Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

2. Chapter Two

T his is the life. This is the way I should be living.

High energy music seeps under the booth’s curtain, pounding from the club in full swing beyond, the sound of stomping feet accompanying the bass. Vibrant colors burst in rhythmic patterns behind my closed eyelids, like an internal never-ending kaleidoscope. My mind feels light and empty as I roll my head across the back of the velvet sofa, enjoying the high of whatever drug I swallowed a little while ago. I have no idea what it was, just that the hot waitress promised me a good time. With her head now bobbing between my thighs, she wasn’t lying.

Sighing contentedly, I stretch my legs wider and slouch down a little further to accommodate her open mouth. A tray of drinks she was supposed to be delivering sit on the low table behind her, the ice melting and diluting the alcohol with every passing second. I watch the droplets roll down each glass, the rest of the world falling away. For all the expert deep-throating she’s giving, there’s really no need. I barely feel anything anymore.

The scent of weed travels across from the next booth next door, also shrouded in curtains. I chuckle to myself quietly with a stupidly large grin across my face. We’re all looking for an escape tonight. For a pocket of the world where we no longer have to exist.

I’m not sure what day it is. Between gate crashing celebrity-exclusive parties, placing high bets at casinos and taking girls back to the penthouse suite upstairs each night, I’ve successfully avoided all things real. My phone died some time ago and I didn’t bother to charge it. I avoid the papers and news channels at all costs - just in case Avery decided to go public with her Lynch Wyatt campaign. I bet she’s having the time of her life, cackling ‘I win’ from the rooftops.

Fuck, I’m thinking about her again. I know the rules.

“Hey,” I rasp my knuckles on the waitress’ head. “You got another pill for me?” Her look of annoyance doesn’t faze me. Producing a small packet from her back pocket, she watches me take it with a gulp of whiskey. I don’t like the pinch in her eyebrows. In fact, I find it damn rude. “Did I say you could stop sucking my cock?” She gives a small smile then, awarding herself some miniscule victory. Whatever it was, I just needed her to stop staring at me.

Small tremors take a hold of my body, the blissfully numb feeling dancing across my skin. It continues to tingle faintly as the music pounds heavily, my thoughts drifting away on a tumbleweed. A couple of weeks ago, I was getting straight A’s and was in peak physical health. I was worshiped by the basketball subs as much as the cheerleaders, and my men still held respect for me. How easily it all came crashing down. How quickly Avery took it all from me. Fuck, not again.

“I’ll overdose at this rate,” I mumble to myself. The waitress either doesn’t hear or ignores me, seeming to be getting herself off more than me. I’m barely hard anymore. The drink worked at first. Then the drugs. Now, a blonde figure in a ballet skirt pirouettes through my mind. The harder I push her away, the easier she springs back. She dominated me in the dressing room, had me against the wall and panting. A feat no one has managed before or since. And just like that, I’m fully erect again and I can see the waitress’ eyes brighten. Sure babe, it’s all you. I pat her head like a dog.

Flashes penetrate the thin curtain. Shadows pass, laughter echoes. I find myself smiling again, the emotions passing through me like water meandering down a stream. Lifting my glass of whiskey from the flattened arm of the sofa, I hold it up to salute my men. But there’s no one there. No one to clink my glass, no one to watch the waitress choke herself on me. I’ve become so used to not having personal space, now I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t think of a time in my adult life that I’ve been alone like this.

Yet I can’t call them. They would be here within the hour, trying to ‘fix’ me. The truth is - I don’t want to be fixed. I want to ride this storm and feel every ounce of self-loathing because I deserve it. I’m twisted in ways I didn’t even realize; I need time to be reckless and banish the darkness within before I hurt someone I care about. Eventually, I’ll be able to return home without looking twice at her.

Clutching the back of the waitress’ hair, I encourage her to go deeper, harder. To use her teeth and make me feel . Anything to banish the blonde mirage now appearing in front of me. She moves faster, her black hair covering my thighs like an ink spill as she takes me all the way in the back of her throat, but any ounce of pleasure I might have felt through this high has gone. Her thick lashes flash up to me, a trick of my mind seeing them as blue in the strobe light that passes over the curtain. My dick weeps excitedly at the notion and I hate myself even more.

She would look so beautiful. Golden hair, lean athletic body. My hallucination goes as far as to put her in that pink tutu and slippers, the leotard dipped low to tug at her taut nipples. Then there’s her beautiful blue eyes. They are all I can see, no matter how many times I blink. So wide and innocent, hiding so much truth. There’s nothing innocent about Avery. She’s just as sick and twisted as I am, and she wants me. No matter what she says or does, it’s always been painfully obvious that she wants me in whatever form I’ll give her. The bully, the asshole. But now. Fuck, now…

Her fucking twin.

Bile rises in my throat. I grip the sides of my head as my mind begins to spin with all the thoughts I’ve been suppressing. I can’t think about her. Suddenly, I’m sweating. Inside my designer shirt, I writhe, boiling alive in my own skin. My thoughts spin, considering just how many packets of pink pills this waitress has on her.

But no. I may be temporarily unstable, but I’m not stupid enough to get addicted. Once I’ve worked this episode out of my system, and I’ve somehow dragged the pieces of my broken soul back together, I need to return to Waversea and finish my degree. My last saving grace. I’ve known for a long time now, the only way I’m going to succeed in this life is through my own perseverance.

Instead, I reach for a folded stash of money from my own pocket, secured with a clip and drop it onto the puddled drinks tray. Pushing the waitress off me, I stand and fasten my slacks, needing to spend too much focus on remaining upright.

“That’s enough,” I growl, although my tongue is thick in my mouth.

“Wait, don’t you want me to finish you off?” Nails claw at my thighs desperately. Stepping over her, I successfully make it to the curtain and pause to roll my eyes in her direction. At least I hope it’s just my eyes, because my head feels ready to roll right off my shoulders.

“Nah, I’m bored.” And isn’t that the truth.