로그인~~PEYTON~~
I'm in trouble, but that doesn't mean I'll shiver in fear all because of one mysterious stranger and his chilling laugh. Nah. "Come on," I say a bit defensively. "I'm offering you payment since sorry doesn't soothe you." He stops laughing, yanks out the phone pouch, takes out the SIM card, and tosses the phone back to the ground. All the while, his eyes remain fixed on mine with an unreadable intensity, a weight that makes me feel rooted to the spot. "How about you fix everything by drying me up?" he says finally. My eyebrows raise, but I don't say anything; I'm done with all this shit. He's clearly out of his mind. As I attempt to leave again, he abruptly rips my purse from my grip. My breath hitches, my fingers spasming in the empty air. Before I can react, he turns and strides toward a velvet couch nestled close to the edge of the crowded dance floor. "What the..." I turn, speechless. The audacity... I have no choice but to follow. "You piece of shit! I need my purse back!" I scream, my voice barely cutting through the pulsating beat of the music. "Hey!" I storm over to him, breathless. He sits leaning back on the couch and pats his thigh; my purse hangs tantalizingly over his neck. "Be a good girl and clean up the mess you've made." I fumble for words; no one has ever made me speechless two times in a row. I point a trembling finger to my temple. "Are you..." I rasp, my word bank feeling empty, like what word can I scrape out to describe how crazy he sounds and how stupid and provoking he is? "Are you out of your mind?!" I spit. Words suddenly tumble out in a rush. "What do you think I am? A lap dancer!—" "And what do you think I am? A wet pant?" he shoots back. "Get it over with and get your purse back." I puff out a breath in frustration, and the worst part is there’s one tiny voice in my head replaying my vow from a few hours ago. I want to sin, and it says 'just sin; this is an opportunity,' like seriously. I roll my eyes at the thought. This is no good way to sin. I snap back to reality and take a long, deep breath. "How about I pay for a lap dance, as many as you want?" I suggest. He tilts his head, a smile curling up his lips. He scans me from top to bottom; every inch of me is under surveillance. Then just like that, he sits up straighter, rubbing his chin, eyes narrowing. "That's smart; you really are what they say you are." "Excuse me," I frown. That came out of nowhere. Is he on drugs or something? Nah, I don't think so; he's too calm but sounds more dangerous than a drug addict. His smirk is creepy. In fact, everything about him screams run. Anyway, I shrug it off. "What do you say?" He shrugs and leans back. "KK." I sigh in relief. "—but..." he added, unhooking my purse from his neck. "Only if you sit here with me and watch me get all the lap dances I want." What the hell. Before I can speak, he stretches out my purse. "Deal?" I pause, thinking. Fuck it, what choice do I have? Even if I try to play it smart, I can't snatch the purse from him without getting bitten back. "Fine." I reach out for my purse, but he pulls it back, patting on the couch. "You'll get your purse when my pants are all dried up." I just wrinkle my brow and slump beside him. He leans close, eyes fixed on a few girls already coming our way. "Which one would you like?" I raise a brow. "Do you really have to ask me that?" "The faster you cooperate, the quicker you get your purse." He whispers; the space between us suddenly feels too small. I point towards any of the girls my finger touches. "The brunette, and yeah, you can have the other one with the big tits." I smile at him. "Satisfied?" The ladies, barely in anything, stride toward us, heels clinking, hips swaying, and before I know it, the two ladies I chose are all over him like they’ve got super hearing or something. One is at his back, fingers caressing his shoulders, too slow, yet somehow making massaging look so sensual. The other one straddles him, her tits pressing against his chest, her face on his neck, whispering sweet nothings I don’t want to hear. She grinds on him, but he doesn't seem to be enjoying it very much. And that’s when I notice—his eyes are on me. I was too focused on the girls to realize quickly. But then he taps on the girl's hand, the one who’s massaging. "Be at her service; she'll pay double." Heat floods my cheeks. "What? I don't need a lap dance!" It came out too fast, but the girl is making her move, now in front of me. I don't miss the smirk on his face. He's enjoying this, isn't he? The girl was already on the blow job, and damn—looking at her... it feels so weird. Her ass is in my face... no, she didn't sit on my thigh, but damn... I can't... I can't take this. My stomach churned. This wasn’t the rebellious act I’d envisioned; it was just... icky. I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin under the club lights, the strands of hair escaping her messy updo. The rhythmic movements, so intimate and directed elsewhere, felt out of place with her backside as my primary view. It wasn’t titillating; it was suffocating, a bizarre and unwanted intimacy that made my skin crawl. I shoot up from the couch. "Are your pants not dry yet?" I snap, my heartbeat a mess. He doesn't answer. Fuck him then. I grab my purse before he can react, dip my hand in, and pull out some cash. I hand it over to the girls, trying to sound nice. "You were lovely tonight; thank you for your service, it was great." I smile. They take it and nod, turning to Mr. Big Bad Boy and blowing a kiss. He remains silent. I think that is my cue to run now. I turn, ready to make a beeline to the exit, but a pair of arms grabs me, yanking me back. I stagger, my butt hitting something hard. My body stiffens. My thigh twitches. A jolt shoots through me, and I know he feels it too. His hand wraps around my waist, lips so close to my neck, his breath fanning my earlobe. My heart slams against my chest and I swallow; my throat suddenly goes dry. The sudden closeness was just too much for me to bear, so I had to hold my breath... and freeze, waiting. For what reason I do not know, but a thought flashes through my mind before I can stop it. It's been ages since I last felt a dick on me.