2. Vogue

Somehow time has moved along.Minutes, hours, who knows? My body shuts down after the guys start to ‘clean up' Bigsy's corpse.

At some point, Thayer takes me outside and gets me into my dad's SUV, driving me home while the others stay behind.

The city flashes by, turning from heavy traffic to barely anything as we near the sleepy town of Crestmont where the dark underbelly thrives.

Thayer cuts the engine, but I don't move. I just sit and stare.

He climbs out and comes around to the passenger side, opening the door and taking my hand. "Come," he says, tugging gently.

I move, but it's mechanical. Forced. I just want to sit and stare into space for a while until the numbness in my brain leaves.

He leads me inside, and I sit on the huge leather couch in the penthouse that's just a stone's throw away from campus. My heart feels like it's stuck in a vice. Thayer's quiet presence is like an anchor in the stormy sea of my thoughts.

Bigsy's face flashes behind my lids every time I blink. His sneer is etched into my memory; the cold touch of his gun against my skin makes me shudder. And then there's Aaron. My dad. A man more myth than flesh, his sudden appearance in my life, a life that he saved, isn't something I can come to terms with right now.

"Vogue." Thayer's voice cuts through my spiralling thoughts – soft but insistent. "You're safe here."

I nod, though his words sound far away. My fingers curl into fists on my lap, not out of anger at him but at the whole messed-up situation. Anger burns my throat; it's like I'm choking on the smoke from bridges I didn't even know existed until they were already in flames.

"What are you thinking?" he presses.

"About how I nearly had my brains shot all over my dad's office. How he saved me in the last second. How all this is so fucked up I can barely breathe. Do you need me to go on?"

"Nope. I just wanted you to get it off your chest. Rage ferments, and it's not pretty when it explodes."

"Yeah, well, I don't know if rage is the emotion I'm feeling or if it's something else. I'm too numb to decide." My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears. I never imagined that the same blood that ran through some distant criminal's veins was alive and well and pumping through mine, carrying with it a legacy I never asked for.

Then it hits me. The raw emotion that I've been trying to buy deep, deep down and hide behind whatever else is lurking.

Apathy.

Pure and complete apathy for Bigsy and his non-existent head.

I don't care what happened to him, and that scares me more than the lingering memory of what could have been if Dad hadn't rescued me.

Dad.

Rescuing me.

Ruining me, more like. He has ruined everything. My entire life has been a lie.

Thayer leans forward, his elbows on his knees, looking at me with those intense grey eyes that always seem to see right through me. "Whatever happens, Vogue, we've got your back."

The weight of his support is both comforting and suffocating. I nod, trying to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. I should feel saved, shouldn't I? Rescued. But instead, I feel trapped in a new way, caught in the web of my father's twisted world.

I owe him.

That is a position I dislike more than anything. I don't want to owe him. I don't want to be grateful to him. I want to hate him, but that fucking stupid blood running in my veins won't let me.

"Thanks," I say, because what else can you say when your life's been flipped upside down?

I push myself up, needing space, needing to breathe. I walk over to the window, press my forehead against the cool glass, and look out at the looming university in front of me. It blurs before my eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours that don't make sense anymore, just like everything else.

Stepping back, I cross over to the kitchen, with Thayer hot on my heels. He's worried I'm going to do something stupid, but all I want to do is forget. Even for a few seconds, I need to forget this day ever happened.

Opening the top cupboard where I know the booze lives, I reach for a bottle. Any bottle will do. The smooth glass feels cold, real in my hand. Unscrewing the cap, I press it to my lips and tip it back. The burn of the amber liquor hits my throat like a punch, stripping away the thoughts that swarm inside my head. I take another swig, which is longer this time. Thayer watches me, his face etched with worry lines I don't want to see.

"Easy, Vogue," he murmurs. "You're not a big drinker." But his voice sounds too far away. I'm not looking for easy.

