Page 26

CHAPTER 26

ARIELLA

"S till no answer?" Journey asked as we trudged up the weathered frat house steps, our phones glowing in the dark—another failed call. We'd been calling every thirty minutes all day, and still no answer.

"Still nothing." I pocketed my phone with more force than necessary.

Mila fidgeted with her phone case, peeling at the corner. "Maybe you should leave a message."

"Or send her a text." Journey paced the creaking porch boards behind us.

If she saw my name pop up, she'd probably ignore it, especially after lying to Zaiden. "I'll keep trying until she answers."

The porch railing groaned as Mila slumped against it. "What if she never answers?"

"Then I'll—" A car door slammed somewhere in the darkness, making me jump. "I'll show up at her school."

Journey's keys jangled as she stumbled back. "In Texas?"

"Yes." The word came out sharp. I uncurled my fingers, finding half-moon marks where my nails had dug into my palms. "The longer this goes on, the more time Zaiden has to ruin my life."

We all stood side by side on the porch of the old wooden house. "I can't believe we are having a party tonight." My gaze scanned up the house. "Feels a little morbid to celebrate after what happened."

"I think everyone is just trying to find a way to move on." Journey touched my arm as we crossed the threshold, the bass vibrating in our chests.

"Plus, we have a lot to celebrate," Mila smirked. "We don't have to get on our knees anymore to keep our spots on the team."

"Yeah, and at least you don't have to worry about Zaiden here." Journey added.

"Yeah," I shrugged. Journey was right. After the first party of the year, the teams usually didn't co-mingle. "I guess." I didn't want to go out tonight, but it was kind of an unspoken requirement.

I tugged at my sleeve, already planning my escape. "I think I'm going to make a quick appearance, and then I'm bailing."

"What?" Mila's brows furrowed as she spun toward me. "EJ isn't going to like that."

The mention of his name sent a wave of irritation through me. "Not my problem. Plus, I need to keep calling Sam, and if she doesn't pick up, I'll have to figure out another way to get a hold of her."

Mila cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

I shrugged. "I don't know." A plan formed as I said it. "Maybe she'll come home for Thanksgiving Break, and I can catch her then."

"That's several weeks away," Mila scowled.

"It's the only plan I have right now."

They both nodded.

"You want us to leave with you?" Journey caught my eye, her lips twitching.

I shook my head. "No, I think I'm going to make it an early night. Honestly, I'm exhausted."

"Just let us know when you're leaving," Mila shouted over the music as we strolled through the entryway into the dark living room.

"Hey, baby." EJ's voice cut through the bass, bringing with it the sharp smell of beer and cologne. My skin crawled at the pet name, one of the many unwanted "perks" of belonging to the football team.

I spun to face him, muscles aching from holding my fake smile. "Hey!" The false cheer in my voice made my throat hurt.

"You want a drink?" He was already holding a red cup.

Journey caught my eye, her lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "We're going to go mingle." Traitor. She melted into the crowd before I could grab her sleeve, leaving me stranded in EJ's orbit.

"No," I offered a polite smile. There was no way in hell I was taking a drink from anyone after what happened last time. "I'll get one later."

EJ leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear, and my stomach curled. "You wanna get out of here and go up to my room and?—"

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I reached back, pulling it out. The screen lit up with an unknown number. "Sorry, E." I stepped back, creating space between us as I raised the phone. "I need to take this."

EJ's jaw tightened, but he backed away with a practiced casualness. "Come find me later." He disappeared into the crowd, and my shoulders finally relaxed.

"Hello?"

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered past sweating bodies. The line crackled—empty static or careful breathing, I couldn't tell.

"Hello?" I wedged into the bay window alcove, pressing one palm against my free ear.

The music pulsed around me, but the phone line remained dead silent. My reflection stared back from the dark window as I tried again: "Anyone there?" The line hummed, empty but somehow expectant.

Sighing, I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the screen again. The call timer kept ticking up: 1:42, 1:43, 1:44.

"Okay, last chance, and I'm hanging up." A huge part of me hoped it was Sam, and we had a poor connection, but it was probably a stupid prank call.

I disconnected the call, hit my last called number again, and listened to it ring until Sam's voicemail picked up.

I hit the end-call button, and frustration burned in my chest. "Fuck," I muttered. My best friend was dead, and her brother thought I was responsible because of something this freaking girl said, and now I can't get a hold of her to say it to my freaking face. "Ugh."

A familiar cologne wrapped around me half a second before he did, and my spine stiffened.

"Something wrong, princess?" Zaiden's breath ghosted across my neck.

"What do you want?" I tried to step forward, but his arm snaked around my waist, palm spreading across my stomach. The party seemed to disappear, leaving us and the darkness beyond the window.

My heart slammed against my ribs as his grip tightened. "You're not supposed to be here." The words came out in a whisper, fear closing around my throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

If Zaiden was there, that only meant one thing. He was there to ruin my life just a little more.

"You shouldn't be here." I shoved at his arm, but he didn't budge. "You need to leave."

His lips brushed the shell of my ear. "It's time to repay the favor."

