Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
I loved how she assumed my problems were so entirely high school, but I guessed she was right at least in part, even if her reasoning was willfully naïve. I was lonely and people didn't talk to me, and it was impossible to get to know anyone.
"What's the secret?" I asked, collapsing onto her bed.
"The secret is parties. You better get out there. You've got to go have fun and get to know people. Get your drink on. Maybe find some hot guy to work all that stress out on."
For a brief moment, Artem's face flashed in my mind—those steel-gray eyes, the way his mouth curved when he said my name.
I shook the thought away, disturbed by how easily he invaded my thoughts.
How often at night I'd find myself remembering the feel of his hands, the command in his voice, wondering what it would be like if...
I tipped my head back and laughed, pushing those dangerous thoughts aside.
"Please?" she said, her eyes huge, beseeching. "You know you want to. For me?"
Out of habit, I was about to make some excuse about why I couldn't.
My father would have never allowed me to go to a party, but now he was dead. He was no longer my problem.
But Artem was, my mind screamed.
I pushed the horrible thought aside. Artem was not my keeper.
Even as I thought it, a thrill of defiance shot through me.
What would Artem do if he knew I was going out?
If his men reported back that I was dancing with other men, drinking, enjoying myself?
The thought of provoking him shouldn't have been so appealing. "You know what? Let's do it."
Amy squealed, clapping her hands together and then dragged me up, exclaiming how I needed a wardrobe change.
If I was going to do this, I was going to do this right, and I was at her mercy.
We left maybe forty minutes later.
I was wearing sexy thigh-high boots that made my legs look about three miles long and a short black faux leather skirt like hers with a sexy white button-down top she'd loaned me. It felt normal. Like I was a normal college kid going to blow off some steam…until I saw it.
The all-too-familiar black sedan at the end of the street that crept behind us.
Amy was oblivious to it, of course, but I knew it was there and what it meant.
I wasn't free.
And yet...as I walked toward the party, I couldn't help but wonder if Artem would hear about this.
If he would care.
If somewhere in his cold, calculating mind, the thought of me dressed like this, dancing with other men, might stir something possessive in him.
I shouldn't want that.
I shouldn't want him to think of me at all.
But as I stepped into the night, I couldn't deny the rush of anticipation that came with playing with fire—or the uncomfortable truth that part of me was hoping to get burned.
CHAPTER 9
VIKTORIA
"Jell-O shot?" Some frat boy in a varsity jacket was shoving a hubcap with mini red Solo cups at us.
"Oh my god yes," Amy shrieked, grabbing two and handing one to me. She touched the rims of the cups together like we were toasting with fine china and tossed it back.
I looked down at the jiggling red Jell-O and shrugged.
The skin-tight black skirt rode up my thighs with every movement.
Too much—too revealing.
I also should have known that Amy would overdress us for a freaking frat party. So much for blending in and being normal. The other women were all in tight T-shirts and tighter jeans.
Eyes tracked me across the room, hungry and assessing.
Tossing back the shot, the sweet cherry masking any trace of alcohol, I swallowed hard.
Amy locked her arm with mine and pulled me deeper into the house to meet with her friends, who were all just as bright and bubbly as she was.
There were several guys buzzing around the girls, acting like their idle chitchat was adorable.
Maybe it was? How would I know?
Bass hammered through the floorboards, vibrating up through my stilettos and into my chest, crushing my lungs with each beat. Sweat beaded at my temples, my carefully straightened hair already curling at the edges. Bodies pressed in from all sides, the stench of beer and pot mixing into something sickly sweet.
Amy kept her arm locked in mine like she could sense my hesitation and waved the guy with the hubcap over again.
"I'm good," I said, waving away the shot he offered me, tugging at the hem of my skirt as another pair of eyes raked over my exposed thighs.
"Come on, it's just Jell-O and a little vodka," the guy teased, his gaze lingering on the neckline of my top. "I thought all you Russians loved your vodka."
"Adam, that is a fucking harmful and bullshit stereotype. Stop being an ignorant dick," Amy snapped at him. I stared at her for a moment, impressed. I didn't know she had it in her.