2. 2 Tori

My heart pounds, vibrating in sync with the bass thundering through the house. The soft glow of blue LED lights strung along the floor and ceiling offers just enough illumination to make out party goers' faces—just barely. Everyone wears glow-in-the-dark necklaces, casting a faint, otherworldly light over the scene, but it's not enough to etch anyone’s features into memory.

Stepping through the door, I hesitate, mentally kicking myself. We’ve talked about poor decision-making, Tori. So why do you keep doing this?

I lectured myself the whole, overpriced Uber ride here about the obvious dangers. Yet here I am, dressed in my usual go-to: khaki cargo pants, plaid shirt tied around my waist, and a cropped, white top that shows off my lower abdomen's muscles.

"I see you made it." Sadie appears like a shadow, her voice sugary-sweet and just as artificial as the diamond glinting from her necklace. Her smile is the kind that belongs in a pageant—a little too wide and a little too practiced.

"I am standing here," I deadpan. Awkward, maybe, but what else do you say to that? She didn’t exactly hand me a conversational gem .

Sadie's laugh is a high, tinkling sound that grates more than it charms. "I know I invited you, but I didn’t think you’d actually show ." She tilts her head, her tone dripping with condescension. "You know, considering your… history .”

Ah, there it is. The subtle jab disguised as concern. I should let it roll off, but it clings, digging in like burrs. Everyone knows what the Iron Triad did to me in high school. Everyone knows I shouldn’t be here.

"Guess I just wanted to see if your parties still flop as hard as they did in school," I fire back, flashing her a sharp smile. Her laughter falters, but she quickly recovers, brushing a manicured nail along the strap of her dress.

Her eyes narrow as she leans in, her voice dipping. "You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Coming here, facing them —it’s like watching a moth fly straight into the flame. Some of us just can't resist self destruction."

The dig stings, but instead of flinching, I let it fuel me. My smile grows colder, my words sharper. "You’re right—I do tend to fly toward dangerous things. But let’s be clear, Sadie— you’re not the flame. You’re just the pile of ash left behind when the real fire burns out."

Her face freezes, the practiced grin slipping as my words land. I don’t stick around to savor the moment—I’ve already won. Turning on my heel, I head for the kitchen, my strides confident.

Victory feels good. Now, if there’s any justice in the world, there’ll be something stronger than soda here.

I weave through the crowd toward the kitchen counter where drinks are precariously scattered, looking as if one wrong move might send the whole mess crashing down. Surprisingly, I manage to mix vodka, lemon-lime soda, and cherry juice in a red Solo cup without having to elbow anyone aside. I take a swig, pivoting on my heel right into a collision .

The end of my cup slams into someone’s chest, jolting my teeth, and sending the sticky drink down my neck, soaking my top. Of course. You shouldn’t be too surprised, Tori—you spill your drinks more often than you get them down your throat.

I shuffle back, trying to avoid more splashes landing on my shoes. The cherry syrup clings to my skin, bright red and tacky. Fantastic .

I mutter a swear, swallowing down the alcohol that flooded into my mouth. Grabbing a napkin from the counter, I dab at the mess on my chest before realizing the person I collided with is still standing in front of me. His pristine, white sneakers now sport splatters of sticky, cherry syrup. Honestly, they look better that way. Unique.

By the way he’s just standing there, saying nothing—let alone offering me a napkin—I can tell he’s the type to get pissed over a tiny accident. Great. Just what I need.

I roll my eyes before even looking up, already prepared to verbally spar with whatever narcissistic, ego-inflated guy thinks the world owes him something. High school trained me for this, being tormented by guys just like this for too long. I’m not dealing with it now as an adult.

My eyes lift to find someone I should have known would be here. Blaze Hwan—Iron Triad member number one. His hair, once black and glossy, is now dyed a muted blue, bordering on lilac. Bold choice there, buddy. His dark, piercing eyes bore into me, cold and unyielding. The same eyes that, three years ago, had the power to intimidate me. I refuse to let them now.

“You’re fucking with me, right, Icky ?” his voice booms, cutting through the music like a knife. His cheekbones seem even sharper than I remember, adding to his already imposing look.

I’ve admired plenty of Korean men—mostly through my K-drama addiction—but Blaze is in a league of his own, and he’s well aware of it, which is exactly what annoys me the most .

