Can you damage someone beyond repair?
Luca plays his role as the loyal underboss. Violent, lethal, flawless. The lapdog, the starboy.
On the surface, he maintains his facade of smirks and casual charm, but beneath the mask, thereʼs a profound dark...
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THE COKE IS WEARING OFF too quick for this. I did a line off some girl’s tits, holding Wren Sullivan’s gaze throughout—her eyes wide and disturbed, like she thought I was better than that.
I wasn’t.
Somehow, she’d taken control of my mind and I wanted it back. I wanted her to know she didn’t have any hold on me.
I wanted her to see me.
She didn’t know the half of it.
She didn’t know shit.
I’d been following her to the subway every day this past week, making sure she was undisturbed until she got off at her stop, then taking the ride back to school parking lot to get my car.
Every. Single. Day. For the past week.
She hadn’t noticed me once.
And now she was having the time of her life at the bar, throwing back shots with Andrew fucking Vanderbilt. The preppy shit had his arm around her waist like he had the damn right to touch her.
I want to break his fuckin’ face.
Wren’s long dark hair, now pin-straight, cascades over her shoulders, catching the flashing lights overhead, making it shine like silk. The embellished fabric of that tiny piss-poor excuse of a dress clings to her, highlighting the gentle slope of her waist and the flare of her hips.
Fuck. I adjust my dick through my slacks.
I’m losing my mind.
The girl was ruining me. And now she was ruining my high.
What is she even doing here?
And where’d she get that damn dress?
This isn’t her scene. Why couldn’t she stay at home and read a fucking book?
Adriana’s doing, no doubt. Dragging Wren into her world, dressing her up like some fucking doll, and parading her around in front of slimy motherfuckers who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
My little performance really riled little Wren Sullivan up, it seems, because she never looks my way again.
She turns away from me, eyes heated, and downs a shot. And then another. Adriana matches her, laughing and cheering the whole time.
Wren always hesitates with the shot glass in her hand, giving herself a mental pep talk before she throws it back. Her eyes crinkle as she grimaces, and even with that repulsed expression she’s so damn pretty.
I lean against the wall, nursing a beer as I watch Adriana pulls her to the center of the dance floor, right under the flashing lights. The beat of Unforgettable pulses through the penthouse, wrapping around them.
Adriana has her hands on Wren’s lower back, manicured fingers splayed wide as she guides her. Her hands slide further down, grabbing Wren’s ass and pulling her closer until their bodies are almost flush.
