Chapter 1

1

ISAAC

" J esus fucking Christ, are you kidding me?"

I looked up from my textbook at the snarled words that held a wealth of vitriol, my eyes landing on the tall figure that was currently kicking a booted foot into the vending machine. That so much aggression was being aimed at an inanimate object was almost funny to me, but the vehemence with which he was attacking said object made any humor die a quick death. His face was twisted in anger, his lips peeled back, baring straight white teeth. His Roman nose was scrunched with his snarl, his black brows drawn together over eyes fringed with thick black lashes, so dense I couldn't make out the color from here.

"You stupid piece of shit !" He was punching the machine now, and it rattled against the wall. I looked left and right, but there was no one else in the hallway except us. The guy was slapping broad palms against the side of it now. "Give me my fucking drink !" His voice was getting hoarse with the force of his shouts, and I was pretty sure he'd draw the attention of someone soon.

I wondered just what kind of day he'd been having for him to go completely postal on a vending machine. Bad, that was a safe bet. Possibly even horrible. Maybe his worst day ever. I glanced around the hall again, but not a soul was around. With a weary sigh, I dug into the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out a crinkled one-dollar bill. Then grabbed another one, just in case. Unfolding my legs, I pushed up from where I'd been studying on the floor and probably did the dumbest thing I'd ever done.

I walked over to the raging bull and stopped a few feet away. "Hey," I said. "Here."

He paused, his broad shoulders moving up and down with the force of his heavy breaths, and a pair of silver eyes flashed to mine.

Fuck me, those eyes were out of this world. I'd never seen a color like that, and staring at them now, I never wanted to look away. I couldn't look away. They were a pale, pale gray, glinting like steel under the fluorescents. This close, I could see tiny shards of light brown near the pupils, honey and quicksilver swirling together in an ethereal combination of colors. His black hair and olive complexion only served as beautiful contrasts to those eyes, and I felt like my skin was melting off my body. I was pretty sure this guy was just staring at muscle and ligaments now, a puddle of pale flesh pooling below the macabre mess that had been revealed.

When he just kept staring at me, I waved my hand with the money. "Take it, dude. You don't have to break your hand for a soda."

His snarl deepened, drawing my attention to the silver steel of a lip ring that was embedded in the center of his bottom lip, being tugged upward with the snarl. "Maybe I wanna break my fucking hand," he growled. "Maybe I'll break your hand." His eyes flitted to my hand, and I thought about pulling it back. Turning around and getting the hell out of the danger zone. This guy had lost a screw, and I wasn't going to magically find it for him. But I was nothing if not persistent when I decided to do something. And I swore I saw vulnerability in those eyes of his. Like he'd been ripped open and was trying desperately to hold himself together. I felt bad for him, because it seemed like he was suffering and if there was something I could do about it, I would.

"Just take the money. Maybe try a different vending machine. There's one by the library, it's not that far."

He stepped closer to me, his breathing under control now. He was a lot taller than me, but most guys were. I forced myself to stand my ground, even when he bumped his chest into the hand I still held out, an offering he was refusing to take. Quick as lightning, he snatched my wrist up. But the hold wasn't painful. It was almost gentle, and when his thumb slid along my pulse point, up and down, rough skin against smooth, my breathing hitched. His hand moved higher until he was closing my fingers slowly—almost tenderly—into a fist around the money. His eyes seared into mine, bouncing back and forth from one to the other, and his snarl had loosened and lowered into something resembling a smile. "Tell me something," he murmured, leaning closer. His scent moved into my space, wrapping itself around me. It was airy and exotic, like incense, with the faint aroma of something clean. Like fresh laundry. "If I take your money, am I in your debt?"

Um. What now?

"What? No, dude, I'm just trying to study and you're making a lot of noise."

"Am I?" He was still holding my hand against his chest as his eyes traveled down my torso, my legs, taking in every inch of me. Something hot moved under my skin, and I resisted the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. I wasn't much to look at, I knew that. But the way he was looking at me, like he wanted to lick every inch of me, was thrilling and unnerving at the same time.

"Can you let go of me? Just take the money and go buy something somewhere else?"

"Trying to get rid of me? I'll tell you something now, just to even up the exchange," he said, his voice deep and low.

What fucking exchange? What was even happening right now?

He moved closer, closer, until his cheek was flush with mine, skin against skin, and that silky smooth voice whispered in my ear, "I'm not that easy to get rid of."

I felt something wet and hot run along my earlobe, and electric sparks zipped down my spine straight to my groin. When my cock jolted in my pants, when some kind of helpless sound of distress slipped from my lips, I ripped my hand out of his and jumped away from him, horrified.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I snapped. It felt like our roles had reversed, somehow. In just a few short minutes, his anger had faded and mine had exploded. His eyes were lit with amusement, with some kind of knowing that only strengthened my ire. "Man, fuck this. Fuck you. Fucking weirdo." I threw the money on the ground at his feet and turned around, marching back to where I'd been sitting, intent on finding a new quiet place to study.

