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Prologue

Viktor

“Take a shot if you’ve ever licked Astroturf to see what it tastes like,” Knova slurs, her grin all teeth and mischief.

Knight groans and drops his head into his hands. “That was one time.”

“Take a shot,” she singsongs.

“I was four!”

“Take. A. Shot.”

“Fucking fine.” He slams back the whiskey, coughs like he’s dying, and flips her off while she cackles like a drunk little demon.

Welcome to a Venom kickoff party. Sponsored by our questionable life choices and an open bar.

I should be watching the room. You know, doing my job—making nice with sponsors, looking good for the cameras, pretending I don’t want to bend my best friend’s twin sister over this linen-covered banquet table and wreck her soul.

But Knova Hale’s dress has other plans.

Every time she leans forward, another inch of cleavage says hello. And I try—I swear to God I try—not to look. But her tits are hypnotic. Full, natural, bouncy—exactly the way I remember from the day I turned fourteen and stopped seeing her as just Knight’s sister.

Not that I ever noticed Knova Hale.

Not back then.

Not now.

Definitely not every goddamn day.

At least, that’s the story I tell myself. She doesn’t let me get close enough to tell her otherwise.

Knight’s still hacking up his dignity while Knova cackles like the hottest tequila fairy of chaos I’ve ever seen, and I lean back in my chair, grinning like an idiot.

This is how Venom kickoff parties go—sloppy, loud, and usually one bad decision away from viral.

The Mona Lisa’s grand ballroom looks fancy as hell, all chandeliers and million-dollar donors, but let’s be honest—it’s just a glorified drink-fest once the old folks clear out. Our parents usually linger too long, mine especially, but it’s late now. The silver foxes have made their exits, and the bar is officially open for bad choices.

Which brings us to now: me, Knight, Sofia, and Knova playing a drinking game like we’re not professional athletes with brand deals and image consultants.

The team’s not exactly crushing it on the ice, but we’ve been improving—mostly because I finally got my ass in the lineup. You’re welcome, Vegas.

Knight’s fiancée, Sofia, glances at me. Our eyes meet, and we both smirk. We’re not exactly friends, even though the four of us grew up together. It’s possible that I may have been a tiny bit of a dick to her when we were kids. Just a little. Not that I would ever admit it while sober.

At this point, though, my bloodstream is approximately fifty percent tequila, so who gives a shit? Either way, we’re all friends now.

Look at us, having fun.

Look at Knova, being the sexiest fucking woman in the room, with her wavy black hair that dusts a waist I can span with my hands, her body sculpted by her years in the military flying medivac helicopters, her curves that won’t quit, and wearing that dress that makes her look like a sex goddess in the flesh.

Look at me, too much of a coward to tell her how badly I want her. How badly I’ve always wanted her.

Ugh. On second thought, I need more tequila.

I reach for my glass, fully intending to slam it back and retrieve another from the bar, when Knight turns toward me. He’s three sheets to the wind, judging by the flush in his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes. Still holding his empty glass, he points at me. “Take a shot if you’ve ever ended up in the ER—”

My stomach lurches. There’s more to that sentence, but if he utters it aloud, I will be forced to kill him. It’s a matter of honor. I don’t make the rules.

Back in high school, I let Knova down in a way she never forgave—and maybe I never deserved to be.

I cut him off by downing my shot and then pointing to the others. “That’s a shit prompt, Knight. Now you all have to take shots, too.”

Knight frowns into his empty glass. “Damn.”

“Not me. I’ve never been.” Sofia folds her hands primly on the table. She’s only had to take a couple of shots so far. Hell, she might even be sober enough to drive—not that she ever would , because she’s a goody-goody who plays it safe, hence the lack of blackmail material.

Knova refills her shot from the bottle she swiped from the bar, then gestures the bottle at her brother. He sets the shot glass on the table, and she refills his, too. They clink rims and toss both drinks back.

“Your turn,” Knova slurs. She leans toward me, her teeth bared in a wolf-like smile. She does this thing where she looks like a feral cat on the prowl—fucking predatory, and I love it. I wouldn’t mind being hunted by her. I imagine running through the woods with Knova on my heels, chasing her, being chased by her, what we’d do when we finally caught each other.

I’d devour her.

I’d let her devour me.

Okay, it’s official: I’m too drunk to be trusted to use my words around her. I have a bad feeling that I’m too far gone already.

I lick my lips. My eyes stray to Knova’s cleavage. She’s not wearing a bra underneath that dress, and I’m pretty sure I can see the faint outline of one nipple peeking about the edge of the fabric. I want to lick it. Bite it. Sink my teeth into her.

I can’t tell her that. Can I?

Knova snaps her fingers and gestures to her face. “Eyes up here, pervert.”

“Uh. Right.” I cover my mouth with my fist. “Take a drink if you’ve ever… if you’ve ever…”

“Shit, Viktor.” Knight cackles. “How drunk are you?”

“How drunk are you? ” I shoot back. Not my best retort, but I’m pretty sure that my friends are just as drunk as I am. Well, except Sofia. But she’s nice, so she won’t call me out on it.

