1. Jeremiah

Chapter 1

Jeremiah

T he bass vibrates through the floor like a goddamn earthquake, and the air's so thick with sweat and sweet-smelling smoke that you could slice it with a knife, and it would barely move. The underground scene is a breeding ground for all things raw and untamed—and here we are, the kings of campus, wading through a sea of writhing bodies. It's fucking exhausting sometimes having to do this, be this, but I can't deny this is one of the best outlets outside of football for me.

"Jeremiah." Lincoln's voice cuts through the music, his tattooed arm nudging me in the ribs. His eyes are locked on someone dancing in the center of it all.

I follow his gaze, and there she is—Oakley. Fucking Oakley Ashford. My heart goes rogue, thumping against my chest like it wants to break free. She's a vision in pastel, her golden hair a halo in the strobe lights, body swaying with a grace that belongs in a dream, not this hedonistic nightmare. My brain goes dumb for just a split second as I see the girl , the one good thing I had in my life show up in front of me .

"Jere?" Penn's voice is barely audible over the chaos, but I'm already gone, pushing past him and Graham, who's trying to say something about not doing anything fucking dumb. It goes in one ear and out the other. I already know I'm going to do some dumb ass shit, even though I'm supposed to be the most put together. Not when it comes to her.

"Shit," I mutter, brushing off his concern. My strides are deliberate, each step narrowing the gap between me and the girl who has been haunting my dreams for two damn years since Royce ripped us apart, and I let him.

"Oakley…" Her name's a whisper on my lips, drowned out by the chaos of this party, but she doesn't hear me, lost in her own little world amidst the madness. I need her attention, need those crystal blue eyes on me.

"Oakley!" Louder this time. And just like that, I'm close enough to reach out, to pull her away from all this noise and into the quiet battle building within myself. Because I can't fucking stand it anymore—the distance, the silence. It's been too long, and right now, I'm nothing but raw need wrapped in human skin. I need her to be part of my life, and this is my second shot at it.

"Jeremiah?" She turns, and there's a flicker of recognition, a spark that ignites something dangerous within me. Her gaze locks onto mine, and it's like we're the only two people in this godforsaken place.

"Hey, bunny." My voice conveys every emotion I've been harboring, rough around the edges but sincere as hell. "It's been a while."

Her eyes widen, those deep royal pools drowning in a storm of emotions. She stumbles a step closer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me—something light and slightly floral. Something that reminds me of her virtue in this fucked up world.

"Oakley, what the hell are you doing here?" my voice cuts through the noise. She's the only person that could cause the kind of volcanic explosion that is threatening to spill out of me.

"Jeremiah Blackwood," she slurs, her eyes wide with a drunken innocence that doesn't fool anyone. "Fancy seeing you here."

She lets out a scream, loud enough to slice through the bass. And then the words I never wanted to hear spill from her pouty little mouth. "Ugh, I fucking hate you!"

It's a slap to the face, a punch to the gut. The crowd's noise fades into a dull roar, her voice the only clear sound in my head.

"Hey man, what the fuck? Get your own bitch!" A frat boy, all smug grin and cheap cologne, steps up, his glare stabbing at me.

"Back off," I growl, low and menacing. He's just another obstacle between me and Oakley, and I don't have time for this shit.

"Make me." That's his mistake.

The frat boy's eyes widen as I step in, my voice a dangerous purr. "Shut the fuck up and get out of my face unless you want to end up buried in a canyon." My words are laced with venom, a clear threat that chills the air between us.

He hesitates, his bravado crumbling under the weight of my gaze. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze darts around, looking for an escape. And like the coward he is, he backs away, slinking back into the circle jerk of frat bros that are standing behind him. Like little cookie cutters of each other with their Greek letters displayed proudly across their chests. I make eye contact with each of them, daring someone to step to me. The need for a little bloodshed is thrumming underneath my skin, but they all avert their own gazes, one by one.

I turn my attention back to Oakley, her eyes glazed with something more than alcohol—a vulnerability that fucking rips at my insides. She giggles, a sound that's both sweet and sad, directed at the retreating figure of the frat boy. "I wasn't even going to fuck you," she says, and there's a defiance there, a spark of the girl I knew before everything went to hell. The girl that was all sunshine unless you made her mad and then you got a little demon.