Fucking creep.

I snatched up my backpack and threw the straps over my shoulders, fuming. When I turned back around, he was gone. The crumpled bills sat untouched on the floor.

"Asshole," I muttered, grabbing them and shoving them back into the side pocket of my bag. "Couldn't just accept it like a normal fucking person."

I left campus and headed back to my house, wondering where the hell I was going to put all this angry energy he'd excavated. That was the last time I tried to help a stranger out.

When I got back to my room, Jordan wasn't there, so I took advantage of the quiet and cracked my books open.

My school was a satellite campus of a larger university, so there wasn't typical college housing like dorms or apartments. There were, however, a lot of houses in the small suburb of Gardiner, Pennsylvania that had contracted with the university to offer rooms for students at a discounted price. The house I stayed in only had two bedrooms, so four of us doubled up to lower the rent even more, and I shared a room with my best friend since freshman year.

Sometimes I wish I'd gotten my own room somewhere, because Jordan could be a handful despite how much I loved him. But the truth was I definitely could not afford anything else. So shacking up with Jordan it was.

Three hours later, the flimsy wooden door banged open and my roommate was barreling into the room and flinging himself onto his bed without shutting the door. With a weary sigh, I got up and closed it.

"Fuck me , Isaac, this has been the longest day of my fucking life ." He lifted his head up to look at me, his curly brown hair in disarray. "Can you tell me something?"

His choice of words made my stomach jump, and I swallowed. "What?"

"Tell me why I wanted to major in Psychology again?"

I laughed and said, "Because you're as crazy as the people you want to help." Me being one of those people. I worked hard at trying to act normal, but deep down, there was an open pit crawling with the demons of my past. Every so often they'd pull themselves out and slither to the surface, hungry for another bite of my sanity. I'd been in therapy since I was eighteen, but coping mechanisms and talking it out only went so far. "Too late to change it now, we're four months from graduating."

His head fell back onto his pillow. "Ugh. You're right." He side-eyed me and folded his hands behind his head. "It's Friday," he said.

"I know."

"It's Jamie's birthday," he said.

"I know."

"He's having a party," he said.

"Goddammit, I told you I didn't want to go to that." I shot him a baleful look over the open pages of my textbook, but he didn't let up.

He pouted. "But who's gonna hold my hair for me when I drink too much?"

"Your hair isn't long enough to hold, and just don't drink too much!"

"But who's gonna make sure I make it back here when I drink too much? What if I get lost? What if someone takes me?" He gasped dramatically. "What if?—"

"You're a fucking child, Jordan," I told him wearily. I rubbed my eyes and closed my book. "I'll fucking go with you. But you owe me."

He shot up with a huge smile on his face, suddenly energized. "You're the best friend anyone could ever ask for, you know that? The best ." He hopped off the bed and flew to the closet, singing, what to wear, what to weaaarrr .

I rolled my eyes and looked at the clock. Jamie was one of Jordan's friends, but he wasn't so bad. I could tolerate a party. I hoped. We had a few more hours, so I hunkered down and tuned out Jordan's off-key, god-awful, impromptu Broadway show.

There were people everywhere. Pouring out of doorways, crammed into open spaces, shoved against each other and squirming on a makeshift dance floor. Jesus, why had I agreed to this? The music was so loud I could feel it vibrate through my chest, and my eardrums were probably bleeding.

I'd lost Jordan over an hour ago. So much for looking out for him. He was a slippery one, though, especially when he drank. He had a tendency to disappear for long chunks of time, but he always popped up later like he'd never been anywhere else but by my side.

I looked down at the cup in my hand, the foamy, sour-smelling beer untouched. I wasn't much of a drinker, I'd just wanted something to do with my hands. Wanted to look like I belonged here, when I didn't feel like I did at all. I moved toward the back of the house, intent on finding a quieter spot in the backyard. Somewhere I could wait this out and hear my own thoughts. People pressed against me, shoving and writhing, sweat-slicked bodies everywhere. It was a relief when I finally broke through the crowd, stumbling out the door and down the steps.

It was cold outside, and I wished I'd worn my heavier jacket. Februarys in Pennsylvania were no joke, but I was willing to brave the frigid night for some peace and quiet. There were a few people smoking—weed and cigarettes and vapes—and I walked until I was clear of the toxic cloud. There wasn't much in the yard, a few folding chairs and a shitty-looking fire pit. I sat down heavily in one of the chairs, setting my drink to the side in the grass.

