{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
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Five was four too many shots of tequila. Especially when it was Beau's 100-proof expensive tequila.
Beau had sat back and watched with an amused expression as Nessa and I threw back his booze. And then, when we'd reached for our sixth shot, his eyes grew wide—like he realized what he'd done.
He whisked the glasses and bottle away.
Nessa had pouted for about half a second before throwing her hands in the air, shouting, "Your turn, B!"
With a laugh, Beau had shaken his head. "I don't think so. If we're going out with the two of you lookin' like that and drunk as shit, I gotta keep my wits about me."
"Just take one shot, Beau," I'd whined back at him, trying to tip the bottle toward his mouth even though the cap was on.
Beau wasn't having it. "Bren would kill me if something happened to you. Bro has a gun now, ya know. I ain't messing with that."
"Bren ruins everything," I'd pouted, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Speaking of Bren, I'm gonna send him a picture!" Nessa exclaimed, jumping up from the floor where we'd all been sitting. Then she'd made a face like she said something she wasn't supposed to...before shrugging and taking her phone out anyway.
I'd brightened at her suggestion because despite what I'd said, I didn't really know how to stay mad at Bren. Popping up to pose for Nessa, I threw a hand on one hip. A hell of a lot of effort went into this outfit, and he deserved to see it. That was how my drunk brain had worked, anyway.
Beau responded by rolling his eyes and laughing again. He'd also muttered something too soft to hear—or I was simply too tipsy to comprehend. But it was a good guess that he was still concerned Bren would come after his ass.
Now, we were at the party, and Beau's eyes were still rolling as he scanned the scene.
The shitty college house was dark, illuminated only by the neon strip lights that ran along the ceiling's perimeter. They kept flashing between firetruck red and kelly green, giving me a headache that was only made worse by the Bose speakers pumping Rockstar—a song I only knew from a TikTok trend that, in my opinion, should just be canceled already.
We took a few steps inside, and I stumbled on something—kicked-off shoes probably. Beau caught me around the waist before I could go crashing to the ground. At the same moment, Nessa collapsed onto the staircase near the front door, looking like she'd just walked miles instead of a few blocks.
"Fuck, I knew we shouldn't have come," Beau muttered beneath his breath, looking between the two of us. "I'm gonna get you a water, Nes. Don't move."
Nessa nodded, even though she looked a little unsure. She forced herself back up, but not without a great deal of effort. Her expression all pinched, she grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the entryway, pressing us against the wall in some makeshift shady-ass living room so we'd be out of the way. It was crowded and hot. Some girls were standing on couches, yelling over the sea of drunk college kids. Bear bongs were thrust in the air like flags, hailing down more idiots.
