Alaia Finley has always lived in the safe, wealthy bubble her parents created.
Her neighbor, Benedict Grace aka Ben, couldn't be more different.
He's part of the city's most feared group, known for causing trouble.
Even though they've lived next...
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I walk through the crowd, already annoyed by the laughter and music. I look around, but the fog makes it hard to find Chanel, the friend I'm supposed to meet. Actually, she more or less forced me to come to this illegal party, which includes a car race.
Chanel is my best friend, and you can tell she has rich parents just by her name. Her mom once told me that Chanel was conceived on a yacht owned by one of those rich guys, and she lost her Chanel necklace in the water, so she named her daughter after it as a reminder. Weird woman.
I sigh and push through the crowd standing by the racetrack, cheering. Where the hell is she? I spot a group of guys from my class. They're just losers who waste their weekends drinking and picking up girls, thinking they're cool. But honestly, if you have to say you're cool, you're not. Andrew, the biggest idiot of them all, nods to his friends in the crowd, his eyes locked on me—or more specifically, my body. Disgusting.
Normally, I'd wear baggy jeans, a crop top, and some sneakers, but Chanel threatened to burn my clothes if I didn't wear something sexy. So here I am, in the shortest skirt that barely covers my butt, some weird cowboy boots with heels that make walking a nightmare, and a crop top—at least I got to keep that.
I walk over to Andrew, nodding a hello. He leans down so I can hear him over the music. "Finley, I didn't know you were this hot," he yells in my ear. I fake a laugh, nodding, and then look around. "Have you seen Chanel?" I ask, ignoring his compliment. He smiles. "No, is she here too?" He looks at his friends and laughs. I shake my head and start to walk away, but he grabs my wrist. "Want a drink?" he asks, holding out a red cup. I take the cup and walk off before he can say anything else.
I head to a quiet corner where the older folks hang out, laughing at the teenagers wasting their youth on drinking and illegal activities instead of investing in their future.jerks. I sniff the liquid in the cup and grimace. Beer. Cheap beer. I probably sound like a spoiled brat, which I am. I take a sip, thinking it might be the only thing that makes tonight bearable...until I hear a voice behind me. I know that voice all too well—it belongs to Benedict Grace, my neighbor. All his little gangster friends call him Ben; Benedict sounds too fancy for a guy who kills people. "What's a girl like you doing here?" he asks with his usual deep voice and that weird grin on his face. I turn around to face him. I have to crane my neck to look up at him...but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't worth it.
His pale skin matches his deep brown eyes that you could easily get lost in...his black hair falling over his forehead, and when it's wet, it even falls over his eyes—what can I say? My window overlooks his pool. And let's not forget the nose piercing and tattoos on his hands and biceps that he and his friends made each other because they weren't old enough at 15.
"What do you mean by a girl like me?" I ask, taking another sip of my beer to hide my nervousness. I've never really talked to Ben...not like this. He was always too cool, too dangerous for my world. But in the 17 years I've lived in this city, in the same house, right next to his, I've only spoken to him once as a kid when I brought muffins to his mom and he answered the door.
"I don't know, innocent little girls like you," he says with a rough laugh, looking at the red cup. "Aren't you a bit young to be drinking?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're only a year older than me," I say, taking another sip, trying not to show how gross and bitter this stuff tastes. "Give it here," he says, stepping closer, making me step back. "Why should I?" I mock him. "First off, you're too young," he says, stepping closer again, making me step back once more. "Second, it doesn't matter that I'm just as young as you, little one, I've been in this deep hole for a long time," he says, taking another step. "Third, you don't belong here, Alaia," he whispers as he stands right in front of me, looking down at me with those eyes.. I feel like the air has been knocked out of my lungs. He lifts his finger to my neck. feeling my pulse. and strokes it up to my chin, lifting it so I have to look at him. I slap his hand away. "Don't touch me, asshole," I hiss, and he laughs. "Why not? My hand would look great on that pretty neck of yours," he whispers, sending a shiver down my spine. I step back, but my back hits a wall I didn't know was there. shit. He steps closer, placing his hands on either side of the wall next to my head. He leans down. "Does your daddy even know you're here?" he asks with that stupid grin on his face. I don't answer. Of course, my dad doesn't know. He'd call the cops and burn every guy here and enjoy it...and if he knew I was drinking...oh my go—
My thoughts are interrupted by a rough laugh. Why is he laughing now? "What's so funny?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Nothing, nothing...I just didn't know you had green eyes," he whispers, tucking a dark brown strand of hair behind my ear. He leans even closer, and I can feel his breath on my face. "Last warning, Alaia, go home and get some sleep, like you should be doing," he whispers in a deep tone that tells me he's not kidding. "You don't get to tell me what to do," I whisper back with a frown. He growls and leans in closer until our noses are almost touching. "Don't mess with me," he growls again, stepping back, which feels like freedom as I can finally breathe again. I lift the cup back to my lips to take another sip, but he takes it from me, lifts it to his own lips, and downs it in one gulp. Then he crushes the cup and throws it on the ground. I stand there frozen, staring at the cup. Once I collect myself, I look at him and stand right in front of him. "What's your problem, man!" I shout at him. "That you don't know how to shut that pretty little mouth of yours. That's my problem," he hisses in a dangerously deep voice. I lift my chin to show a bit of defiance. "Then shut it for me," I whisper. Wait, what? The alcohol must be messing with my brain cells. I step back, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. "Don't push me," he whispers, his eyes darkening as he looks down at me. He lets go of me, takes a step back, runs his hand over his face, then through his hair. "Go home, Alaia," he hisses, walking away from me in big strides.
