5. FIVE

FIVE

T here's no party backstage after this concert. Instead, two limos pick us up and take us to an upscale club in Downtown San Francisco. I ride with the family—not to be confused with the bloodsluts—and the band rides in a separate car.

When we get there, Alana approaches the woman at the front, who then escorts us through the throngs of people to our table. It's one of maybe six on a mezzanine overlooking the main stage, where there's a DJ and a dance floor.

"I'm so over this," Alana says as she throws herself down into the booth. She grabs a bottle of gin from the table and mixes herself a drink. "I just want to go home."

"We'll be home soon," Brady tells her. "I don't think we'll stay out long. I think they're all ready to go home, too."

"How long have you been…with them?" I ask her. I'm not sure how else to word the question. I think that's how River said it last night.

"About nine months," Alana says.

I do the math in my head. So, that means she probably never met Bridget, either. Neither did River or Hazel.

"Wow, that's a long time."

"Brady is the OG. He's been with Rhett since they were first getting started. And Layla has been with them since the first album, so probably…eighteen months, right Layla?"

So those two—they did know Bridget. And I can assume they all knew Heidi.

"Um, yeah," she says. "Twenty months, actually. Where are they anyway? They should be here by now."

"Declan and Eli were fighting again when they got into the car," Brady says. "They're probably finishing whatever that was. Oh, wait. There they are," he says, pointing toward the door.

"Layla," River says. "Let's go dance."

"I don't feel like it," she says. "You go ahead."

"No, Layla. I think you need to go dance," she says a little more forcefully.

"Only if Alana goes, too," she says.

Alana sighs and sinks further into the booth, shaking her head. "Layla…" She sighs, looking at the sad blonde girl for a moment before saying, "You know what? Fine. Let's go dance."

I watch them cross the space and descend the staircase, passing Luca and pulling him back downstairs on the way.

"Wondering what the fuck is going on?" Brady asks me.

"Yes," I tell him. "Perpetually. There is literally no limit to how much I'm wondering what the fuck is going on."

"Well, I can fill in a small gap for you."

"Please do."

"For a long time, Layla was Declan's favorite, but now, Alana is his favorite, and Layla isn't handling it well. She can't stand to see them alone together, so that's why she dragged Alana downstairs with her just now. They were always really good friends, so Alana's giving her a lot of grace, but…it's getting tiring. And she's not supposed to be like this. We have rules."

"Right," I say. "I think I heard that one. No one belongs to anyone."

"Exactly."

"It's a good rule."

"Are you poly?" he asks.

"Um, I don't know. I've never really been in a situation where anyone has expected me to label myself. But I've never been monogamous," I tell him. The truth is that I haven't really ever been in a real relationship. "So…maybe? I'm not really sure."

"You've never had a boyfriend…or girlfriend? Ever? You've never been in love?" He looks me up and down, likely trying to find whatever flaw has prevented me from forming that kind of bond with another human being. Luckily, I don't think mine is the kind you can find just by looking.

"No. Never."

"Interesting," he says. He tilts my chin up with two fingers and appears to examine me some more. "I wonder what that would be like. It'd either be peaceful or terrible."

"It's…slightly jarring, honestly."

Hunter was the closest thing to a relationship I've had in my adult life, and that wasn't love. And maybe I'm no expert—maybe I don't know what love is supposed to feel like—but I'm no stranger to the human experience or the potential to feel. I feel things all the time, so I know I'm capable. I have to be. Right?

But I've heard the things they say about me, and I've lain awake at night trying to process the idea that maybe I'm not, and it terrifies me.

So no, that's not it. I'm not a sociopath or anything like that. I'm just…I don't know what I am.

"I bet," Brady says.

He laughs and leans forward, grabbing his drink from the table. Before he can bring it to his lips, his eyes lock onto something that wipes the smile from his face.

"What?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, attempting to shrug it off.

I try to follow where his eyes were before and land on Rhett kissing another guy downstairs. He breaks away, then takes the other man by the hand and pulls him behind him toward the back exit.

"Oh…" I say. "You don't like it…"

"I'm fine," he says, poking at the ice in his glass with a stir straw. "I know what he and I have is real. It doesn't bother me. I just…thought he'd at least come say hi first or something."

"Does he know that you don't like it?" I ask.

"I'm fine with it," he says.

I cock my head and wait for a better answer.

"I'm not bi like him…but doesn't bother me so much if it's one of the girls," he says. "They're family, and I love them. Or if we do it together, but…yeah. We don't talk about it, but he knows."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"Don't be," he says. "Why would you feel sorry for me? I know Rhett loves me. And it's not like with Declan and Layla. He tells me he loves me, and I know it's true."

His tone comes off harsh, reminding me that while he knows that feeling, I do not.

I pick up something else in there, too. Layla thought she and Declan were in love, but he never felt the same way.

"I don't pity you," I tell him. "That's not what I meant by that. I just…can't imagine what that would feel like."

"Well, someday you'll know," he replies. It sounds a lot more like a threat than a well-wish. "And someday, the tours will end, and the sun will set on this season of our lives, and you know what? I'll still be here, and it'll just be us. We'll grow old together, maybe have a couple of kids. And none of this will matter. It'll just be a story we tell them—about how Daddy was a rockstar once, and now we have enough money to send them to private school."