"That's why it'll help," I mutter and hate how weak it sounds, how desperate.

"Vogue..."

I look at him. His dark hair falls across his forehead, shadowing those eyes that always seem to be searching mine. He moves closer, and I feel a jolt of lust spike my blood. "Let's get you to bed," he says softly.

It's not a command, but it's not a suggestion either. It's Thayer, and he's worried. I want to laugh because what's the point of worrying now?

"Can manage," I slur, even though the room tilts a bit when I try to move, still clutching the bottle. I take another drink as if that's going to help, but it only makes it worse. The room spins and I lurch, but Thayer is there to catch me, next to me, his arm steady around my waist. His touch is sure, grounding. I lean into him, more than I'd like to admit. We move together, slowly, towards the bedroom.

Thayer steadies me at the edge of my bed. I shove his hand away and take another drink, finishing off what I think was half a bottle in mere minutes. I throw it on the bed and then turn to him, fumbling with my clothes as I strip off. He doesn't help; he just watches as I throw my underwear on the pile of discarded clothes.

To my dismay, he doesn't jump on me. He ignores my naked body and eases me down onto the mattress, his hands careful, like he's handling something precious. It's ridiculous how that small act guts me.

"Thanks," I mutter, my voice more gravel than grace. The world sways less here, anchored by the weight of my body on the bed.

I grab his hand tightly. "Stay." I'm not sure if it's the booze talking or the emptiness that gnaws at me, insatiable and dark, but I'm desperate for him. I want his cock inside me, and I want to ride him until I can't anymore.

He hesitates, then nods, moving to sit on the corner of the bed, maintaining a respectful distance. But it's not enough, not tonight. "Closer."

Thayer's gaze locks onto mine, questions swirling in the depths. He knows better than to think this is just about needing warmth. But he scoots closer anyway, his presence a steady pulse in the room.

"Thayer..." My voice is laced with a raw plea for him. My hand slides up his arm, tracing the muscle beneath his shirt, seeking something. Relief? Escape? Both?

"Vogue, you're drunk." He says it plain, no judgement, just facts. But his voice has an edge, like he's fighting something inside him.

"I know that, genius." I laugh, but it's brittle. "I just want to forget. Can you help me forget?"

He exhales a tortured sound that tells me his internal war is raging. He's torn between what he wants and what he thinks is right. I see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes darken—a storm of want and worry.

Knowing I'm going to have to give him more incentive, I crawl into his lap, ignoring my spinning head. "Please," I whisper against his mouth, a single word that carries the weight of my desperation, grinding down on his hard cock that is straining to get to me even though he isn't moving yet. "I need you."

I can tell it breaks something in him because when he kisses me, it's with an intensity that matches mine. His hands slide down, gripping my hips tightly.

Sliding my hands under his tee, I break the kiss long enough to pull it off over his head before I devour his mouth again. He groans softly, his fingers tracing up my back before going into my hair to fist gently.

I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him as if he's the lifeline keeping me from drowning in the sea of my thoughts. With every touch, I'm staking my claim, asserting control over the one thing I can in this moment: my desire for him.

"Vogue," he murmurs, and there's a tremble in the syllables. But it's not a no—it's him giving in.

"Thayer," I breathe back, giving myself over to the sensation of his kiss.

Thayer's hands roam over me, each touch igniting sparks where my skin aches for more. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer until there's no space left, only the heat of our bodies pressed tight.

He trails kisses down my neck, marking a path that sets my blood on fire. It's a plea, a demand, and everything in between.

I arch against him, and he responds instantly, a growl vibrating from his chest as his lips find mine again. It's a kiss laced with promise and desperation, tasting of raw emotion and the sort of passion that could burn us both to ashes.

He lifts me off his lap, and I start to protest, feeling cold, but he shushes me and lays me down in the middle of the bed, looming over me as he pushes my legs wide open. His mouth finds my pussy, and I gasp as he flicks my clit with his tongue before sliding his fingers inside me.