Her words hang heavy, tinted with amusement that doesn't quite reach her eyes. I'm caught in the moment, watching her lips curve into a mischievous smile, the sound of her laughter mixing with the thumping sounds around us. It's intoxicating, and for a second, I forget the chaos, the heat of bodies pressing close, and the sticky floor. I forget the fuck boy still glaring at me from his circle of ‘protection'.

"Christ, Oakley," I mutter under my breath, the need to protect her gnawing at me. Her innocence is a red fucking flag, and I'm drawn to it, the darkness in me craving the light she exudes, even now.

"Jeremiah," she slurs again, reaching out to me with a fidgety hand, her movements clumsy yet somehow still graceful. "You're here."

"Always," I reply, the irony not lost on me. Always, except when it mattered most. She went from I hate you to you're here and I know if she was sober, I wouldn't be getting the back and forth. I catch her hand, steadying her, feeling the softness of her skin against mine, the contrast sending a jolt through me that I have never felt with another person .

"Let's get you out of this mess, bunny," I say, but the pet name feels like a betrayal on my tongue right now. My guilt gnawing at me and warring with my need to get Oakley out of here and to myself. I have questions.

She leans into me, her body warm and pliant, her head tilting back to look at me, her expression a complicated tangle of emotions I can't begin to decipher. "Why do you care, Jeremiah?" she asks, her voice a whisper that cuts through the noise.

"Because I never stopped," I confess, the words slipping out before I can stop them. Because it's the truth, no matter how fucked up this whole situation is.

"Fuck off, pretty boy," she snaps, using the old nickname, and my patience has fucking run out as well. Before she can protest further, I bend down and hoist her up and toss her over my shoulder. Her legs kick, her hands smack against my back, but it's no use. I place one hand at the bottom of her ass where it meets her leg to keep her fucking flirty dress down. She won't be fucking flashing anyone at this goddamn party.

"Put me down, you neanderthal!" Oakley screeches, but I just tighten my grip, my jaw set in determination.

And as I guide her through the throng of bodies with her weight leaning on my shoulder, I know I'm fucked. Now that I have eyes on her again, hell, now that I have hands on her again and I can feel her fucking heartbeat through her damn thighs…I'm not letting her out of my sight again. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is getting Oakley safe, away from prying eyes and hands that aren't mine.

Tomorrow I'll decide who's getting their ass beat for thinking they could look at her tonight.

"Fuck," I curse softly as I navigate the maze of intoxicated college kids. This isn't love or lust—it's obsession, a feeling I haven't been able to shake in the last three years. And as much as I hate myself for it, I relish the feel of her against me.

I look down at her legs and I know there's nothing pure about what I'm feeling. It's desire, raw and unyielding, and it scares the shit out of me because Oakley is the only one I've ever felt this way with.

"Jesus, Jere, you sure know how to pick ‘em," my brother says, unable to hide his amusement.

"Shut up, Lincoln," I grunt without turning back. "And help me get her out of here before she pukes on my shoes."

"Fuck you too, Lincoln Blackwood," she hisses, her words muffled by my hoodie.

"Not my type, sweetheart," he shoots back, as I realize he won't be any fucking help and walk past him. Thank fuck we drove the Escalade tonight because I have zero patience on waiting on a fucking ride share and she's sure as shit not sober enough to ride on the back of my bike.

I set her down, leaning against the black exterior of the truck as I dig into my jeans trying to find my goddamn keys while she mumbles about how much of an asshole I am. Yeah, tell me something I don't already know, bunny.

"Too fucking bad. You're fucking coming home with me," I growl, the words fierce and unyielding. "You're sloppy fucking drunk and can't be trusted on your own clearly."

