{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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"I can't believe you talked me into wearing this."
"You look hot!" Nessa called from the other side of our dorm. She was staring in the mirror, applying a winged liner with a precision that I envied. And that was exactly why Nessa had done every bit of my make-up for the evening. And I had to admit, I loved it.
This dress, on the other hand...
"It's—It's..." I couldn't find the words.
"It's hot," Nessa supplied for me.
Keeping a close eye on my reflection, I experimented with sucking in. I'd definitely gained a few pounds since getting back to campus this winter, and I didn't like that those pounds would be on full display in this tight-ass gown. Hopefully, Bren wouldn't notice.
Although, Bren notices everything.
I groaned.
"Cut it out, Madie. You don't need to do that. You look amazing." Nessa said, walking over to me again. She, of course, was stunning in a deep mauve-colored gown that clung to her curves. Curves that did not have any extra pounds.
"Your date is a lucky guy, Nes!" I said, giving her a sly smile. "What's his name again?"
"Jonathon. He always sits next to me in bio lecture." She smiled, but there seemed to be something missing from it. "We should probably get going. I told Beau we'd meet him out front at seven-thirty."
After one more regretful glance in the mirror, I followed Nessa out the door to find our friend.
Beau, funnily enough, was awash with nerves, drumming his fingers on the top of the steering wheel the entire way to the hotel. Nessa said that he'd found a date, and I was sure that had something to do with it. But it was amusing; Beau was always so unaffected by everyone and everything.
Not anymore, apparently.
I wasn't one to talk, though. My entire body hummed with the anticipation of seeing Bren. He'd decided to meet us at the Cardairel, and Nessa had already put her hand on my leg twice to keep it from bouncing as we sat in the back of Beau's Range Rover.
The Cardairel Hotel stood tall in downtown San Francisco, and it was even fancier than that restaurant Bren had taken me to in LA. It oozed old-world elegance with its painted ceilings and golden fixtures.
As I stood with Beau, Nessa, and Jonathon—who seemed nice so far—at the top of a grand staircase, I scanned my surroundings. We were looking out over a gilded lobby, affording the perfect vantage point of guests as they streamed in for the gala. And I was adjusting the mask on my face as I saw Bren striding across polished floors.
It didn't matter that nearly every guy looked the same with their tuxedos, ties, and half-hidden faces. I knew it was Bren. I could tell by the way that he walked, by the way that he carried himself. By that hair, those shoulders. It made my heart lurch. Because it was him. And he was walking with a hot confidence, wearing all black.