“It’s Tori,” I correct, fighting back the sting of that stupid nickname. Simple as it was, when the entire senior class used it, it cut deeper than anyone knew. “And it’s not my fault you decided to stand so close when I turned around.”

I steady my breath, locking my expression into the resting bitch face I’ve perfected post-graduation. It’s a great defense against jerks who think they can get the upper hand. Blaze, though, is a different breed, which I should’ve known. The Iron Triad doesn’t play by anyone’s rules.

Even back in high school they were ahead of the game, making their own money through investments. The three of them had IQs that could put Wall Street brokers to shame and enough street smarts to impress even the savviest of gangsters. And now, three years later, they’ve only become more fearsome.

Yet here I am, arms crossed, face impassive, locked in a staring contest I never signed up for. Meanwhile, my insides are twisting into knots so tight, I’m convinced I’ll never untangle them. My stomach feels like it’s fighting a battle between wanting to vomit, or shit, or both.

Not to mention my heart is no longer thudding like a drum. No. It’s a freight train tearing through the night at bullet speed. Sweat pours from my skin like I’ve just spent an hour roasting in a sauna.

“Clean them, Icky.” He drags out every syllable like it's his personal mission to piss me off. It doesn’t matter what I say. To him, I’ll always be Icky —the girl he bullied, tormented, and humiliated, even forcing me to run out of school naked.

His voice oozes dominance, daring me to submit to him like before. He expects me to flinch, to cower under his authority, his intimidating presence, and those damn good looks. But I’m not that girl anymore. I square my shoulders and lean into his space, the same way he’s crowding mine.

“You can clean it yourself,” I say, my voice sharp as my eyes lock onto his. I turn to walk away, intentionally flipping my hair in his face on the way out.

I don’t get far. His hand clamps around my bicep, yanking me back until my spine hits the counter’s edge. Shit. That’s definitely gonna bruise. I brace for more, but it seems the shove was enough to satisfy his need for dominance—for now.

Blaze leans in, obliterating whatever was left of my personal bubble. His breath fans hot against my cheek as he reaches behind me, grabbing a napkin, and soaking it under the tap. Then he hands it to me.

“Clean it,” he orders, his voice low and cruel, pushing down on my shoulders until my knees hit the ground. He smirks as I drop to the floor. “I like you better like this.”

Oh, you're going to learn today, Blaze.

I’m not the scared girl he used to push around. Not anymore. This isn’t high school—it’s harassment.

I don’t clean his shoes. Instead, I toss the wet napkin straight into his face and punch him square in the balls, hard as I hit the heavy bag at the gym. He doubles over with a groan, but I’m already up, bolting out of the kitchen before he can catch his breath.

I weave through the crowd, blending in as I fake dance my way toward the front door. I’m only ten feet away from freedom when Ryder Hayes steps into view, having just arrived and blocking my exit. Iron Triad member number two. Of course .

His golden hair has darkened just a shade, but his charm is still in full force. He’s schmoozing, dazzling the crowd with that perfectly white smile and pink lips. His blue eyes practically glow under the LED lights, reflecting every color they catch. Son of a bitch has grown two more inches since graduation. What does that make him now? 6'2? 6'3?

His gaze lands on me, and I see that familiar glint of mischief spark in his eyes. Just what I needed.

Ryder was always the most terrifying of the group—or at least, I used to think so before that night. He’s got everyone fooled with that golden-boy charm, making people believe he's sweet, with a heart of gold. But his heart’s as rotten as a poisoned apple. He’s a demon wrapped in an angel’s body, and no one’s the wiser. No one but me.

Now I have Blaze cutting through the dance floor behind me, all menacing glares, while Ryder stands at the front, looking like he’s ready to devour me. I freeze, torn between fight or flight, but before I can figure out my next move, a hand wraps around my wrist and yanks me deeper into the crowd. There are too many bodies to see who it is—just inked fingers parting people like the Red Sea.

It’s not until we’re sandwiched among a mass of sweating bodies that I recognize my ‘rescuer.’ Of all the people I didn't want to see, Thorne is the last name on the list. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against his chest as he tilts his head down toward me. I want to fight, to tell him to back off, but all I can think about is the way his body used to make me feel.

He’s the only one who’s ever made me come undone, and no matter what he’s done since, part of me wants him to do it all over again. You ruined me, Thorne . My first time was more than I could handle, and now nothing else compares. He didn’t just ruin my search for pleasure—he left a hole in my chest, too.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says, his voice flat, like my presence is nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“I’m starting to figure that out.” I take a step back, only to be shoved right back into him by the crowd .