Her eyes, usually so vibrant but are dulled by whatever liquor she drank, narrow as she tries to focus on me. She looks like a pixie caught in a hurricane, just wild hair and stumbling grace. "I only had a couple of sips. Why the fuck do you care now?" Her voice is liquid, spilling over with hurt and accusation before it's cut off, her body going limp mid-taunt.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, realization hitting me like a freight train. She's been drugged. The signs are all there— the unsteady movements, the sudden pass-out. Rage bubbles up within me, but I tamp it down. Focus. Get her out of here first.

And tomorrow everyone is getting their ass beat.

I lift her with ease, her weight barely registering against my chest. Her scent—uniquely Oakley—fills my nostrils, stirring memories and emotions I've tried to bury. But right now, it's not about that. She's light as a goddamn feather, too light, her head lolling against my chest, golden hair cascading over my arm like spilled sunlight as I put her into the front seat of the truck, buckling her in tightly.

"Hang on, bunny," I whisper, more to myself than her.

Jeremiah Blackwood playing the hero? Something a Blackwood would never be called. The question hangs in the air mockingly, turning my blood to tar. I don't answer it. Can't. Because right now, I'm anything but a hero. I'm an addict, and Oakley's my fix. And as much as I tell myself I'm doing this for her, part of me knows that's a lie. I'm doing this for me—for the hit of feeling her skin against mine, for the power rush of having her life in my hands.

"God, what the fuck is wrong with me?" I mutter to the sleeping form before me and then shut the truck door. My steps are quick as I round the front and climb in behind the steering wheel.

"You're mine," I murmur. "You can hate me all you want, bunny. I'll love you enough for the both of us," I tell her softly.

Her breathing is steady, her body turning toward me, seeking me out as if she belongs there. And maybe she does. For now, that's enough. But later? Later, I'll find the motherfucker who did this. And they'll wish they were never born.

Because whether she hates me or not, Oakley Ashford is mine to save .

Mine to protect.

Just fucking mine.

I shoulder the front door open and step inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and leather filling my senses. The house is quiet, everyone else still gone. Good. No interruptions. I take the stairs two at a time, my grip on Oakley firm but gentle. Her soft breaths tickle my neck, and it's both a comfort and a torment.

Reaching my room, I nudge the door open with my foot and step inside. The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. I lay Oakley gently on the bed, her delicate frame sinking into the mattress. Her dress is askew, and I notice for the first time just how vulnerable she looks.

"Goddammit, bunny," I mutter, frustration and something else—something darker is twisting in my gut. I kneel beside the bed, carefully slipping off her dainty heels. They fall to the floor with a soft thud. My hands move to the zipper of her dress, and I pause, my breath catching.

"Fuck," I curse softly as I glide her zipper down, watching it yield under my fingers with a sound that is far too loud in the stark quietness of the room.

I hate the way my hands shake as I watch the fabric split, revealing too much and yet not enough. I don't fucking act like this…not with anyone. But this girl, who was once someone I viewed as a little sister, is now grown up and so much has happened between us.

"Sleep now, okay?" I brush a strand of hair from her face, my touch gentler than I knew it could be. I'm the monster that my family name has made me to be, but for Oakley, I'd walk through fire just to see her safe. All I get from her is a sigh of mhm.

"Tomorrow, we deal with this shit between us," I tell her sleeping form, but I might as well be speaking to the ghosts that linger in the corners of my room, watching, waiting. Tomorrow, the war with Oakley begins because I have no doubt that the last two years have changed her, and I'll have at least some sort of battle ahead of me when it comes to her. But tonight, I'll stand guard over this girl who's carved herself into the darkest parts of my soul.

I slide the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist before lifting her slightly to remove it completely. She's left in nothing but her cheeky little underwear, and I reach back and pull my hoodie and shirt off in one pull. This is the first time I've seen her partially nude, and it's taking everything in me not to touch her, kiss her, claim her in ways she could never imagine. She's out of it, and I want her fully aware the first time I feel her delicate skin. The air is a cool slap against my skin as I pull the shirt out of the crumpled hoodie, tossing it on the floor before slipping the sweatshirt over Oakley's still form, letting the cotton swallow her small frame. It serves a dual purpose, erasing her curves from my eyesight and putting my mark on her anyway I can.

My hands are steady as they tuck the covers around her, every move like a pledge to myself to keep her safe. Safe from the world. Definitely safe from me.

