The wreck it party

Francesa’s POV

Later…

It’s the weekend. And I am at the club.

The music was too loud.

Like someone had handed a malfunctioning speaker system to a drunk DJ and told him to blast it until the walls cracked.

Strobe lights danced like frantic lightning across the bodies grinding on the floor. Perfume thick enough to choke a corpse.

And in the middle of it all, there is me.

Sitting in the darkest corner, a glass of something I wasn’t drinking resting in my hand. I twirled the stem with two fingers, watching the amber liquid swirl like it might offer me answers.

It didn’t. Nothing did.

Not when that instruction the chairman gave me with that folder still ringing in my head like a second heartbeat.

Her.

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, my jaw tightening.

Why the hell was I here?

Because someone thought I needed to “blend in,” “recharge,” or whatever delusional excuse passed for getting us all drunk in one location with no target in sight.

I hated parties. Too many people pretending they’re not seconds away from dying if I got bored enough.

Someone plopped beside me like she had no survival instinct.

“God, Francesa.”

Ah. Claudia. Sweet but deadly.

She looked like she belonged in a goddamn bakery commercial. She has bright eyes, pink lips, the kind of softness that made grown men drop their guard and then their pulse.

Too bad I’d seen her shove a knitting needle through a diplomat’s jugular once. Never batted an eye.

She grinned at me.

“You’re such a party pooper,” she said, tossing her golden curls behind her shoulder like she wasn’t trying to get me killed by volume alone. “You could at least try to act like a normal human being. For once.”

I turned to her slowly. Not annoyed. Just... intrigued.

“You want me,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the music, “to act like a normal human being?”

She blinked, beaming. “Exactly!”

I leaned in, letting my lips curl into a slow, razor-edged smile.

“You mean lie, pretend to care about irrelevant social rituals, drink diluted alcohol while fantasizing about slitting the bartender’s throat, and giggle when men touch my waist uninvited?”

Claudia laughed, her nose scrunching like a little bunny. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“No, darling,” I purred, lifting the untouched glass to my lips, letting the scent burn my nose before setting it back down. “I’m just awake in a world full of sleepwalkers.”

Claudia rolled her eyes, leaning closer. “Well, the next time I might spend time with you might be never.”

I arched a brow.

She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger, her voice dropping. “I heard the next mission you have will take long. Months. You’ll be off-grid, won’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

Claudia’s smile wavered for just a second, enough for me to catch the edge of worry. “So… just for tonight—can you, I don’t know, act normal? For me?”

I stared at her, deadpan. “You’re asking a predator to dress like a lamb.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You’d make a really cute lamb.”

I groaned and tilted my head back, sighing toward the ceiling. “I genuinely don’t understand how we’re friends.”

Everyone else kept their respectful distance. They nodded, exchanged intel, avoided eye contact. The smart ones never lingered in my shadow. But Claudia danced straight into it like it was a sunbeam.

Was it because she reminded me of—

I stopped that thought. Slit its throat mid-sentence. I am not going to think about that.

I turned to her again, letting my eyes narrow to slits. “Stop making that face.”

She blinked, all wide eyes and innocence. “What face?”

“The one that says, ‘if you don’t do what I want, I might start fake-crying in public.’”

She pressed her lips together, doing that obnoxiously exaggerated pout she knew drove me insane. “Is it working?”

“I wish,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Fine. I’ll try.”

Claudia squealed. Actually squealed. “Yes! That’s the spirit!”

“I’m already regretting this.”

She was already on her feet, practically skipping across the floor. She returned with a half-empty bottle of something gold and mean, holding it up like a prize.

“Step one,” she declared, unscrewing the cap. “You’re going to drink.”

“Do I look suicidal?”

“Relax,” she said, pouring into two plastic cups. “It’s not poisoned.”

I eyed her. “How sure are you?”

Claudia’s smile sparkled. “Only one way to find out.”

She shoved a cup toward me and lifted hers high. “Cheers!”

I stared at her, then the drink, then back to her. Her eyes danced.

I clinked my cup against hers with a long-suffering sigh. “To probable liver damage.”

She downed hers in one clean gulp like it was water.

I took mine in smaller sips. It was bitter, and it was biting my throat. It tasted like fermented regret.

My face contorted. “That tastes like pain.”

Claudia grinned, licking her lips. “It’s the sacrifice for a happy feeling.”