“Why are you here, Vic?” His dark eyes narrow, suspicion simmering behind them as if he’s trying to dig into my brain. You’ll only find regrets, Thorne .

“I don’t know,” I admit, unable to handle the weight of his stare, my eyes drifting toward the DJ booth instead.

“Go home, Vic. Nobody wants you here.”

His shove sends me stumbling through the crowd and I take my chance, spotting the back entrance. Without looking back, I make a beeline for the door, sucking in a deep breath of night air the second I’m outside. I don’t stop—I can’t—not until I’ve run a few blocks down the road.

What the hell were you thinking, Tori? I begin berating, mentally kicking myself in the ass for ever showing up. I didn't even know if the Iron Triad were still friends. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Once I’m far enough away, I slow my pace, leaning against a building to catch my breath. The reprieve is short-lived, though. A haunting whistle echoes down the street, sending a chill through me and dragging me right back to senior year.

Ryder isn’t far.

I can practically feel him grinning, enjoying the chase like the psycho he is. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I force myself to walk calmly to the bus stop, plopping down on the bench as if waiting for the last public transport of the night.

Totally normal behavior, sitting alone at a bus stop after midnight. As if that makes me any less of a target.

“Vicky, Vicky, Vicky. Were you really going to leave without saying hello?” Ryder’s voice drips with mockery as he materializes behind me, almost like a ghost, whispering that stupid nickname.

“Yeah, actually.” I nod without turning around, refusing to meet those infuriatingly blue eyes .

“Well, that’s pretty rude, don’t you think? I went out of my way to greet you.” His tone is all fake hurt as he clutches his chest like I’ve shot him.

“Nobody asked you to, and my name isn’t Vicky. It’s Tori.” Will my new name ever stick?

“Oh? Tori, huh? That’s... new.” Ryder hops over the back of the bench, landing beside me and pressing in far too close, his arm glued to mine. Personal space has never been his strong suit.

“If you say so,” I shrug, my eyes fixed on the flickering streetlight ahead, praying it won’t go out entirely.

For a moment, he’s quiet. No biting remarks, no petty jabs—just silence. Long enough that I stupidly let my guard down.

That’s when he strikes. In an instant, he’s on his feet, standing directly in front of me. His Blue Polo cologne—same scent from junior year—hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s the same scent that clung to his jacket, the one he lent me the day Blaze made me run naked out of school.

Don’t drop your guard again, Tori. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with .

That jacket was the reason my acceptance to my dream college was rejected, the reason I almost didn’t graduate. It’s amazing how quickly pockets full of drugs can ruin your future. Hard to prove they're not yours when they're found on you.

“What are you doing?” I snap, unable to hide the tremor in my voice as fear creeps in. My body’s in full fight-or-flight mode, adrenaline pumping hard and fast.

“You’re different,” he murmurs, studying me like he’s solving some sort of puzzle. “I don’t like it. ”

His words cut deeper than I expect, and for once, I’m at a loss. No quick comebacks, no witty retort—just silence. His expression shifts, forehead creasing as if he’s trying to make sense of it all.

Then he leans in, his piercing, blue eyes locking onto mine, invading my space too much, too fast. I don’t blink—I can’t. If I close my eyes, I’m afraid he’ll become the devil I know he is.

“Maybe I need to remind you who you really are.” His threat hangs in the air like a thick fog, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“You don’t know shit about who I am,” I spit, forcing the words out despite the tightness in my chest.

“Oh, I know more than you think.” His smirk curls, and in one swift motion, he pulls back, standing tall like he’s won something. “Don’t forget—I know everything about you.”

How could I forget? He posted pages of my diary all over school.

He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, shoving it into my mouth before pulling it out and rubbing it against his lips. My mind spins, unable to keep up, but trying to understand Ryder Hayes is like trying to read hieroglyphics.

“Mmm, so delicious,” he laughs, strolling back to the party with his hands shoved in his pockets and leaving me alone in the empty street.

My mind is a mess. Torn between who I am now and the girl I used to be. Stop reminding me, damn it. Memories flood in—Ryder’s cruelty, his laughter echoing in the halls at my expense. But there’s one moment, one sliver of vulnerability he let me see, a side no one else knows.

What's that saying? There's a fine line between love and hate. Maybe I'm walking it.