning to me with a grin so wicked that my eyebrows shoot up.
“Prudish? Are you sure about that?” he asks innocently, and every alarm bell in my head starts ringing.
Why is he grinning like that?
“Have you even looked at her?” I ask, confused by what he’s getting at. His eyes drift back to the dance floor.
“Oh, I’m looking at her right now. And whatIsee is anything but prudish, my friend. And I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so.” He turns back to me, his devilish grin still in place, and I freeze.
What? WHAT?