"You too, huh?"

The disembodied voice made me startle so hard I fell off the chair and right onto the stupid fucking cup full of beer. I felt the wetness seep into my side, cooling me further. "Fuck," I groaned, scrambling to my feet and brushing at my clothes. Like that would help. "Fuck!" I could smell it, the cheap acrid odor invading my nostrils and pissing me off.

A low laugh from behind me had me whipping around and peering into the darkness. Two eyes glinted in the shadows, and I took a step back. "What the fuck man, why are you just…lurking out here?"

Another laugh. "I live here. What's your excuse?" Then he stepped out of the cover of darkness and my eyes widened as my stomach sank. It was the guy who'd been beating up the vending machine.

Fuck me.

And then it hit me, as I stared at him. At his flashing silver eyes, black hair, and lip ring. At his heavy flannel coat, black jeans, and combat boots. At the tattoos snaking along one side of his neck and disappearing under his collar. This was Brody. Jamie's roommate Brody. I'd heard people talk about him—not Jamie or Jordan, but other people at parties, or friends of friends. They described him as the weird punk guy who barely spoke to them and mostly stayed holed up in his room—when he was home. I'd been hearing about him for six months now, but I never gave a shit about what they said. It's not like I was ever going to meet the guy, and even if I did, I didn't care what he did or how he was. But people liked to gossip, and they liked gossiping about people they didn't understand even more.

Brody took a step closer. "I said, what's your excuse?" His tongue snaked out and darted along his bottom lip, leaving it with a glistening sheen.

"Uh, there's a party going on, or are you too busy beating it in the bushes to realize?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to snatch them from the air between us and shove them back to wherever they'd come from. It would be wise to avoid any kind of sexual comments with an unstable guy who had literally licked my ear .

Brody's laugh was lower now, full of something dark and salacious. "Are you imagining me in the bushes with my dick out, sweetheart? I can make that a reality for you."

I took a step back. "No dude. Stay the fuck away from me." I turned on my heel, angry that the one place I'd thought I could relax was already taken, angry that I'd gotten beer all over me, angry that I'd even agreed to come here tonight. This was the last time I let Jordan whine his way into getting me to go to parties with him.

"Don't go." There was something almost desperate in Brody's voice, something strained and slightly panicked. A strong grip on my bicep stopped me mid-stride, jarring my momentum and making me stumble back into a solid wall of steel and heat.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice hoarse. He shifted behind me, his other arm coming around. He grabbed my forearms with broad hands and long fingers, making me wrap my arms around myself as he wrapped himself around me.

"Please. Stay," he begged softly. He moved my forearms closer together, capturing both in one hand, while the other strayed toward my ribcage. "You're all wet. Poor baby," he murmured, stroking along my side. His touch was light, almost delicate, maybe even reverent, and I hated that I wanted to sink into it. I hated that my first thought was this is safe . I fucking hated that. Because what ? I didn't know this guy. But my brain didn't care; it was busy making note of the gentle way he'd handled me at every point.

"We should get you out of these clothes and warm you up." His words were slightly slurred, and I realized he must be drunk or almost there.

My demons began to rally and I started to panic, bucking against him. "Let go of me!"

He let go immediately, to his credit, and I whirled around to face him, my chest heaving. "Seriously, what the fuck is your problem, Brody?" I was seething now, my hands balled into fists as I stared at him. I pointed my finger at his chest, horrified to see that it was shaking. My entire body was trembling. "Don't touch me. Don't you ever touch me, you hear me?"

His eyes were everywhere, watching me fall apart, watching me shudder like a frightened lamb. All because, what, he'd grabbed me? When that light gray gaze swam back to mine, a small whimper escaped me. "You too, huh?" he whispered. There was something soft in his expression, and for whatever reason, that was my breaking point.

"Fuck this," I chewed out, backing away from him. Refusing to turn my back on him again. "Asshole."

I watched him shove his hands in his pockets, a frown on his face, eyes still boring into mine. There was something sad in his gaze now, and a lick of guilt came out of nowhere. I had nothing to feel guilty about, and when my feet hit the brick patio, when I smelled that cloud of weed and cigarettes and sickly sweet vape smoke, Brody unmoving where I'd left him, I turned around and pushed my way back inside.

I immediately saw Jordan standing just outside the kitchen, arms waving as he argued with one of Jamie's other roommates, Gavin. He was a big guy, tall and muscular, and Jordan had never liked him. Said he was an ignorant douchebag, and I wasn't surprised to find him yelling at the guy. I was about to go over there and drag Jordan away when Jamie broke them up and gestured from Gavin to the stairs, probably telling him to fuck off or something. Gavin shoulder-checked Jordan and stomped away up the stairs.

Man, fuck parties.