Rich Coven

Chapter Five

Leaning over a shrub blocks away, I vomited the appetizers I had stuffed myself with earlier. I steadied my hand against the crimson brick wall to regain balance, and again spew chunk of spring rolls on the leafy barrier of a building.

"Eden." Aw, fuck. He found me. I glanced up, still starry eyed from throwing up. He must have been in impeccable shape- he barely broke a sweat. "Holy fuck are you okay?!" He sounded genuine, like he was actually concerned.

"I'm fine," I spat. "How'd you find me anyways," I mumbled, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"You can't just run out like that," he retorted bitterly. "You could have gotten hurt. Or worse, they could have found you."

"Your parents know I'm with you."

He shook his head. "Not my parents. Secret service. They make sure there's no run aways."

"I wasn't running away," I fibbed, spinning on my feet to stride in the opposite direction.

"Yeah well from the restaurant it looks like you did. Don't you trust me?"

"How am I supposed to trust you Beck? We literally just met and you're telling me that you help your father traffic girls. How am I supposed to trust someone like that?!" I sneer over my back.

He dropped his shoulders, guilt protruding from his eyes. So I'm right. I inhale sharply. I had hoped I wasn't.

"I'm not saying what I did was right," he shouts, jogging to catch up to me. "But I didn't have a choice. I would never do that to you."

"Why?! Because I'm 'different' from the rest? How? I want the money just as much as the other girls do." I could give two shits about the fame. I just wanted to be able to support myself without my dumbass father. Now I didn't want either.

"No, that's not it. You're special Eden." I ignore him, strutting quicker in the opposite direction. Special? If special meant being murdered by his father, I would rather be normal. I was pissed and craving the bottle of tequila calling me at the bar. "Where are you going?! The car is the other way."

"I know that dipshit. I'm going to a bar."

"Hey!" He yanks my wrist towards him. Taken back, I gape at him surprised. He looked provoked, his mouth clenched in a hard line. "Don't call me names. I don't like that shit."

Threatening. I smirk, not even bothering to hide my attraction to dominant males. Nothing was more hot than the look in his eyes right then. They were passionate with a hint of playful and reminded me of someone that would get me in a lot of trouble. Trouble that was fun, sensual, and down right dirty. You want to have sex with him, my subconscious teases. I shake the voice out and she leaps back in as his fingers slide down to my hand. He let's go, crashing me back to reality.

"I need a drink," I mutter.

Apotheke LA was packed with the city's free spirited, high class millennials who were equally as intoxicated. It was Caribbean dance night, and the sound of Beenie Man's "Dancehall Queen" floated through the peach lit room. I maneuvered my way through the crowd and ordered three tequila shots with sugar around the rim at the bar. The bartender made eye contact with Beck and immediately put it on his tab. What was it about rich people paying for my drinks?

Not that I mind.

I down the shots back to back, taking in the familiar serene feeling that was warm and bubbly.

"We shouldn't be here." Beck leaned his back on the stained glass bar top and scanned the entirety of the room. "I was only supposed to take you for dinner."