Hazel moves over and sits next to him, hooking her arm in his and showing him something on her phone. He laughs, and it's like the conversation never happened.

But that…that's love. I heard it in his voice, even in this painfully loud club.

I watch them for a moment more before I see Declan and Eli approaching.

Eli grabs a beer from the middle of the table, and Hazel stands up and slaps him hard on the back.

"Heyyyyyyy," she says. "What's up, Big E?"

He grimaces like he's in pain, then leans over and hugs Hazel. "Ready to get the fuck out of here," he tells her before plopping down on the couch.

"Yeah," she says. "I think we've all been ready to be home for a while."

"You're Teagan, right?" he says. "I'm Eli. Welcome to the shitshow. May the odds be ever in your favor."

He tips his beer toward me, and the other two laugh, but given what I know already, I'm not sure that's funny, so I don't join in.

"Stop," Hazel laughs.

"Teagan."

I recognize the voice well enough by now to know it's Declan who's calling my name, but still, I hope I'm wrong when I look up.

He's leaning against the railing, staring at me, emotionless. He inclines his head when my eyes meet his, gesturing for me to come to him.

I hesitate for only a second, thinking about how if any other man tried to summon me like this in any other bar, it wouldn't matter how big his biceps were or how nice his chest looked in a tight v-neck shirt—I'd kick that mother fucker in the knees. But now, for him, I force myself to stand and then my feet to move until I meet the enigma himself and lean against the railing next to him.

"I heard you might have some questions for me," he says.

…Is he serious?

"I have…nothing but questions. But are you actually going to answer them?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Maybe. If I feel like it. I'll give you three."

"Okay…" I go through my mental Rolodex and try to pull out one of my more basic questions—something he might actually answer. "Why is it that I can't talk to Luca, but you said it was fine for him to go fuck River, Hazel, or anyone else at that party as long as he doesn't talk to them?"

"Because," he starts. "Everyone has a drug of choice. Luca's drug of choice…is love."

I furrow my brow, not quite catching his meaning. "Okay…I'm still not sure what the problem is."

If this is going to be how he answers all of my questions, I should just go sit the fuck down.

"The problem is that for him, it is a drug. He's obsessed with the idea of it, and he takes it too far every fucking time. He lets it control him, and it makes him absolutely insane. He can't handle it. He can fuck the girls because they won't fall in love with him. River and Hazel are too in love with each other, and Layla and Alana know better. He can fuck a random bloodslut as long as he never talks to them again. No exchanging phone numbers, no DMs. It's for his own good, and he knows it."

I think again of Bridget and Heidi. "What did he do?" I ask.

"I told you already—he took shit too far. Next question."

"What's with the blood?" I ask.

"Do you really want me to tell you?" he asks. "It's better if you experience it, and you will experience it a lot over the next few days."

He must mean when we go home . "I like to have an idea of what I'm getting myself into."

"But you're intrigued by it," he says. "I can tell. I saw you at the show, and when you thought I was going to slice you open in your hotel room. Your eyes went wide, your pupils dilated, and I could see it…your pulse on your neck…racing."

He isn't wrong. And it was. It also shouldn't have made me wet, but it did. It's making me wet again now.

"Yes," I tell him.

"Blood drinking is kind of history's dirty little secret," he says. "We don't talk about it now because you're not supposed to do it. It's forbidden or taboo—they'll even tell you that it's poisonous, but that's only true if you consume large quantities daily. The truth is…there's endless power in it."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "How?"

"Blood is the life force behind everything. It's liquid vitality. In ancient Rome, when a gladiator was slain, the crowd used to descend on them to try to consume that same vitality and make it a part of themselves. There's a reason war brings prosperity to the lands of the victors—to the ones who spill the most blood onto the soil. When you drink someone's blood, you take some of the power, and when you give them some of yours, you become a part of them, too."

"They take your power," I say.

He nods. "You give it to them. And then they take it. There's a high in it—in knowing they're taking your life force as it spills from you or that they're willingly cutting themselves open and give you their own." He takes a knife from his pocket—the same one from earlier—and flips open the blade. He runs the blunt side over the swell of my breasts and in between my cleavage, then up my sternum to my clavicle. "It's erotic, don't you think?"

Fuck me.

I suck in a breath. "I'm not sure," I say. "Are you going to cut me now?"

"No," he says, lowering the blade. "You'll bleed for me, Teagan. But it will be because you want to. You'll choose to, or you'll beg me to take it. Do you want to get on your knees and beg me now?"

"No," I tell him. I've never begged a man for anything and don't intend to start now.

He laughs—actually laughs at me—as if I can see my internal struggle and then walks back toward the booth.

"Hey," I call, stopping him with a hand on his arm. He eyes that hand with disgust—as if I've committed some heinous offense by touching him—before I let it fall away. "You said I got three questions. That was two."

He doesn't respond but stops, waiting for the third.

"What's your drug of choice?" I ask.

