Reaching the end of the hallway, I turn left and head straight for party central.
I step into the vast room, glancing at the vaulted ceilings adorned with expensive chandeliers and the myriad of windows draped in heavy ruby-red velvet curtains. A DJ spins tunes from an elevated dais at the end of the room, but other than that, the room is completely bare of furnishings. At one time, this was an ornately decorated ballroom, host to lavish parties that were the talk of the town, but it’s clear no one is looking after this place anymore.
A large crowd dances on worn hardwood floors while others sit in clusters on the ground at the edge of the room, talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking. I inhale the scent of weed as I walk through the space, keeping my eyes peeled for Darrow, but I don’t spot him or any of his crew.
Exiting the ballroom by the rear door, I head outside. Sounds of laughter filter through the air as I step around the outside of the property toward the back patio. My feet slam to a halt at the sight of the overgrown maze, and I allow my mind to wander back to that night. I was only a kid, which is why I didn’t recognize the address even if I remember every other detail of my last visit here.
I uncap the vodka, chugging it down my throat, welcoming the burn and latching on to it rather than letting the memory unfold.
I press on, my feet picking up pace as I round the bend and spot several of Darrow’s gang. A group of about twenty is lounging by the old pool, huddled around a makeshift bonfire, sprawled across garden chairs and loungers. The pool is empty now, save for the leaves and debris cloistered on the old blue-tiled floor.
I stop in front of the lounger Bryant Eccelston is lying on. Bryant is Darrow’s bestie and number two, and where one is the other is never far. A cute blonde is draped around his broad five-feet-eleven-inch frame. “Where is he?” I ask, drilling him with a look.
“Cute outfit.” Bryant smirks, taking a slow perusal of my body, his gaze lingering on my chest out of habit.
“Cut the crap, Bry. Where’s Darrow?”
He cocks his head to the side, and the flickering light from the bonfire highlights the deep scar running from his left eye across his temple and into his hairline. “He’s back there.” He jerks his head backward as his lips kick up ever so slightly. The blonde on his lap giggles, sending me a smug look as she wraps her arms around his neck.
Ignoring the theatrics, I walk in the direction of the pool house, swigging from the vodka bottle, willing it to hurry the fuck up and numb my pain.
The door is open, and I push inside, hearing them before I see them. It’s not a surprise. Not after Bryant’s carefully staged intervention outside.
I walk across the living area, sidestepping crumpled beer cans, stale pizza boxes, and wrinkled clothing, listening to the pants and groans emanating from the bedroom, cursing that dickhead under my breath.
I open the door with a flourish, leaning against the doorway as I watch a bimbo with brash red hair ride my boyfriend’s cock. She’s really going for it. Bouncing up and down on him like she’s on a bucking bronco. Darrow’s pelvis lifts as he grips her hips, sweat gliding across his chest, as he groans in pleasure, thrusting up inside her. She moans, throwing her head back as she succumbs to the sensation.
And I know how good it feels, because Darrow’s got a big cock and he knows how to use it.
“Hey, asshole,” I say, taking another swig of vodka as I watch them.
“Lo! Shit!” Darrow’s eyes pop wide as he finally notices me. “Don’t overreact,” he pleads, his expression turning frantic. He shoves the redhead off his cock, and she falls to the floor, hitting her temple against the side of the bedside table. He stands, his erect dick saluting me, as he steps over his fuck buddy, ignoring her cries and cusses, making a beeline for me.
“Dar,” Tempest whines, climbing to her feet. “Forget about her. Come back to bed.” She fondles one of her big tits, while her free hand rubs the bruised skin on her forehead.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, glaring at her over his shoulder.
Her lips thin, and a muscle ticks in her jaw. Then, her features smooth out, and a wicked glint shimmers in her eyes.
“Spit it out, bitch,” I say, holding up a palm to stall Darrow’s forward trajectory.
“He’s been fucking me for weeks, any chance he gets,” Tempest purrs, grinning smugly as she walks toward us.
I raise the bottle. “Good for you. It’s only taken you, what, about two years to worm your way into his bed?” She wraps her arm around Darrow from behind, but he pushes her off. “We’ve all watched your pathetic seduction attempts, but perseverance obviously pays. You should be proud.” I smirk, drinking another few mouthfuls of vodka.
“Oh, I am proud. I’m very proud, because I’m clearly a much better lay than the high-and-mighty Harlow Westbrook.”
“Shut your face, Tempest, or I’ll shut it for you,” Darrow hisses at his fuck buddy, looking like he’s seconds away from losing his shit.
“Not my fault you can’t hold on to him,” she adds, taunting me further because she’s got fluff between her ears.
Darrow loses it, slapping her across the face, and I wince as her head jerks back.
“Real classy,” I deadpan, glaring at the asshole. I’m not a fan of Tempest. I actually cannot stand her, but no one deserves to be treated like that. If he had ever dared to lift a finger to me, I would have slapped him back and then tossed his abusive ass to the curb. But Tempest will cling to him like a limpet because she has zero self-respect and even less intelligence.
“She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me. “A hole to fuck when I’m bored. It means nothing.”
The desperate look really doesn’t suit Darrow, and I’m wondering how I’ve put up with him this long. He was a means to an end, and he’s outlived his usefulness. Now, I get to walk away like the injured party, and I can keep my secrets close to my chest. It’s neater this way. Tempest has done me a favor. Not that she’ll ever hear that from my lips.
I snort, and they both pin eyes on me. “You two dumb fucks deserve one another.” I push off the door frame. “Enjoy my sloppy seconds.” Tempest glares at me, and from the way she’s clenching her knuckles, I know she’d love to take a pop at me. “I was done slumming it anyway.”
“Lo, wait. C’mon. You know I love you.” Darrow makes a grab for me, and I promptly knee him in the nuts. He drops to the ground, cupping his dick, as he roars out in pain. I lift the vodka bottle, ready to pour it over his head, before I think better of it.
I’m not wasting good Grey Goose vodka on that cheating slimeball.
“Enjoy your ho, and lose my number.” I hold my head confidently as I walk off.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, blowing Bryant a kiss when I walk past Darrow’s crew, looking like I haven’t a care in the world.
Bryant ditches the blonde and chases after me. “You deserved to know,” he says, falling into step beside me.
I glance at him, knowing exactly why he did it. “Like I said, thanks.”
“Wait.” He grabs my elbow, stalling me. “He was never right for you anyway.”
My lips twitch. “And I suppose you are?”
“You know I am.” He runs a hand over his shaved black scalp, his hazel eyes confirming everything I’ve suspected.