The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(70)

“Sam, take your shirt off,” Cillian commands. That seems a little weird, but Sam doesn't bat an eyelid. He rips his t-shirt off over his head, exposing his muscled, tanned back. I can see his chest in the mirror—his cut abs, and his defined pecs. Sam grins like a court jester at me, his reflection making eye contact, and Jake moves his hand, taking hold of me by the jaw, angling my head so I can’t look away.

“Sammy just got back from surfing in Hawaii. D’you think he’s hot?”

What?

That's a really bizarre thing to ask. He must know I came up here because I'm interested in him, not Sam, or Cillian for that matter. “Honestly? Sam's not my type,” I say in what I hope's a light, airy tone. “No offense or anything.”

Sam’s isn’t fazed by my comment. In fact, he seems to find it entertaining. He dips, inhales sharply, groaning as he staggers back from the counter. “All right, Parisi. Your turn,” Cillian says.

“Oh, no. I’m good. I think I’ve had enough already. Seriously. My head’s thumping right now.”

“Come on, Princess. Just a taste.” Cillian wets his finger, dabbing it against the still foot long length of coke, collecting some on his finger. There’s a devious look on his face as he stalks toward me. “Open up now.”

“Cillian, seriously. I don’t need any. I’m good.”

“Siiil-verrrr.” The sing-song cadence of his voice is a taunt.

Anger finally shoves through the confusion in my head, buzzing in my ears. Spinning in Jake's arms, I try to tell him that I want to go back downstairs now, only…I can't actually turn around to face him. Jake's hands have tightened on me, around my throat again, around my waist.

“Don’t freak out, sweetheart,” he purrs into my ear. “We’re just having a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun,” I snap. “Let me go, Jake. God, you guys are such fucking assholes.”

This is the moment everything changes. I'm expecting the guys to laugh at me, make fun of me for being such a spoilsport, but in my head, I'm still not entirely caught up with what's about to happen in this bathroom. I still think Jake's going to let me go. It's only when Cillian steps up and grabs the hem of skirt that I realize how badly this is going to go.

“What…what are you doing?” I pant, trying to step back, away from him. Jake’s a solid wall of muscle behind me, though; I go nowhere. Cillian’s hand touches the inside of my thigh, and I lock up, terror turning me into a statue.

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Cillian’s tone is so bewildering. He sounds like he’s asking a bland, inane question that he actually wants an answer to. “You’re gonna like this, I promise.”

My heart feels like it’s surging too hard, a lightning bolt of panic lighting up my veins as Cillian’s hand rises up higher, to the apex of my thighs. “No. No more, okay. God, stop. This isn’t funny!”

I lash out, kicking like a crazed animal, but the way Cillian's crouched down too close in front of me makes it almost impossible to hit him. Jake's hand locks hard around my esophagus, crushing down on my windpipe, and for the first time in my life, I feel fear. Real, terrifying, all-consuming, blinding fear.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

Any hope I might have had that this is all some terrible joke disappears when I catch sight of Jake's expression in the mirror. His eyes are hard as jet. Gone is the smile he was wearing downstairs. Gone is the easy, laid back set of his shoulders. This version of Jake is nothing like the version of him in the kitchen, that flirted with me and put me at ease. This Jake is a stranger. The kind of stranger you cross the street to avoid. The kind that would strike instant fear into you if you stumbled across them down a dark alley.

The man I see in the mirror is gripped by a dark, cruel, wicked excitement that speaks volumes: Jake isn’t going to help me, he likely instigated this entire thing…and I am so fucked right now. So, so fucked.

I gasp as Cillian’s hand reaches my panties. Squirming doesn’t help. Twisting my body away from him doesn’t work. Jake has an iron grip on me. I can’t fucking breathe… I somehow manage to suck in a ragged, horrified breath when Cillian snags the material of my panties and yanks them down my legs, though.

No. No, no, no, no, nonononono….

Oh my god. I can’t get…fuck…this can’t be—

I still, my head falling back against Jake’s chest as Cillian’s fingers worm between my legs, pushing between the folds of my pussy, shoving their way inside me.

The music swells inside the bathroom, but all I can hear is a loud, desperate screaming sound in my ears. Raw. Desperate. Panicked.

With some astonishment, I realize that I’m making the noise. I'm screaming so loud and so hard that stars are bursting in my eyes, and my lungs feel like they're about to explode.



I’m still screaming, even when a warm, dizzying wall of pleasure begins to mount between my legs, inside me. God, the coke…Cillian rubbed the coke he had on his finger inside my pussy. Hot, burning shame licks at my face as I try to order my body not to react, but there’s no denying the chemicals. It feels good. It feels far too fucking good for words.

The feeling spreads, rising like smoke, a sharp kind of euphoria taking over my body.