"Fuck, yes," I moan, tangling my fingers into his hair to hold him close.

I can feel the orgasm already building as he bites gently on my clit and tugs it, thrusting his fingers deeper.

"Ah!" I cry out as the wave crashes quickly, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that needs stoking again.

"Vogue," he groans as I flood his mouth with cum, lapping at me like a man possessed.

"Fuck me!" I demand, wiggling closer to him. "Fuck me, Thayer, I need your cock inside me."

"Jesus," he pants and rises, undoing his pants quickly and removing them.

The room is swaying from left to right, so I close my eyes as he settles over me.

But then nothing happens.

I open my eyes and he is glaring down at me. "You're fucking pissed, Vogue. We can't do this."

"No," I say quickly, grabbing him as he moves away. "Please, Thayer. Don't leave me."

"This isn't right."

"Do it anyway."

"You're making it difficult to walk away."

"Then don't."

"I'm going," he says and stands up. He pulls his pants back on but leaves them undone as he picks up his tee.

I sit up, the rejection dousing the drunkenness. Suddenly I feel as sober as a judge.

"Don't you dare walk away from me," I growl and climb off the bed.

"Go to sleep, Vogue," he says dismissively and walks towards the door, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

He reaches for the door handle, but I'm quick, slamming my hand on it. "If you leave, you won't get another chance."

"Don't threaten me," he snarls, turning on me. "I'm trying to do the right thing. Don't be a bitch."

"Fuck you," I spit and slap him across his face so hard, my palm leaves a mark.

He hisses, turning his furious eyes to mine. We glower at each other for a moment too long, but then he flings his tee down and grabs me, slamming me up against the door, jarring every bone in my body.

"You want my cock, Vogue? Hmm?"

"Fuck you," I pant, but really, I'm screaming inside that I need him. Like this. Rough and frightening.

He grabs my hips and lifts me, pressing his hard body to mine, pinning me to the door.

He fumbles between us and drives his cock into me without another word, his other hand going around my throat, tighter than I'm comfortable with.

I cry out, but it's choked off as he tightens his grip.

He slams into me with such force, I think the door is going to give way, but it's exactly what I need.

"Fuck," I wheeze. "Harder."

He gives me a vicious smirk and kisses me, thrusting his tongue roughly into my mouth before he bites my bottom lip hard, drawing blood. I moan into his mouth, soaking his cock as it's turning me on more than I can put into words. He grabs my ass with both hands and steps back, crossing over to the floor-length window in this luxurious room, pressing me up against the cool glass where anyone could see us if they were looking.

I hope they are.

The idea makes my pussy clench around him, and I come all over his cock, screaming his name before he presses his hand to my throat again.

"You like that? You like it rough, baby girl?"

"Yes," I whimper, and he steps back again.

A few steps, and he flings me on the bed, twisting me quickly so he can slap my ass hard enough to leave a burning mark.

"That's for slapping me," he growls and then spanks me again. "That is for making me fuck you while you're drunk."

"Ah," I moan into the sheets, my hands gripping them tightly before he enters me again from behind, rampantly fucking me, his hands bruising my hips in his death grip.

"You still want me, Vogue?"

"Yes," I pant. "Fuck, yes. Hurt me."

He pulls out of me and flips me over again to loom over me. He reaches for his belt and pulls it out of his pants, loop by loop before he draws it together and whips my breasts hard enough for me to yelp. Then he brings the hard leather down on my pussy, making me shriek and scoot back.

"Stay," he growls and whips my pussy again.

"Fuck," I whimper. "Thayer."

"Do you still want me?"

"Yes."

"Dammit, Vogue!" he roars and then his knife is pressed to my throat, the cold steel digging into my skin. "Now?"

"I need you, you fucker. Why are you doing this?" Tears prick my eyes, but even then, I don't push him away. The numbness has gone, the alcohol has been burned away with driving lust.

