Page 243 of Lessons in Cruelty

Why doesn’t she want the sucker? I shove the candy through my mask’s mouth hole, my entire body tensing as sweetness coats my tongue.

Maybe she’s forgotten to drink water for a while. I do that sometimes, then my mouth is dry as the fucking Sahara and⁠—

She’s complacent as a little lamb when I grasp her chin and lift her head up. Her eyelashes flutter, wide eyes going in and out of focus as she tries to look up at me.

I slide my thumb between her lips.

Jesus, that’s dry. No wonder she couldn’t handle the sucker.

She tries to spit me out, grabbing my wrist, but I yank free and untangle our legs as quickly as I can without sending either of us to the ground.

Her little feet are all covered in dirt.

I spot Melissa, and then see she’s holding a bottle of water.

She starts when I pluck it out of her hand and gives me the same blackout stare as Haven.

“What?” She grabs for the water. “No. Mine.”

I hike my thumb over my shoulder. “Your friend needs it more.”

She frowns at me. “Kai?”

I yank the bottle out of her hand and hold it up. “Just water?”

She nods, frowning hard, trying to look past me at Haven.

I shake my head. “Eyes on your own work, Parker.” I point at the guy trying to feel her up. “I got this.”

I turn back to Haven, and she’s gone.

Where the fuck⁠—

My gaze drops, and then I roll my eyes and groan. Haven’s on her hands and knees in the dirt, either trying to pick up something she dropped, or trying to find something that caught her attention.

“Upsies,” I shout over the music, bending to grab her arm.

She comes so willingly, I turn and throw Melissa a death glare over my shoulder, but the bitch doesn’t even see it because she’s suffocating her new boyfriend with her tongue.

Who gives a newbie molly and then lets them loose in this predator’s playground?

“Out of my fucking way,” I grumble, an arm around Haven’s waist as I guide her to the edge of the dance floor. It feels like the party’s conspiring against me, because it’s a hell of a lot harder getting out than it was getting in.

Mine to protect.

Mine to hurt.

Mine.

Eventually we make it to the trees, but we’re right on a path to the porta-potties set up a short distance from the dance floor. And fuck, I can’t handle that smell, so I shove the water in my boxers, losing the last of my suckers, and grasp Haven’s shoulders so I can steer her through the trees.

We’d both have to be struck blind and deaf to get lost out here with such a rager happening a few yards away. But at least here, there’s a little light from a spotlight, the music faded.

I prop her up against a tree, screw open the water, and tip it against her lips. She gulps it, water spilling down her chin and pattering onto the trash bag covering her chest.

God, she looks good in body paint.

I guess she’s had her fill of the water, because she turns away when I bring it to her lips again. So I down what’s left and toss the bottle toward the dance floor.