Why did I pick on someone as nice as she is?

I can’t think about that now, not when Knova’s staring into my eyes, her mouth twisted in a wicked grin.

“Take a shot if you’ve ever been too chickenshit to tell someone you loved them,” I blurt.

Knight groans. He and Sofia exchange a glance, and they both reach for their glasses. I’m only sort of paying attention to them. Instead, I’m looking at Knova, whose face falls. She reaches up for the silver chain that dips between her breasts. It’s not a fancy chain, either—it’s the pebbled kind you see on keychains. Her fingers brush the metal pendant tucked into the front of her dress. It’s a pair of dog tags, but they aren’t hers. I know, because she wears them all the time.

I wonder about them all the time too.

I want to ask her. I want to demand it. But I know if I did, she’d vanish behind that wall again, and I’m not ready to lose her. Not tonight.

This isn’t just drunk talk. This is the closest I’ve ever come to telling her the truth.

After a quiet moment, Knova’s eyes meet mine. She knocks back the shot.

“That’s another shitty prompt,” she says.

Sofia’s already refilling my glass from the communal bottle of whiskey. Dammit. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to mix liquors, but Knova’s right. I need to take a shot, too.

The whiskey burns on the way down, and—

* * *

“—going to take Knight home,” Sofia says a couple hours later.

“Aw, c’mon.” Knova pouts. She shakes the bottle of whiskey in the air between us. “There’s still whiskey left!”

“I think he’s had enough.” Sofia gestures to Knight, who’s lying with his head in his arms, draped across the table. He’s already snoring. “I’m not carrying him back to the condo on my back.”

“Boo.” Knova gives her a thumbs-down. “Party pooper.” She swivels toward me. “You’ll stay though, right? It’s not even midnight, and neither of us has to work in the morning.”

“I’ll stay,” I say. I’ll do anything for you.

“Good.” Knova reaches over to grab my arm. “That’s the only thing I don’t hate about you, Vik. I can always count on you for a party.”

The words shouldn’t sting. But they do.

I want her to count on me for more than shots and bad decisions. I want her to count on me when it matters—when things fall apart, when the world tilts sideways and everything feels like too much.

But I blew that once. Left her standing in a dress she probably spent months choosing, waiting for a boy who never showed. And our classmates laughed until graduation.

They should’ve mocked me. I’m the one who wrecked the fairytale before it ever got off the ground. When they should have been mocking me .

She doesn’t know why. She thinks I didn’t care.

Truth is, I cared too much. Still do.

And that one mistake that wasn’t even mine to begin with?

It’s been rewriting the entire story of us ever since.

I let her down one time, and that wasn’t my fault, although I can never tell her why—

* * *

—someone shoves a pen into my hand. “Sign here.”

“What?” I squint at the paper, then at the guy who spoke. He looks kind of familiar, but since my eyes aren’t interested in focusing, I can’t place him. I think he’s one of Dante’s guys who works for the hotel.

Knova elbows me in the ribcage, hard enough that it startles a grunt out of me. “You know how Dante is with the NDA shit. How many papers have you signed for him?”

“Oh.” I look from the paper back to the guy, who’s still waiting. “Dante wants me to sign this?”

“That’s what he said, Mr. Hale.”

I wrinkle my nose. Is this some kind of joke? My last name is Abbott. Knova and Knight are Hales. I open my mouth to argue, but I’m too drunk for this. If Dante wants me to sign another NDA, cool, I’m on board. He’s my boss, he practically owns me.

I don’t read it, because A) I can’t focus, and B) I never read the shit Dante asks me to sign. That’s why I have an agent, but it’s too late to consult him now. My boss is always worried about people suing him or making us sign some non-compete clause or other, and it’s always written in the least coherent legal jargon imaginable.

The vaguely familiar guy asks for our signatures a few more times. When we’re finished, he produces a bottle of champagne. “A drink for the happy couple!”

Knova laughs so hard that she has to grab my arm to keep herself upright. I have no idea what’s going on, but if Dante’s offering champagne, it’s not going to be some bottom-shelf crap, that’s for sure. I giggle along with Knova and accept the champagne flutes—

* * *

“—dumbest publicity stunt ever ,” Knova says.

She’s holding my hands. Both of them. When did that happen? To my right, an Elvis impersonator croons and gyrates his hips. To my left are about a hundred cameras.

We’re in a wine cellar. I think. We had to walk down a short flight of stairs. That part I remember. I think I’ve had this dream before, the one where I’m marrying Knova because she finally realized that I’m the perfect guy for her.

The Elvis, however, is new.

“Just say ‘I do,’” one of the people hanging around the camera says. Do I know him? Oh, yeah, it’s Pen Guy. The one who made us sign the NDAs.

Knova’s fingers tighten around mine. Her lip curls back. Shit, I’ve had this dream, too. The one where she realizes I’m not good enough for her and leaves me at the altar.

“Just to be clear. I’m doing this for Dante’s photo op,” she tells Pen Guy. “Because no way would I marry him in real life. No offense, Viktor, but I hate you.”

