Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(10)

“Oh, yeah.” Stupid alcohol. “Happy Birthday.” I smirk and bat my eyelashes; although it doesn’t feel as sexy as I’d hoped. “I have a present for you.”

He hums and grips my backside hard enough to hurt, or I suppose it would hurt if I wasn’t numb. “Does it involve you naked and spread wide on my bed?”

“Umm…” I chew my lip.

He nuzzles my neck, and I get a whiff of what I’ve started calling his party smell. It’s not cigarettes or weed; it’s something else, like burning plastic.

I pull back and meet his eyes. “Where’ve you been?” He never did answer when I asked him before.

“Been partying, babe.” He jerks his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. “Where’ve you been?”

“Here.” God, I haven’t seen him all night, and now it’s like we’re interrogating each other. I frown.

“Let’s go make out.” He slides his tongue up my neck to my ear.

“Oh, um… I can’t.”

He stills and pulls back, his hold on me going slack. “What? Why not?”

“Happy Birthday.” I stick my tongue out to show him my piercing.

He narrows his eyes on it, and my stomach plummets at his lack of immediate excitement. “Well f*ck, guess you won’t be using your tongue on me tonight.” He studies it closer. “It’s swollen. You know you’re not supposed to drink while it’s healing, right?”

Oh shit. Did I know that?

He sighs. “Oh well, so no tongue action, but I can still get in here.” He cups me between my legs.

I pull his hand away, half embarrassed and mostly irritated he’d even grab me like that in public. “Actually, I can’t do that either.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “Clit piercing?”

“Period.”

“Well, f*ck.” He drops his hold from me completely and steps back. “Happy Birthday to me.”

“I’m sorry. I thought…” I thought the piercing would be enough, but I was wrong. “Guess we could just hang out. I mean just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you need your dick sucked to have fun.”

“Ahh, that’s where you’re wrong, Elle.”

Elle. It’s the nickname I give people I don’t know well. My full name is something only my close friends call me. Clifford picked up on it once, called me Axelle, but I told him I hated the name and to please call me Elle. It was a lie. I love my name. But Elle helps me to remember there are still boundaries between us.

His gaze follows the group of co-eds from outside as they walk by, the gorgeous blonde sending the major come-f*ck-me eyes to Clifford. “Plenty of girls here who’d suck my dick.”

Panic rises in my chest. An emptiness I bury deep in my heart flares and pushes to the surface. Don’t leave me. The whisper in my head is so soft and familiar I can basically ignore it, but my hands slide over his shoulders to lock around his neck anyway. As if my body can’t deny what my soul is screaming.

“Stay with me tonight.” I press a soft close-mouthed kiss on his lips. “Please.”

His bloodshot gray eyes search mine, and he cups my jaw. “Go wait for me in my room. I’ll be there in a minute.” He slaps my ass and leaves me alone, feeling cheap, weak, and empty.

I peer down at my clothes and I see what Ryder was seeing: the attempt of a desperate girl to win over a guy. I’d never get away with dressing like this if I lived at my mom’s house. My stepdad would lock me up for the rest of my life if he saw me in some of the shit I wear to parties.

They don’t know though.

They don’t understand.

No one does.

*





Killian





It’s times like these that my size pays off.

As I push through the front door of Clifford’s house, people see me coming and get the f*ck out of the way. This isn’t a party of college athletes, rather the opposite. Rockers, druggies, and artsy types. I tower over most of them, and those who are as tall are also gangly as hell, so they step aside.

I’m sure the don’t-f*ck-with-me vibe I’ve got going on doesn’t help either. I texted Axelle twice to let her know I was stopping by, and she hasn’t responded.

The sound of Carcass blasting through the speakers adds another layer to my concern for Axelle. She despises death metal.

I have to wonder if she’s even still here.

My eyes scan the room, and other than a few people I’ve seen on campus, one really nice girl from my bio class, and the stoner guy who always has to take smoke breaks from my lit class, there are no familiar faces.

Good, as soon as I can get eyes on Clifford, assure myself he’s not going to bed tonight with my girl in his arms or worse—things of which I cannot imagine without breaking something—I’ll be able to go home and crash, with my phone, of course. Because the second she finally does respond I’m going to ream her ass for not keeping her f*cking phone on her at all times.

Shit! Has the woman learned nothing from her mom’s mistakes?

“Yo! Mr. UFL, what’s up?” Theo calls to me from the kitchen where it looks like the final few hands of strip poker are being played.

I fist-bump the guy. “You here with Ryder?”