He drags the blade down my throat, the tip slicing into my skin before he trails it down between my breasts. "Watch what I'm doing to you, Vogue."

His voice is cold, and it terrifies me. I duck my head to see what he is going to do with his knife. He carves into me, shallow cuts but enough to make me cry out.

"You belong to me," he whispers. "My initials are etched into your skin, and you can never escape me. Do you still want me, Vogue?"

"Yes," I sob. "I want you."

He doesn't say anything but trails the knife down my body before he flips it over in his hands and shoves the handle into my pussy. He fucks me with the knife as I weep openly, but it does nothing to squash the undying need for him. He has done something to me that has consumed my soul. I want to possess him completely.

"Please," I beg. "Please."

"What do you want, Vogue?"

"You, please."

"Say my name, baby girl."

"Thayer. I need you, Thayer."

"Better," he says and pulls the knife out of my pussy, discarding it on the bed next to my head before he drives his cock into me again. He is enormous and like steel. I clutch him desperately.

"Squeeze my cock with your cunt, baby girl. I need to feel that. Do it now, or I walk."

"Thayer, wait!" I scream in panic, clinging to him, never wanting him to leave me. I wrap my legs around him and roll us over. He lets me, his hands gripping my waist as I ride him, working my hips like I've never had to before, just to please him, to keep him inside me.

"Fuck," he growls as I feel the first clench of my walls around him. "Fuck. Vogue!"

He cries out my name, and I feel like a fucking goddess. I ride him so hard the bed bounces, and I feel like his cock is going to snap, but I keep going. My muscles are aching, screaming for release, but I fuck him harder, wilder, soaking him.

"Come again, Vogue. Don't disappoint me," he demands.

His hands come up to my breasts, squeezing painfully hard on my nipples. I fling my head back, my mouth open in a scream that says his name over and over as I rotate my hips, rising up and slamming back down on his cock.

"I don't feel your cunt coming all over my cock, Vogue," he says. "Don't you want me?"

"Fucking prick!" I scream at the emotional blackmail that is so fucking hot right now I can't see straight.

My hands go to my clit, eager to please but he bats them away, gripping my wrists tightly as I fuck him harder, faster.

"Yes," he groans when he feels my climax hit me, my nipples peaking painfully as it crashes into me, my blood roaring like lava from the eruption of the orgasm. "Fuck, yes, baby girl. That's it. Claim my cock as yours. No one else will ever have me. Is that what you want?"

"Yes!" I scream. "You are mine!" I yank my hands free from his grip and rake my nails down his chest, marking his pale skin.

He groans again, and his orgasm slams into him. His cock jerks uncontrollably inside me as he fires his cum deep into my pussy.

He closes his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head, holding it as if he has a migraine coming. "Don't ever try that again," he growls. "When we fuck, you will be clear-headed. There is a fine line between consent and drunken want."

"I'm not drunk—" I start, but he cuts me off, opening his eyes and giving me a vicious glare.

"If you can't agree to the rules, then we don't do this again."

"No!" I say, putting my hands on his chest. "Don't threaten me, Thayer."

"It's not a threat, Vogue. It's a promise."

"I swear, I won't," I say, shaking my head, my voice trembling.

He sits up and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. "Good girl," he murmurs, kissing my cheek before he rolls us over and holds me close. "Good girl. That's all I want from you, Vogue."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"Shush," he whispers against my lips before kissing me softly and holding me close, tightly as if he never wants to let me go. I settle into his arms, happy, sated and with a growing obsession for this man who has managed to sweep away any lingering fear from the incident in my dad's office. He has touched a part of me that revels in the darkness, and he has pushed me far past any limit I thought I had. My body aches, my pussy stings from the whips and relentless fucking, but I've never felt more at peace in my entire existence. Closing my eyes, I feel exhaustion drag me under as I listen to his heartbeat, lulling me into oblivion.