~~PEYTON~~ONE YEAR LATERI am currently commando-crawling across the rug like a protagonist in a low-budget action movie. My target? The crib. The tiny, high-stakes biological weapon currently snoring like he didn't spend three hours last night screaming at a shadow on the wall.I reach the edge of the bed, popping my head up. "Guess whose birthday it is?"Still snoring, still sleeping.How do I wake him? I need a way to get back at him for depriving me of sleep.The birthday boy is named Leo—short for Leonardo, because Axel wanted 'classic' and Raphael wanted 'expensive.'He jolts a little because I poked him with my finger.He tries to go back to sleep, but I don't let him.I poke him again.“Wakey wakey!“Finally.He lunges for my hair with the grip of a professional wrestler."Ow! Mother of—"The sound of a ceramic plate meeting its maker echoes from the kitchen downstairs. I roll my eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I see my own brain."And that, Leo, is the sound of your fathers fai
~~PEYTON~~Whoever created childbirth to be this painful? Fuck you. I mean it. I don’t care if you strike me with thunder right now—actually, go ahead, it would probably be a distraction from what’s happening to my lower half!It hurts. It doesn't just hurt; it feels like my body is being turned inside out by a pair of dull pliers."Shit," I hiss, gripping the hospital bed railing until my knuckles turn white. "I should have done a C-section. Why didn't I just opt for the CS? Is it too late to just cut this thing out of me?""Peyton, breathe," Axel says, leaning over me. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last three hours. He’s trying to be the 'calm' one, but I can see his hand shaking."Don't tell me to breathe," I snap, my voice sounding like a demon's. "I'm breathing! My lungs are fine! It’s the rest of me that’s exploding!"Raphael is behind him, looking more pale than I’ve ever seen him. The man who used to run a casino and deal with high-stakes thugs is currently looking
~~PEYTON~~Esme hasn't contacted me once since she woke up. Typical. According to Axel, she basically vanished into thin air the second she got her discharge papers. He’s been hovering, suggesting we should track her down or hire someone to make sure she’s not sleeping in a designer cardboard box, but I declined. Fast.She was shitty to me. Period. I’m not playing the concerned daughter for a woman who only remembered I existed when she was flying through a windshield. I’ll only help if she actually asks for it—which she won't. She’s got too much dignity for that. Or pride. Usually, they’re the same thing when you’re as delusional as she is.I’m hoping that pride is enough to help her survive. She’s still pretty, despite the bruises. Give or take a few weeks, she’ll probably find another "Mr. Gold" to leech off of. That’s her only real skill, after all.I look at my reflection in the mirror and sigh. I had my own problems to deal with, and none of them involved hunting down a woman wh
~~PEYTON~~ "Is this Peyton?" A woman’s voice. Professional, clipped, comes through the speaker. The buzzing of my phone on the coffee table had jolted me out of my peaceful silence. "Depends on who’s asking," I say, keeping my voice flat. "This is St. Jude’s Hospital. We’re calling regarding an Esme? She was involved in a pedestrian-motor vehicle accident about forty minutes ago. Your number was the most recent in her outgoing logs." “What?" “I was saying—” "Is she dead?" I ask. Straight to the point. "She’s in critical condition, currently in surgery. We need a next of kin or someone to come down and— Is she family?" Of course she had to ask. I don't sound like I care right now. And funny, I'm the last person she tried to call, like I'm the center of her universe or some sort of figure of significance in her life. Jesus, Peyton, stop. You sound like a sociopath. I stare at the ceiling, watching a tiny shadow dance near the light fixture. Typical Esme. Even wh
~~ESME~~The sun is doing its best to be productive, but I’m just here for the tan, occupied with my favorite hobby: lounging by the pool and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist. My sunglasses are big enough to hide my lack of interest in anything and everything, and the water is a perfect, shimmering blue.The peace is nothing like I've ever seen.Natalie is gone. At least she's moved out, but it's clear as day that she will be visiting soon for the marathon that usually lasts the whole night. They're like sex maniacs.Arlo, to be precise.He's a maniac to her but pretended to be gentle with me on our one-night stand. It's funny when you think of it. He was drunk that night, but his sex wasn't satisfying—the opposite of what he feeds Natalie.Then, a shadow falls over my lounge chair. I don't need to look up to know who it is. The air usually gets a lot more boring when Arlo walks into a room—or a backyard."Can I sit?" he asks.I don't move. I don't even lift my shades.
~~AXEL~~I didn’t even get to see the look on Peyton’s face. One second I’m finally, finally getting her to see a future where she isn't hiding under a blanket, and the next, Raphael is dragging me by the arm like a debt collector.He hauls me toward the fireplace, his grip tighter than it needs to be. He’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, and his eyes are wide, darting around like he’s looking for something to punch."What the hell was that?" he snaps, shoving my shoulder as he lets go.I stumble back, straightening my cufflinks. How aggressive can he get?"Use your words, Raphael. Some of us actually graduated from kindergarten.""What you said out there!" He’s pacing now, his boots heavy on the hardwood. "What are you feeding her? Wedding dresses? Walking down the aisle? Are you insane?"I scoff, leaning back against the mantel. "God forbid a man has a wish. It was just an innocent wish, okay? It’s nothing. We all know it’s gonna happen eventually—unless you’re planning on sa