"It's power," he says. "I'd think that'd be just as obvious as yours."

"What do you think mine is?"

"Attention," he says. He half smiles before walking away, and I'm left standing there alone, offended and fuming again.

Attention? Fuck this asshole. I don't give a shit about attention. I went through the majority of my life without getting any kind of fucking attention.

I do my best to reel it back in and then return to the booth and sit between Eli and Brady.

"Hazel," Declan says. "Come sit on my lap."

She walks over to him, and he grabs her by the hips and pulls her down onto his lap, facing him. Her skirt rides up enough that I can see her black lace thong.

He leans in and whispers something in her ear, and she laughs and nods, then he flips open that same knife and hands it to her. She brushes her hair away and tilts her chin up, then drags the knife across her neck lightly, but enough that it makes a thin cut about two inches in length.

The blood comes fast, running down the side of her throat, then onto her collarbone and down her cleavage. Declan takes the knife from her and slowly drags his tongue over the blade, licking it clean before placing it on the table. He kisses her on the mouth before pulling down the front of her dress down over her tits, licking and sucking the blood from her skin. Hazel throws her head back and moans, grinding her pussy against him while he runs his hands and his mouth over her bare tits. He sucks and bites on her nipple, causing her to gasp, then makes eye contact with me before moving up the length of her throat and closing his mouth over the wound.

He's looking for a reaction from me. Maybe he's seeing if I'll look away or leave the table; maybe he's hoping I'll try to join in. I don't plan on doing any of those things.

But if it's just that he's hoping to prove a point—to show me how erotic it is—he already made it. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to bring my wet, aching pussy some relief as I watch her now-bare ass as she rolls her hips against him.

A couple of minutes go by like this before he clears the table and lays Hazel flat on her back. He pulls her underwear down over her sneakers, tosses them aside, and then drops to his knees.

No way. He's not really going to—

But he spreads her legs wide and dives in, running his tongue up and down her slit.

"Oh, Declan…" she moans. "Fuck."

I watch as she digs her heels into the table, arching her back, moaning and wriggling her hips against his tongue.

Jesus Christ.

I avert my eyes only for a second, running them over her body, over her bare tits and that place on her neck that drips blood onto the table now.

Her essence. Her life force. Her vitality.

I look to the space next to me, noticing that Brady is gone, then at the place where Eli sits, directly across from Hazel, and see him jerking his hard cock in his hand while he watches. I quickly move my eyes back to Declan and Hazel. His head moves back and forth between her legs as he licks her clit, and I realize he's slipped his fingers inside of her, too, and the muscles in his right forearm flex as he works her pussy. It almost sounds like she's crying while she moans for him.

"Oh, god," she cries. "I'm gonna…gonna…don't s-s-stop."

Across the table, I hear a deep groan and from the corner of my eye, watch as cum drips down Eli's fist and coats his stomach.

"Oh, that feels so good," Hazel whimpers. I see her legs shaking, and she arches her back one more time before she screams—actually screams in the middle of a public space—while she comes on his face.

When she finally stills, he pulls away, his lips and chin covered in a mixture of her blood from earlier and her pussy juices. I watch as his tongue comes out, slowly licking as much of the area clean as he can, as if savoring it, before wiping away the rest with his forearm.

It's the sexiest damn thing I've ever seen in my life.

He turns back to me, and I realize my mouth is hanging open and quickly close it.

"You should have begged like you wanted to," he says to me, then turns back to Eli and Hazel, still breathless and exposed on the table. "Gather everyone up. It's time to go. I'll have the bus here in five."

With that, he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins making his way toward the staircase. Hazel casually straightens her clothes.

"Come on," she says. "Let's go find everybody."

"Um, yeah," I say, then stand and follow her.

Power.

He says that's his drug of choice, and maybe it should have been obvious because I can see it. The ability to control and influence people and their actions, to do what you want free of consequences. River says he likes to test people. He said himself that he likes to watch people break.

I wonder if he can control it. I wonder if he knows when to stop or if he's taken his addiction too far before, too.

I'm the last one onto the bus, following River, Hazel, and Layla. I guess I'm not paying attention; maybe I'm a little too tired, a little too drunk, or both because I stumble into Layla, who has stopped in front of me, almost knocking her over.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" I tell her. She doesn't even look back.

I follow her eyes as she watches Declan disappear with Alana.

"Layla?" Hazel places a hand on her cheek. "Are you okay? Do you want to sleep with us?"

"I'm okay," she says. "I'm not tired. I'm just going to stay out here."

"Okay…" Hazel says skeptically.

"Come on," River says, grabbing my hand. "Let's go to bed."

She pulls me around Layla, and I meet her sad eyes as I pass. I make a mental note to talk to her tomorrow. She must have known Bridget and clearly needs someone to talk to; maybe I can even help her. Maybe she needs someone to talk to who's an outsider, and we can help each other.

I change my clothes and crawl into bed next to River with Hazel on her other side. She curls up behind me, burying her head in the back of my hair. "You smell like cherries," she whispers into my neck. "I want to keep you."

It doesn't take long for the sound of traffic on the highway to lull me to sleep.