Veils of Rivalry Chapter 8

Blaise's POV

My eyes fly open.

Stumbling back, my hand shoots out, and I punch his face.

It all happens so fast.

One minute, he’s taunting me, bringing me to the brink of madness, and the next, my knuckles connect with his cheekbone.

His face whips to the side, and he bursts out laughing.

Disheveled hair shifts forward over his eyes, hiding his own descent down the rabbit hole.

I don’t think I’m ready to see the look in his eyes.

Instead, I stare at my bleeding knuckles.

Straightening up, he leans back against the wall, his hoodie creased from my grip. “Break up with her, or Mom and Dad will see the video.”

When I finally let my eyes lift from my cracked knuckles to his bruised cheek, he shrugs. “Let’s see how proud they are of you then.”

He walks out without another word.

*****

I love it when a plan comes together without much effort on my part.

It all started when a gravelly voice called my name as I passed by the business building. I looked back to see Freddy, the local dealer, leaning against a tree.

Intrigued, I backpedaled.

We didn’t run in the same circles, and we’d never exchanged a single word before now, which made me more curious.

He took a drag on his cigarette, watching me through his lashes. “You party?”

When I failed to respond, he shrugged, blowing the smoke to the side. “Preppy boys like you party, too. What are you into?”

“What have you got?”

His husky chuckle rang out in the afternoon sun. “You name it, I’ve got it.”

An idea sparked—a wicked, evil little idea.

Walking closer, I considered him. Dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts, he looked so cliché that it gave me a toothache.

“What’s the strongest you have?”

“I see…” His amused eyes fell down my body, the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. He took one final drag before tossing the cancer stick to the grass and crushing it beneath the heel of his Vans. “The preppy boys always party the hardest.” Chuckling, he pulled a small bag of pills from his pocket. “This will make you think you’re fucking Santa on the moon.”

That was three days ago, and since then, my mind has concocted the perfect plan. Now, I’m antsy as hell to trap Cole with his own noose.

A week has passed since my run-in with him in the bathroom.

A full week of him smirking in my direction, taunting me every chance he gets.

I have no doubts about his threat.

Unless I act, he will show that video to our parents. I can’t let that happen. Dad would understand—he was young once—but I don’t want Cole to have this kind of power over me. It’s not about my golden reputation anymore. No, it’s about him thinking he can control me, thinking I’ll dance to his tune.

Thinking I’m a doormat.

I’m not, and he will soon find out the hard way.

Tonight is Samson’s birthday party—an extravagant affair held at a local castle-like mansion that’s popular for wedding events. Located in the countryside, it sits nestled amongst acres of woodlands. It is a picturesque place in the daytime and a ghostly setting at night when the shadows thicken and the moon casts an ethereal glow over the turrets.

My veins thrum with anticipation, and I adjust my mask, two seconds away from bouncing on my heels. Samson insisted on a Venetian jester-themed event, and I must admit, the effect isn’t lost on me. My mask is gold with bells, while Mia went for red and white, matched with a tulle dress and heels.

“When will they let us in?” she asks, craning her neck to see above the crowd.

Behind us, Tiago shakes his head to make the bells jingle, and Ronnie punches his arm.

Allie is already inside with Cole and the others, and I try not to let that thought bother me as the gates finally open with an ominous creak. Silence falls over the crowd while we wait outside the tall iron gates. Mia interlaces her fingers with mine. I wonder, not for the first time, if I can go through with my plan.

I don’t have time to fret, though, because the crowd surges forward, steering us toward the gothic monstrosity that stretches fanged towers toward the sky.

Mia’s hand feels so small in mine. Small and fragile.

We enter the building, greeted by rock music and a large chandelier overhead that, if it fell, would kill countless students in one swoop.

The crowd finally thins out as the masked students make their way to the main hall. I barely have time to take in the artwork on the domed ceiling as Mia pulls me along, swaying her hips to the heavy beat. She’s in her element now, but I remain stiff. Ronnie’s rowdy laughter behind me sounds far away. Distant.

“Allie said to meet them by the fireplace,” Mia shouts over the music.

We weave through masked men and women until we reach a seating area. Tiago and Ronnie are nowhere in sight, lost in the faceless crowd.

I know the moment I spot him, sprawled on the luxurious couches closest to the lit fireplace, dressed in all black, with one booted foot on the coffee table and his muscled arms spread out behind him.

Goosebumps erupt over my skin, and a chill winds its way down my spine. As the music hits the bridge, his dark eyes lock onto mine, searing me through his striking half-white, half-black mask.

Clashing colors. How ironic.

We stare at each other while I fight against my visceral reaction to the energy emanating from him.

