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I glance over at her, the dim light from the streetlamps casting shadows across her face. She’s beautiful in a way that’s almost painful, a beauty that’s sharp and dangerous, like a blade that’s just waiting to cut you. She always has been. Even when we were kids I thought she was stunning. Unusual sure, and unlike the girls I was used to, but that’s part of what made her stand out. What made her different?
And now she’s mine.
The thought sends a thrill through me, a dark, possessive satisfaction that makes my blood sing. “We’re almost there,” I say, my voice low, steady, the way it always is when I’m planning something. Tatum doesn’t respond, but I can see the way her hands tighten in her lap, the way her breath quickens just a little. She’s nervous.
Good. She should be.
The place I’m taking her to is a shithole, a rundown apartment building on the outskirts of the city that’s been turned into a night club. It’s the kind of place where no one asks questions and no one notices if you don’t come back. It’s perfect for what I have planned.
We're parked outside the club, the red neon lights flickering through the windshield, casting a sickly glow over Tatum's face. She’s nervous. I can see it in the way her fingers drum against her thigh, in the way her gaze keeps darting to the entrance, then back to me. The high from earlier is gone, and I know she’s not going to make it through tonight without something to take the edge off.
I reach into the glove compartment and pull out a small bottle. Inside, there are a couple of Xanax bars. “Here,” I say, holding them out to her. “Swallow these.”
Her eyes flick to mine, searching, but she doesn’t hesitate. She takes the pills, pops them into her mouth, and swallows them dry. Good girl. Those will calm her down, slow the racing thoughts, and make everything around her just a little more bearable.
But they’ll also dull her, making her more pliable, easier to handle.
Exactly what I need.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out a joint and place it between my lips. I light it next, the sharp, earthy smell of the weed filling the car. The first hit is always the best, the smoke burning the back of my throat before settling into a warm haze in my lungs. I pass it to her, watching as she takes it between her fingers, her hand still trembling slightly. Watching her smoke and do drugs she’s never touched before is still mesmerizing to me. To think of the girl she was just a few days ago and who she is now, there’s no comparison. Now, she’s willing to do whatever it takes, whatever I ask, so long as she gets to feel nothing.
As long as she’s numb and floating on the surface of a silent sea.
She brings it to her lips, inhaling deeply, and I can’t help but stare at the way her mouth wraps around it, the way her eyes flutter shut as the smoke fills her.
Her hair’s a mess, free and wild, falling in loose waves around her face. She’s wearing this tight little dress, black and barely there, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. I can see the bandage on her arm, the one covering the cut she made for me, and it makes something dark and possessive coil inside me. She did that for me, and now she’s here, willing to do whatever I want.
She hands the joint back, and I take another hit, the taste familiar, grounding me. There’s something about watching her like this, her eyes half-lidded, her body slowly relaxing as the pills and weed start to work their magic. She’s coming down, letting go of whatever’s been holding her back, and it’s goddamn beautiful.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice low, rough around the edges.
She nods, and I can see the anxiety has faded, replaced by that calm, detached look that tells me she’s exactly where I need her to be.
I step out of the car, moving around to open her door. The night air is thick and humid, sticking to our skin as I take her hand, leading her toward the club entrance. The city’s alive around us, buzzing with energy, but all I can focus on is her, the way she moves beside me, the way she’s already slipping into that headspace where nothing else matters but me.
Tonight’s going to be one hell of a ride.
“Come on,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. I want her to know that this is a test, but it’s also something more. It’s a bonding experience, a way for us to become even closer, even more entwined in this dark, fucked-up thing we have. “Let’s go.”
She hesitates for just a moment, and for a second, I think she might refuse. But then she nods, her jaw set, her expression determined, and she heads through the open door and into the club.
The moment we step inside the club, the world outside dissolves, swallowed by the heavy bass thumping through the walls. It’s dark and grungy, with low ceilings and black-painted walls that seem to close in around us. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and smoke, all mingling into something that clings to your skin and clothes until it becomes a part of you.
It’s packed, bodies moving together in a chaotic rhythm, faces obscured by shadows and flashing lights. The crowd is a mix of sketchy types—guys with too much ink, girls with too little clothing, all of them lost in their own world. There’s an edge to the place, a sense that at any moment, things could go south.
And that’s exactly why we’re here.
I keep a firm grip on Tatum’s hand as I lead her through the throng of people, her body pressing against mine every time someone brushes past us. The music is a deafening pounding beat that vibrates through the floor and into your bones. It’s the kind of sound that drowns out everything else, making it easy to lose yourself.
We reach the dance floor, a sea of writhing bodies bathed in dim, pulsing lights. I pull her close, my hands finding her hips, guiding her to move with me. She’s still tense, the drugs not fully kicking in yet, but that’s okay. Dancing will help her unwind, help her let go.
I pull her closer, our bodies melding together as we start to move to the beat. It’s hot, the way she presses against me, the way her hands slide up my chest and over my shoulders. I can feel her breath on my neck, her pulse quickening under my touch. We move in sync, a slow grind that has me thinking about anything but the music. It has me reminiscing about this morning. How fucking good she felt beneath me when I fucked her.
And all of it being forbidden, just made it that much better.
For a while, we just lose ourselves in the music, in each other. It’s perfect, the way she moves, the way she lets me guide her.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper in her ear, and she nods, her eyes glazed over, lost in the rhythm. I leave her on the dance floor, pushing my way through the crowd to the bar.