I scoff. “Yeah. Duh. Of course. No offense taken. I hate you more.” Damn, did I overdo it? I’m not thinking clearly. Also, I think I might be sick. Please don’t let me get sick on Knova at the altar in front of too many cameras and one fake Elvis… Talk about nightmare material.

“Fine.” Knova sighs. “I do.”

“And do you—” Elvis begins, swiveling toward me.

“I do,” I say. Too fast, too eager. Shit. I try to play it off, but the words hang there like a confession I didn’t mean to make.

I’m pretty sure there are a lot of other words, and the longer I stand here, the more my stomach revolts. My legs are wobbly. I need to sit down.

“G-g-groovy,” Elvis croons. “Thank you, thank you very much. You may kiss the bride.”

Knova gags. I think she’s joking, but it makes my stomach roil.

“I’d rather kiss a baboon’s ass,” she says.

No. This can’t be happening. I’ve imagined kissing her a thousand times, but not like this. Not when I know she’ll regret it the second it’s done.

“This was part of the deal,” says Pen Guy. “This is the money shot. You already signed the paperwork.”

Knova sighs. She purses her lips. After a moment, she shakes her head and leans forward. I forget how to breathe. My heart stutters. If her lips touch mine, I might combust. If they don’t, I think I’ll break.

Her perfect mouth approaches mine, and—

* * *

“—Mick,” Knova moans.

I freeze, lips wrapped around her nipple, tongue still mid-lap. The name stabs right through the haze of lust, cold and sharp.

I hate that name.

I hate that he touched her.

I hate that I’m not her first choice—just the warm body she picked when she got desperate enough.

But I don’t stop. I can’t. She’s on my lap, naked and grinding against my cock through my boxers, and I’m halfway to insanity. I shift, rutting up into her, desperate for friction, for more, for anything that feels like she’s mine—even if it’s just for one drunken, fucked-up night.

Her skin is slick and hot against my chest, her dog tags swinging between us like the world’s cruelest reminder that she has ghosts I’ll never outrun.

“What did you say?” I ask, my voice ragged.

“That I haven’t been with anyone since Mick,” she pants, eyes glazed. “So don’t make this weird, okay? It’s one time. I’m just so… lonely.”

Then, quieter. “Tell anyone I said that, Viktor Noah Abbott, and I will literally kill you.”

I want to laugh. Or cry. Or beg. At least she still knows my name.

But instead, I cup the back of her neck and pull her closer like I’ve got any right.

“You can tell me things, Knova,” I whisper. “Even the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts. I’d never hurt you.”

But she doesn’t believe me. I feel it in the way her body hesitates, even as she melts under my hands like candle wax.

I press kisses down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone, lingering at the swell of each breast like I’m imprinting devotion into skin. I worship the places no one else thinks to love—her scarred hip, the fluttery pulse at her sternum, the sweet little spot just beneath her navel where she twitches when I kiss her there.

She shifts and grinds down hard.

I buck up without thinking—too sensitive, too gone, and before I can stop it—

“Fuck,” I gasp, my body locking up. And just like that, I come in my boxers. Like a goddamn teenager. Like a boy who’s wanted her too long and finally broke.

Knova blinks at me. “Did you just…?”

Before the shame can flood in, I flip her beneath me, needing to do something before this ends in humiliation and regret.

“Shut up,” I mutter, voice thick. “Not done with you yet.”

I kiss a path down her belly, drinking in the taste of her skin like it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Her legs part. I bury myself between her thighs, licking her like I’m starving.

Because I am.

For her.

For this.

For something I know I can’t keep.

I lap at her slowly at first—just to savor. She tastes like salt and skin and something sweet I can’t name. I spread her open with my fingers, licking a path up the slick seam of her pussy, circling her clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

She shudders. Her hips twitch against my mouth, trying to control the rhythm, but I grip her thighs and pin her in place.

“No, baby. You don’t get to call the shots here.” My voice is low, rough with hunger. “You’re gonna take every fucking lick I give you—and you’re not gonna come until I say so.”

Her breath catches. Her body goes still for one perfect second.

Then she moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Like the sound’s been dragged out of her against her will.

Tonight, I’m in charge.

Even if it’s the only night I ever get.

“Vik—” she gasps, and that one sound cracks something open in my chest.

I groan into her. My cock twitches uselessly inside my soaked boxers, but I don’t care. This isn’t about me. It’s never been about me. It’s about her—finally, finally—letting me in. Letting me have this piece of her.

Her thighs start to tremble.

I flick my tongue faster, then slower, teasing her, reading the way her breath stutters and catches. Her hips rise, chasing more.

She’s close.

I slide two fingers inside her and curl them just right. Her whole body locks up.

“Fuck—Viktor—” Her voice breaks, and it wrecks me.

If she says my name like that again, I might die right here with my face between her thighs, and I’d go out happy.

“Come for me, Knova,” I whisper against her clit. “I need to see this pretty pussy fall apart.”

She screams my name again as she shatters all over my face. God, I hope I can get my dick up for round two—