Someone throws themselves at me, and I break eye contact to smile at Allie.

“You came. Thanks for bringing my girl.”

“Get off my man,” my girlfriend scolds, pulling Allie away while laughing. She plasters herself to my side and flips her off.

Arm flung around her shoulder, I accept the beer Allie hands me, then glance around the room.

Now, on to the next part of my plan.

A smirk plays on my lips as I shift my mask to sip my beer.

Tonight is the night for mayhem.

Chaos.

Destruction.

“C’mon,” Mia says, interlinking her fingers with mine and guiding me to the plush couches. I drop beside Samson and pull her down onto my lap.

Music blares around us while I drink my beer, feeling Cole’s eyes on me. The urge to get lost in the darkness that swirls around him like shadows has me white-knuckling the bottle in my hand.

I hold the cards tonight. Not him.

Allie appears before us, pulling Mia to her feet.

Samson leans in. “Plenty of fine pussy here tonight.”

I take in his green and black Venetian mask with its creepy jester smile. “Got your eyes on anyone?”

He scans the vast room, stretching his arms out behind him on the couch, then leans back in, shouting over the loud riff of music. “Freshman, two o’clock.”

Craning my neck, I look behind me, spotting a girl by the tall windows. She’s pretty in her white mask and angel wings. Even more so with the starry night sky as a backdrop.

Samson is so close that his mask brushes up against the side of my face. “I’m gonna be balls deep in her pussy before the night’s end.”

I turn around, and Samson jostles my shoulder, laughing, but I’m caught by the storm on the couch across from us.

If you could define turmoil, Cole is it.

His knee jiggles, and he clenches his hands.

He’s pent-up and I like seeing him unravel while the flames in the fireplace cast dancing shadows over his mask.

I almost want to kick the table out of the way, cage him in with my arms, and ask him why he’s so wound up. But that thought soon leads down a dangerous path of grabbing him through his jeans and squeezing his hard dick.

Jesus, fuck.

I help myself to another beer, needing something to cool me off before I do something stupid, like offer him up my power on a silver plate.

Clenching my jaw, I glare at him as I press the bottleneck to my lips.

Tonight, your power is mine, fucker. When I’m done with you, you’ll sing to my tune.

Fancy trying to fuck with me.

I think not.

No one threatens me.

The cool liquid slides down my throat, and I see my opening to put my plan into place when Cole rises to his feet.

Rounding the couch, he heads in the direction of the toilets.

Samson kneels beside me, almost falling over the back of the couch as he talks to Keith behind us.

With a final glance around the crowded room to ensure no one is paying attention, I drag the crate of beers closer, then kick my leg out and pull the packet of pills from my pocket. I quickly crush them with a beer can and pop the lid on three bottles, pouring equal amounts into each.

My plan tonight requires more than one sacrifice. I’ve thought about it, asking myself if it’s worth it.

Yes, it is.

I’ll happily burn down the world and everyone in it to watch Cole squirm like a worm on my hook.

A smirk spreads across my lips as Cole returns. He flops onto the couch, picks up a beer, and kicks his boot up on the table.

I glance around the room while he drinks his alcohol. For this to work, I need Mia and Allie to return.

Once I spot her dancing in the crowd, I quirk a finger in her direction, pleased when she drags Allie back.

When she falls onto my lap, her mask halfway up her face, I’m ready for her.

Kissing her soft lips, I hand her the beer. “You must be thirsty, babe.”

“You have no idea.” She smiles, pecking me on the mouth again before she inhales the cold alcohol.

Satisfaction warms my veins as her throat jumps and beer trickles down her chin. I steady her hand, not wanting her to waste it.

Across from us, Allie drinks her beer too. I cock my head to the side, watching her creamy thighs part slightly as she shifts on Cole’s lap.

I’ve never considered fucking her before, but she looks so damn tempting tonight, even more so because she belongs to Cole. I’m developing a taste for his…toys.

The night wears on. More crates of beer appear. Thirty minutes later, I pull Mia to her feet, hauling her against me. Vanilla and coconut swirl around me, warm and spicy. I devour her lips, tasting the alcohol on her tongue.

She’s wasted.

Fucking perfect.

Samson and Keith are nowhere in sight.

Whispering in Mia’s ear, I quirk a brow at Cole as she runs over to Allie and pulls her to her feet.

“We should explore the mansion.”

Giggling, they sway, barely staying upright. Allie drags Cole to his feet, and he comes willingly, shaking his head to clear the haze.

His eyes are glassy, and he is unable to focus. In other words, he’s fucked.

How poetic.

I grab the back of his damp neck, shoving him forward. “You want to play, brother. Let’s go.”