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Chapter 85
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168 Hours in Hell Chapter 86
He lifts his head, and I slowly open my eyes. My vision has adjusted. Moonlight comes in through skylights and high windows. There are faint emergency lights outside the rink, just barely visible from here.The cold hit me, and I shiver.He slips out of me and scoots back on his knees. He grips my knees and widens my legs as far as they can go. My ankles are still trapped together by my jeans, stuck on my boots.When he runs his finger from my slit up to my clit, my lips part.“Here’s a little challenge for you, Violent.” He toys with my clit again, analyzing my reaction.I squirm. I want to get off, I’m right there, on the edge, but he pulls away before I can get there. Again. And again. We go through this for fucking eternity, until I’m desperate enough to do it myself.So I do.I touch myself while he watches, while I shiver and moan and try not to let him see all of me. I fucking hate it. Where did my self-control go? Where did my will? But his gaze combats the cold, and I know ju
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 87
“You find our special friend?” Amanda asks. “Jess is being the responsible one. She’ll get us home.”Oh, well, that’s a brilliant plan.“I need a drink,” I call.They wave me off.I stand at the bar, silent for a moment, then carefully tug my shirt lower. I don’t have a ton of cleavage, but I guess it does the trick. Seconds later, the bartender pauses in front of me. His gaze goes down, then back to my face.“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”I smile sweetly. “Nope, but I do hope I can get a screwdriver. And a vodka tonic for my friend.”He smirks. “I can do that for you.”“Thanks.” My cheeks heat at the insinuation.He hands me a glass filled to the brim with orange juice and vodka. I slide him cash and wait for my change, then take a sip. The taste of vodka gets stuck in my nose, but I ignore it.I’ve stayed away from drugs my whole life. I was a good girl. The one who tried to do no wrong, because I thought that was what would save me in the end.Newsflash—that’s a fucking joke.W
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 88
GREYSONI consider Violet Reece. Before. The girl who seemed to have everything together.Outward appearances can be deceiving. I know that better than anyone.While she hides in the bathroom, I pull up a video of the Crown Point Ballet. One of their shows stars my girl as the lead. I keep the screen close to my face, trying to analyze her every expression when she dances.There’s another video in the suggested list on the side—an interview with Mia Germain and Violet. I don’t know who Mia is, but I’m curious to see Violet. Not just dancing, but her demeanor.It’s different in front of a camera, that much is immediately obvious. She and an older woman sitting in cushioned chairs side by side. Violet on screen is thinner than she is now. She wears a t-shirt, leggings, and a wraparound cardigan cinched tight to her waist. It gapes at the top. Her hair is slicked back in a bun. Even her face has a sharpness to it that isn’t present nowadays.The date on the video is from a year ago.I hi
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 89
GREYSON I rise before Violet. I quietly brush my teeth and pull on different clothes, then sit on the unused bed. I grab her phone from the charger and open it, still sort of miffed that she hasn’t thought to put a password on it.Some people are far too trusting.Like Violet, asleep in my bed. I glance back at her and take in her hair scattered across her face, her full lips, parted as she takes in long, deep breaths. Her eyelids twitch, like her eyes are moving in a dream, and her fingers are curled into her pillow.Other than her tense grip, she seems relaxed.My hand aches, but I’ll deal with that later. Both hands are still wrapped. People kept commenting on them last night when I was trying to keep one eye on Violet. The normal rush from being at the center of attention didn’t come, becauseshewasn’t paying attention to me.When the hell did my brain flip to only giving a shit about her?I don’t like it.I go to her texts, and a conversation with Mia Germain catches my eye. The
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 90
VIOLETThe trip organizers rented out one of the conference rooms for breakfast. There’s a congregation of CPU students in the room, spread out across tables, at the buffet line. I ignore them all, though, in my hunt for Willow.I never ended up texting her last night, and I feel a pang of guilt. It eases slightly, though, when I see her sandwiched between Knox and Amanda.Grey stops beside me. Hearing that I’ve used a nickname he likes—especially coming from me, I guess—does weird things to me. Good things. Strange things. It’s a step in a direction I wasn’t expecting. Like our truce. Like pretending not to hate each other.I’m pretty sure I have frostbite on my ass, though.“Hungry?”I glance up at him. “A bit.”He smiles. “Go sit. I’ll grab us something.”“No, it’s okay.” I head toward the buffet.He snags my wrist. “Vi.”“Grey.” I narrow my eyes. “I have a weird relationship with food, okay? Don’t fight me on this.”He appraises me, understanding lighting his expression. He finall
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 91
Willow rushes me after my first class. She almost crashes into me, skidding to a halt inches away, and drags me into the bathroom. She checks each of the stalls and then locks the main door.“What the hell, Violet?”I jerk back. “What?”“What. The. Hell. Violet.” She glares at me. “You should give a girl some more warning before you go off script.”I drop my backpack and shrug, helpless and more than a bit confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you going to tell me or just keep scolding me?”“This.” She pulls her phone out and shoves it at me.It’s a blog for the CPU Hawks. All sorts of athletic team write-ups, reports, and coverage of the games… plus notices put out by the publicist. Rebecca Dumont.“We met with the publicist the other day,” I say slowly.I click on the most recent post that went live twenty minutes ago.Didn’t take long for Willow to find it—and then me. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. I told Rebecca that the previous article posted in the
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 92
“When did you get here, Violet?” Paris asks.I tilt my head. “What?”“When. Did. You. Get. Here?”Greyson snorts. “She’s more welcome than you.”You know… when I want him to stick it to her, he doesn’t. He lets her climb all over him and sit close and flirt and fawn. And when I’d rather be anywhere but here, he tells her to shove it.Lovely.“Grey,” she tries.Oh, hell no. “You did not just call him that.”Her expression darkens. “Why, did you lay claim to that nickname?”I cross my arms. “As a matter of fact, I did.”Jesus. Who would’ve thought I’d be arguing about a nickname… this whole night is a mind-fuck. And in the back of my head, I have Senator Devereux’s secretary reminding me of my agreement with them. The fact that my aquatic therapy costs hundreds of dollars that I don’t have to spare, and they’ve been footing the bill.“You’re nothing special,” Paris snaps at me, flipping her hair over her shoulder.I roll my eyes. I’m sick of her attitude, but I don’t have the energy to
168 Hours in Hell Chapter 93
GREYSONViolet, Violet, Violet.I can smell her sweet, floral scent in my room like she rubbed herself along my walls and my sheets. There’s no imprint. No sign of her at all except for the smell. Something I don’t think I could concoct in my imagination.I sit on my bed and inhale again, not wanting to exhale.My father calls me. I consider sending it to voicemail, but the last time I did that, he showed up at my game.Him. At a game.I haven’t seen him witness me play in years, let alone speak to me after the fact. It probably has something to do with our clashing reputations. Can a beloved senator really have a bloodthirsty hockey player for a son?Since our next game is at home, I don’t want to risk that. Coach Roake acted like he walked on water, and I was once again reminded of the complex power my father holds. It goes far beyond his domain of New York.I don’t know if there’s a place his influence can’t reach.“Hey, Dad.”“Greyson,” he greets me. Brisk and businesslike, even t
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