I gave her a long look. “You like pain.”

“So do you.”

Fair.

Claudia kept pouring.

One shot turned into two.

Two turned into “oh my god, just one more, you’re not even tipsy yet!”

The alcohol burned hotter with each swallow, slinking down my throat like fire with fangs.

I could feel it pooling in my stomach, slow and heavy, coiling like a serpent.

My limbs got warmer.

My vision sharpened and blurred in the strangest way, like I could see the room clearer but care less about it.

“Claudia…” I muttered, wobbling slightly on the seat, “If I end up killing someone tonight, it’s your fault.”

She just laughed, then grabbed my arm. “Come on!”

I didn’t get a say. She was already dragging me toward the dance floor.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.

“Yes!”

The music felt louder now. My head pulsed with the bass, each beat a dull throb behind my eyes. The lights flickered violently. Everything was disorienting.

I could hear every lesson drilled into me when I was taught to be a ruthless killer.

Don’t drink to the point of dull senses.

Don’t allow your awareness to fade in a crowd.

Control is survival.

Right now? Control was slipping through my fingers. Claudia danced like she didn’t have daggers hidden beneath that pretty little dress.

But more than that—

She danced like she was free.

Her arms above her head, hips swaying like sin wrapped in innocence. She turned to me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“You’re the best friend I ever had,” she said breathlessly, her voice floating through the music.

That… did something.

It cracked something.

Not that I’d ever admit it. Not even under torture.

I looked away, scanning the dance floor. Mostly just making sure Claudia didn’t bring too much attention to herself—

Too late.

Some idiotic men had already noticed her. Their eyes shameless. Their grins wide and oily.

But then they noticed me. My stare met theirs.

Just the slow lift of my head… and that look.

That look I’d perfected.

The one that whispered: Come closer, and I’ll gut you where you stand. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.

They looked away. Smart little boys.

Claudia, of course, paid no mind to the chaos she summoned with her hair flips and breathless laughs.

She twirled and grabbed a random man’s arm—tall, tanned, built like a regret waiting to happen.

“I’m gonna get laid!” she called, already tugging him toward toward an hallway.

“Claudia!” I called after her, eyes narrowing. “Are you insane?!”

She blew a kiss over her shoulder. “Love you! Bye!”

I stared.

Was she crazy?

Yes. Always.

Could she defend herself?

Absolutely. Probably better than anyone else in this room.

Still, she was mine to protect.

Even in this half-drunken haze, I couldn’t shake that.

So I moved. My footwear were heavier than usual. My steps wobbled. I blamed the lights. And the drinks. And Claudia being an impulsive little hell-angel.

I weaved through the crowd, ready to trail her like the overprotective psychopath she’d turned me into.

Then I slammed into something solid.

A hard and solid chest.

Fuck. I stumbled back a step, my fingers brushing fabric, muscles.

And scent.

God.

He smelled like leather, smoke, and something dark I couldn’t name. Like danger bottled into cologne.

A voice followed.

It curled down my spine.

“You alright, beautiful?”

The voice did… things.

To my ears.

To the haze in my mind.

I blinked and looked up.

Holy shit.

His face.

Sharp jaw, shadowed stubble, deep-set eyes that looked like sin dipped in secrets. He looked handsome and deadly.

Sexy in a way that felt illegal to be near.

Okay. I was definitely drunk.

Because I never thought things like that.

Not out loud.

Not even in my head.

And yet…

My hands swayed, unsteady and slow, landing over his chest like I needed something to hold onto. Something solid.

His voice slid between the music.

“Did a beautiful woman like you… come here alone?”

God.

The bass in his voice could bring down the heavens.

Or bring someone to their knees.

I tilted my head, my lips curling as I peered up at him through lowered lashes. “Yes,” I said, letting the word roll off my tongue. “Why? You planning to kill me?”

He chuckled.

And fuck—

Even that sounded like sin. Deep and rich, like it came from somewhere buried in his chest. Somewhere warm and wicked.

He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my cheek, his eyes smoldering with something that felt too deliberate.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m planning something much better.”

I raised a brow “Better?”

A pause.

Then his voice dropped.

“I’m going to claim you.”

My thighs pressed together instinctively.

It was faint. But the heat that bloomed there wasn’t alcohol.

It wasn’t imagined.

And it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

Shit.