The heat of his breath sent chills raging over my body, but his words made my stomach clench because there was no way he was talking about the favor I was thinking about. "What favor is that?" I shoved at his arm again, and he released me.

The steady thrum of music seemed to fade, replaced by the sound of my own ragged breathing. "The one where you get on your knees for me." His chest vibrated against my back, his words reverberating through my ribcage. "And take this dick like the good girl we both know you can be."

Rage surged through me, hot and sharp. "Fuck you." I twisted, fighting against his grip until I could face him. The look in his eyes made me falter. "You're fucking crazy." I shoved at his chest, desperate to put space between us. My palm burned where it met his body. "I'm not sucking your dick in a hall closet so you can fulfill some disgusting fantasy."

His lips twisted—not a smile, something darker. Something that made my blood run cold. "My fantasy has nothing to do with a hall closet."

My brows pulled together as he leaned in so close his minty breath ghosted across my face, making my nose twitch. "I'm more into public humiliation."

My eyes widened as understanding crashed over me. Oh God. "You wouldn't." But even as I said it, I saw the truth written in the cruel curve of his mouth, in the predatory gleam of his eyes. "Zaiden, if you do this—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and forced the words out. "I will be disowned by not only my team but the football team."

"It's over, Ariella," he sneered. "I'm ruining your life the same way you ruined my sisters."

My chest constricted. "I. Did. Not. Kill. Your. Sister."

Hard eyes held mine, unblinking. Searching. For what? A crack in my armor? A hint of guilt? He wouldn't find it because I wasn't responsible for her death.

"Did you even ask Sam what I did?" My voice rose, desperation clawing at my throat. "Or just took what she said and ran with it?" His silence screamed louder than any answer. The muscle in his jaw ticked. "No, you decided I was guilty because you needed someone to blame."

"It doesn't fucking matter." The casual shrug of his shoulders felt like violence.

He reached into his pocket. My heart stuttered. A phone. Just a phone, but the sight of it made my blood freeze. The video. Oh God, the video. "You have two choices. Either I ruin your life or your friends." My chest tightened as the video flashed through my thoughts. "What do you think the grieving wife would think?" His thumb hovered over the screen. "When the videos go viral?" A pause. "And the school has painted him as a hero. What will they think?"

"Call Sam." The words burst from me, one last desperate scramble. "Ask her what she saw, Zaiden. I never talked to Kacie that night."

"Make the choice, Ariella." His voice dropped low, intimate, like we were lovers sharing secrets instead of enemies trading threats. "You or your friends."

My lip curled into a snarl even as defeat settled heavily in my gut. The choice was already made. Had been made the moment he pulled out that phone. We both knew it.

"Fine, Zaiden. You want me on my knees?" I threw out my hands, a gesture of surrender. "I will." My voice dropped to a whisper. "But I will find out the truth, and when I do?—"

His large hand shot out, wrapping around my upper arm. The sudden movement cut off my words as he dragged me forward. He stopped in the center of the room, jerking me against his chest.

"I know the truth." His breath was hot against my ear, but his words were Arctic cold. "Now, get on your knees."

My heart hammered against my ribs as I scanned the room—faces everywhere—the football team, cheerleaders, dancers, and football groupies.

"Zaiden, please."

His fingers flexed against my arm. "Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees." He jabbed a finger toward the ground, the gesture almost casual. Almost. "And make it look good, princess." His voice pitched lower, meant for my ears alone. "Make it look like my cock is the best thing you've ever tasted."

The floor was cold through my leggings as I sank, wincing when my knees hit the hardwood floor. My eyes locked on his, defiance burning even as shame crawled up my spine. "You will regret this." Venom laced every syllable. "I hate you."

His hand moved too fast to dodge, pinching my chin between thumb and forefinger. His grip was deceptively gentle, like handling fine china before shattering it against a wall.

"Good." The corner of his mouth twitched. His thumb traced my bottom lip, the touch almost reverent. Almost tender. It made my skin crawl. "Now open your mouth and suck my cock like you fucking hate me." His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. "You're going to look so pretty, gagging on my dick."

"What's going on?" EJ's voice cut through the heavy air like thunder. The crowd shifted, parting. But Zaiden's grip on my face tightened, holding me in place and forcing me to stare up at him.

"Eyes on me, princess." He didn't even glance at EJ. Didn't need to. He had his audience exactly where he wanted them.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Knight?" EJ's voice was closer now. Confused. Angry. "Why are you on the floor, Ari?"

"Tell him, Ariella." Zaiden released my jaw, but the phantom pressure remained. His hand settled on my head, fingers threading through my hair. A lover's caress twisted into something cruel. "You want me to tell him, baby?"

My throat worked against a hard swallow. The music cut out abruptly, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and the rustle of dozens of bodies shifting closer. The silence pressed in like a physical weight.

"Tell me what?" EJ's voice cracked. "Baby, get off the floor."

"Baby?" Zaiden's eyes widened with mock surprise. A humorless laugh bubbled from his throat. "I think we should show him." His fingers tightened in my hair. His gaze flashed to EJ. "Ariella is mine." His entire body tensed as his jaw flexed. "Now open your mouth for me."

