No fucking way. That’s all they’re going to say?
But I must have been delusional to think they’d help me. They’re letting a hundred minors drink in their house.
The couple looks about my parents’ age, but any similarity ends there. Mom might be a bit of a lush, but she’d never appear in public in a robe, and she only wears makeup to enhance her natural beauty. This woman wears a full face of makeup and a blonde updo with what looks like enough hairspray to hold up the entire decade of the 80s. The man looks about the same age, with a full head of blond hair and the kind of sagging look that men get when they were bulky with muscle and then stop working out and the muscle turns to something else.
Devlin leans on the bar, but the man speaks again. “You’d better keep that one on a shorter leash,” he says. “She’s a different breed than that one you had over last month.”
“The way he goes through them,” the woman says. “Just like his father.”
My mind latches onto that. So this house isn’t some random person’s. Her comment makes it sound like she knows his father well… Maybe intimately. Or siblings? Now the lack of knocking makes sense. This must be Colt or Preston’s house.
But so what? Okay, so his dad’s a philanderer. Half the people our parents know are cheating on their spouses. Not exactly a weapon that will help me take them down.
“You know what I always say, Dev,” the man says, waving his drink lazily. “Never trust a beautiful woman. Learned that from your mama.” He puts an arm around the woman and kisses her temple, and she squeals with protest and bats at him, giggling.
His mother. Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to meet anyone’s parents in this get-up, but it’s always nice to make a first impression.
They must catch my surprise even through their flirting, because the man laughs and holds up his glass toward me. “What, Devlin didn’t tell you about our little wife swap?”
Devlin turns to the man, fury burning in his unfocused eyes that makes me cringe again. Sober, pissed off Devlin is a monster, and I don’t want to meet drunk, pissed off Devlin.
“She’s adog,” he says, his tone withering. “I don’t talk to her about our fucked up family.”
“Hon-ey,” his mom says, but he ignores her, winding the leash around his hand and pulling me away from them. She makes no move to get up and follow, even though Devlin stops fifteen feet away, at the other end of the bar. He’s holding me so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Oh, now you’re going to shorten my leash?” I growl. “What do you think’s going to happen? Some random guys might want to feel me up? Oh, wait, you’ve been letting them do that all fucking night.”
“I’ve beenlettingthem,” he says with a smirk, leaning his elbow on the bar. “I don’t mind sharing on occasion as long as they remember who you belong to at the end of the night.”
I roll my eyes at his cliché response. “Bullshit,” I say. “You didn’t give a shit who grabbed me. You let me fend for myself with those assholes. But now you’re going to get all possessive because your mom dumped your cheating dad for that guy.”
Devlin turns to the bar, and I want to scream in frustration that I can’t see his face, can’t see his reaction. But I must have hit a nerve to make him hide it from me.
A second later, her turns and shoves a shot into my hand. “Drink.”
“No fucking way,” I snap.
He takes his shot and slams his glass down on the bar, his slightly unfocused eyes locked on mine. “Wrong. Answer.”
Someone fills his shot glass, and he picks it up again and waits.
“I played your insane little game all night,” I say. “I let your sleazy friends grope me and feel me up. I walked around on your leash like a good little doggie. I’m not getting drunk with you.”
“Yes,” he says slowly, a sloppy smile forming on his lips. “I think you are.”
“You can’t force me to drink.”
His hand shoots out and grabs my jaw, his fingers crushing into my cheeks. It hurts like a hammer to the funny bone. I cry out, the shot dropping from my hand as I hit him without thought, an instinctive response to the pain. Devlin’s eyes are blind with fury as he shoves my head back and dumps his shot into my mouth.
The familiar sweet tang of whiskey invades my mouth and nose. I’ve drank before. Not a lot, and I don’t like it, but I’ve snuck drinks from the liquor cabinet, even gotten drunk with Veronica. But there’s no way I’m losing control and acting the fool at a party where I’ve already walked around topless on a leash.
Devlin releases his grip, and I spit a stream of whiskey right in his face. He stumbles back, blinking the burning liquid from his eyes.
“You fucking cunt,” he says, jerking the leash so hard I stumble forward. He shoves me down, my hands and knees hitting the wooden deck. He rolls me over and jumps onto me, his powerful thighs caging my torso as he sits on my belly.
“Let me go, you psycho,” I scream. Before I can think about it, I pull back and slap his face as hard as I can, my palm stinging with the force of the blow.
Devlin’s palm cracks across my cheek, whipping my head sideways. I’m too stunned to do anything but fight back blindly, without strategy, which does nothing but tire me out. My body is no match for Devlin’s muscular one sitting astride it. Devlin pins my arms to the deck before lifting his head and bellowing, “Preston!”