"Christ, bunny." The nickname slips out, a reminder of innocence that feels like a knife twist.

I step back, feeling the pull of her even now. My body throbs with need, demanding release.

Fuck, what am I doing? She's Royce's sister, and he'd kill me if he knew what I was thinking right now, I'd like to see him try and fucking blackmail me now. But the sight of her lying there, so innocent and yet so goddamn intoxicating, makes it impossible to focus on anything else. Where the fuck was he tonight, anyway? How did she end up at a random frat party unattended to the point someone spiked her drink? I gave him the courtesy of backing off when our friendship went up in flames, but if he's not going to do his job and protect her, I will.

Pacing the room, my mind races with images of Oakley. Her body pressed against mine, her soft lips against my skin, her back arching as I wring pleasure from her. The thought of those delicate hands wrapped around me, not even able to fully close, is too much to bear.

I can't deny myself any longer. Retreating to the privacy of my bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror, the harsh fluorescent light casting shadows across my face. My eyes look blown out and I'm struggling between anger at Oakley for going to that stupid party, anger at whoever slipped her the GHB, and the intense fucking need to claim ownership of her.

"Fuck it," I growl under my breath, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down my legs, taking my underwear with them until they catch at my knees. I can't be bothered to take them all the way off. I'm too desperate to fucking come.

Gripping myself tightly, I let the images my mind conjures up consume me, her soft moans filling the air as I bring her to the edge again and again. The thought of her surrendering to me, giving herself over to me, pushes me closer to the brink.

Fuck, I'm so goddamn hard as I stroke myself over and over. If I go any harder, I'm liable to cut off the blood flow or chafe my shaft. Chasing the images of making her come and watching my cum drip out of her spurns me on. I don't fuck raw, but the thought of it being her, of finally indulging myself in the one kink I've never felt comfortable doing with anyone else has my cock leaking. I lean back against the cool wall, my legs barely able to hold me up as my pleasure heightens. I always knew she made me fucking weak. The proof is here, smacking me in the face. But fuck if being weak for her isn't one of the greatest things in this life.

My breathing becomes ragged, my heart pounding in my chest as I imagine burying myself deep inside her, claiming her as my own. I feel a guttural groan working its way up and out just as I reach my climax, releasing spurts of cum across my hand and watching as they drop to the bathroom floor.

Closing my eyes and leaving my head back, I can almost picture her on her knees before me, licking the sticky evidence of how much I want her from the tip of my dick.

"Fuck." It's a curse and a prayer, and I don't know which one is more blasphemous. Pushing back off the wall, I brace myself against the sink, gripping the granite wondering how the fuck I got to this point, looking into the mirror but not recognizing the man staring back. He's got my face, my green eyes, but there's a wildness that wasn't there before Oakley walked back into my life.

"Get it together, Jere," the whisper is harsh, a command I'm not sure I can obey. But I have to.

Tomorrow, I'll deal with this shit.

But tonight, I'm just Jeremiah. And she's just Oakley. And for a few hours more, that's enough.

Tucking myself back into my jeans, I wash my hands and splash water on my face, trying to center myself before walking back into my room.

"God damn," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair as I take a seat beside her, kicking my boots off. My pulse still races, and I can feel it against my ribs. I've been in fights, stared down linebackers twice my size, but nothing gets my blood pumping like the challenge I see in her even when she's unconscious.

I lean back, propping an arm behind my head, and just fucking watch her for a moment. Her chest rises and falls with soft, even breaths.

"Never been simple with us, has it, bunny?" I whisper, allowing the nickname to slip out. A reminder of a past that's both a balm and a blade to my heart. My fingers itch to trace the curve of her cheek, to tangle in the golden waves of her hair, but I hold back. Can't touch her—not now.

I'm acutely aware of the weight of my decision to bring her here. She's here, in my space, breathing the same air, and that's got to count for something—even if it's just the prelude to the shit storm that's coming this way.

"Tomorrow's going to be a bitch," I say to the silence, my voice a raspy confession in the night. There are questions that need answers, and despite everything, a small part of me can't help but feel…content.