My teeth clenched so hard, it ached. His eyes held mine.

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. The warmth of his breath made me shudder. "Play stupid games, get stupid prizes," he whispered, the words slithering into my brain. His hand twisted, forcing me to look toward the TV, where Hawk stood waiting. "I'm only going to tell you once before Hawk shows your friends' videos to everyone."

Something inside me cracked. Splintered. Shattered.

"Fine," I ground out.

Zaiden pressed two fingers against my bottom lip. The touch was rough. "Open your mouth."

My lips parted. His fingers slid in, cold against my tongue. His thumb dug into my jaw, a silent warning.

"Good girl."

"What the fuck is going on?" EJ's shout bounced off the walls, but no one moved. No one spoke; just watched, a sea of faces hungry for the show.

For my destruction.

Zaiden bent over me, his hand shifted, gripping my cheeks until they hurt. The party lights caught his eyes—something dark swimming in them that made my pulse spike. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought they might crack. The hushed whispers of the crowd faded to white noise as I waited, suspended in this moment, for whatever cruelty came next.

He positioned his mouth above mine, and I prepared myself to kiss him, but he spit in my mouth.

He'd just laid his claim.

Time stopped. Fractured. Reality narrowed to this single point of humiliation. The hot slide of his saliva down my throat triggered a violent gag reflex. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst was knowing this was only the beginning. He'd taken my reputation and my dignity, and there was nothing I could do. Not if I wanted to protect them.

The football team would turn their backs on me now. Social suicide, executed with surgical precision. Which was exactly what he wanted.

"Unbutton my pants."

My fingers trembled as they found his zipper. The metallic sound of it lowering felt obscenely loud in the thick silence. His bulge strained against the fabric, and bile rose in my throat. This turned him on—the power, the control, the audience. The sick bastard was getting off on every second.

A movement caught my eye. Mila was in the corner, her face twisted with horror. Her body half-turned toward me, ready to intervene. I gave a tiny shake of my head against Zaiden's grip. No. This was my problem, not theirs, and I wasn't going to let them take the fall for this.

"Eyes. On. Me." His fingers dug into my cheeks, snapping my head forward. Then his hand dropped and—oh my God. The sight of him, thick and hard, made my vision swim. This was really happening. Here. Now. In front of everyone.

"Open wide for me." His fingers twisted in my hair, the sharp pain bringing tears to my eyes as he yanked me into position. His other hand gripped his cock at the base, guiding himself toward my mouth slowly. Making me wait. Making me dread.

"Just get this over with," I snarled under my breath, a final act of defiance.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't warn me. Just shoved past my lips straight to the back of my throat in one brutal thrust. The crowd erupted—whistles, shouts, cheers. Men egging him on like this was a fucking sport. My hands clenched into fists against my thighs as my eyes squeezed shut, fighting against the invasion.

But he didn't move. He held himself there, deep, cutting off my air. Panic clawed up my chest as seconds ticked by. My eyes flew open, meeting his. The wild look there made my blood run cold, he was enjoying this. The struggle. The fight.

My vision started to blur at the edges. Spots danced in front of my eyes. My hands shot up to his thighs, nails digging through denim as I fought for a breath. For control. For anything.

The edges of consciousness started to fade, and still, he watched. Still, he waited until the last possible second when my body was on the verge of collapse.

He jerked back, leaving me gasping. My lungs burned as I sucked in air around the thick head of his cock. Stars burst behind my eyes.

"And now," his voice carried across the silent room, "I'm going to ride your face like you rode mine, princess," he said loud enough so the entire room could hear him. His grip tightened in my hair until tears pricked my eyes, but my hiss of pain drowned beneath the wet sound of him slamming back into my throat. Deep. Hard. Brutal. There was no mercy in his violent strokes.

No time to breathe. No time to think. Only the relentless rhythm of him fucking my mouth. Each thrust forced a desperate gasp between strokes. Survival instinct took over–counting seconds, timing breaths, fighting the urge to panic.

Tears streamed hot down my face, pooling on my thighs. Drool trickled past my stretched lips, dripping onto the floor. The physical humiliation was complete. But then I made the mistake of looking up.

His eyes. God, his eyes.

Something electric passed between us. Something that made my thighs clench together involuntarily. Wrong. So wrong. My body's betrayal felt worse than anything else he'd done.

The crowd disappeared. The room faded. Nothing existed except the savage rhythm of his hips, the burning in my throat, the ache of my jaw, and that scorching gaze that seemed to see right through me. Hatred and arousal twisted together until I couldn't tell them apart.

His abs tightened. His breathing turned ragged. "Fuck." The word came out strangled as he drove deep one final time. Hot spurts hit the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow or choke.

Then—emptiness.

The violent sensation of him pulling out. The sound of him zipping up as I collapsed forward, lungs heaving. The room spun as oxygen rushed back to my brain.

Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw the crowd. All guys. All cheering. For him. My gaze found EJ's face, the disgust there cut deep. I wiped desperately at the mixture of spit and tears on my chin, but the damage was done.

Zaiden's breath was hot against my ear again. His words were soft. Intimate. Devastating. "And now you belong to me."