Darkson High

3.14

Jake stormed out of the kitchen, the echo of the slammed door still ringing in his ears.

He could feel his heart pounding, each beat fueled by the adrenaline that had been surging through him since the confrontation with Nikky. He was pissed off. More than that, he was frustrated.

Frustrated with the night, the drama, with Nikky for dragging him into this mess when he'd been trying to let loose.

He knew she was right, though. He hadn't been paying attention, hadn't answered his phone. And now Kendra was missing.

He pushed through the crowd, barely noticing the stares that followed him.

Outside, he found a quieter spot and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The sharp taste of tobacco filled his lungs, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

His mind raced, thinking of Nikky, her worried face and the way she always seemed to put herself in the middle of things. He had snapped at her, sure, but it was out of concern, out of fear that something had happened to Kendra.

Nikky could take care of herself—she always had—but he didn't like seeing that flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

The smoke curled around him as he leaned back against the wall, glancing at the party still raging on.

A couple of feet away, Maggie was leaning against another wall, her icy blue eyes flicking toward him now and then. She was still wound up from earlier, and he could feel it, that tension between them like a live wire. Jake and Maggie always had this thing, this intense, magnetic pull that neither of them could ignore, even when they wanted to. She looked at him with that same guarded look she always wore, but beneath it, he could see something else—anger, frustration... maybe even jealousy.

Jake took another drag from his cigarette, the embers flaring red. His jaw clenched as he tried to focus on the rhythm of the bass-heavy music thumping from inside, letting it drown out his thoughts. But the peace didn't last long.

Tom appeared, storming out of the house, his face flushed with anger. The guy had a bone to pick—something about Jake and his friends crashing the party. Jake's blue eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a taunting smirk. "What's the problem, Tommy boy?" he drawled, his voice low and mocking. "You're not still sore about last time, are you?"

Tom's eyes blazed, and he took a step closer, his fists already balling up. "You think you can just waltz in here like you own the place, huh?" Tom spat, his voice thick with rage. "You and your little crew don't belong here."

Jake shrugged, flicking ash off his cigarette. "Well, I'm here now. So what are you gonna do about it?" His tone was laced with a challenge, his blue eyes daring Tom to make the first move. Jake wasn't looking for a fight, but he wasn't going to back down, either. Not tonight. He needed this—needed a way to blow off some steam and burn through the frustration eating at him.

Tom, already half-drunk and emboldened by anger, sneered. "You think you're tough, huh? Just 'cause you got a reputation? You're nothing but a punk who hides behind your friends."

Jake chuckled, low and dangerous, his eyes still locked on Tom. "Is that right? Funny, coming from a guy who still cries about his sister every time he gets a little liquid courage. What's the matter, Tom? Still bitter she liked me better?"

Tom's face twisted in rage. "Shut the hell up, Jake!" he shouted, his voice breaking slightly, his fists trembling with barely contained fury. He lunged at Jake, swinging wild, but Jake was quicker, dodging the first punch with ease. His smirk widened, a predator who'd found his prey.

"Come on, Tom. Is that all you got?" Jake taunted, his voice calm but dripping with menace. "I thought you wanted to show me how it's done." His eyes were cold, calculating, a mix of amusement and challenge.