one
“I need to get laid.” I tipped my head back so the tequila shot could burn its way down my throat. It was my fifth or sixth of the night, and with the cocktail of pills I’d downed earlier, every cell in my body pulsed to the beat of the music pounding the walls of the club. I was ravenous for contact, humming with arousal, craving a release.
Bottom line, I needed to get off. If only to feel a tiny sliver of…something.
“Suck.” Archer leaned across the leather couch of our private VIP section and pressed a lime wedge to my lips. When I parted them, he added, “You know I’m always happy to quench your thirst, Reagan.” His bright blue eyes ignited and his deep voice dripped with innuendo, making the smirk on his chiseled face doubly wicked.
I grimaced at the sharp, sour sting of citrus. Or maybe because for a brief, crazy instant I actually considered his offer.
Archer Huntington Chase III wasn’t an easy temptation to pass up. With his blond, wavy hair, angular features, and a style ripped straight from the pages of GQ, he was every woman’s wet dream. Girls lost their way—and their panties—in the depths of his icy gaze. At the moment, it was glassy and unfocused as he stared back at me, but without a doubt, he was as close to a mythical creature as any twenty-year-old human being could be. Much too good to be true. Perfect, in fact.
But perfect wasn’t what I wanted. Not what the REAL me wanted, anyway.
Waving my hand, I said, “We’ve already been down that road before, Arch. One too many times.” If my parents didn’t worship him so damn much, I might’ve even been able to make myself feel something for him. But my sex life was the one thing in my life they couldn’t control. The only thing I had some semblance of autonomy over. And tonight, the last thing I wanted was to end up in bed with someone they’d approve of.
Archer wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. “Hey, from what I remember, you and I are always fun together.”
As he brought his mouth to mine, I stiffened. “From what I remember, we are always wasted out of our minds.” Well, actually, I didn’t remember that part, but knew it had to be true. Trapped deep inside an inebriated state, I could guarantee there would never be any room for messy emotions. I placed my palms on his chest and gently pushed.
“Well, lucky us, we happen to be wasted right now.” Archer’s smile widened as he raised two fingers at our waitress. “I can’t believe it’s been a full year since we hung out. Remember what happened that insane night we went out to celebrate your graduation last summer?”
I groaned. “You mean, mourn my acceptance into Poli-freaking-Sci at Columbia?” My father had forced the major on me. Just like he’d picked every one of my high school electives and was already stuffing Harvard Law School brochures down my throat. “No, I don’t remember anything that went on that entire week, Arch.” Thankfully.
“You know I really miss you, right?” There was something about the tension in his voice that made my chest constrict. I couldn’t handle any kind of deeper meaning behind those words.
“Oh, whatever. It’s not like you’re ever hurting for company. You’ll get over me as soon as you zero in on your latest plaything.” His bed, like mine, was never empty. Our hearts and lives, on the other hand…well, we tried not to think about that. That was what the pills and alcohol were for. Colorful, blissful escape.
Speaking of which…
“I know how you can quench my thirst,” I said, leaning in so close I could see the silver flecks in his eyes. My sparkly black-and-gold dress shimmered against his deep gray Armani shirt. “You wanna make me buzz all over?”
“Fuck, yes.” A whoosh of air escaped his lungs. “You smell so damn delicious right now. Tell me what you want, babe.” He licked his lips, nodding.
My eyes dropped to the little baggie of white powder on the table between us. His stash. “Just a tiny, little hit of something extra,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. My long, thick, golden-brown locks drove him wild.
“Uh-uh. No way.” He grabbed the coke and shoved it back into his pocket. “As much as I’d love nothing more than to take advantage of you, you’re way too fucked up for blow right now.”
I was too fucked up for a lot of things. When did that ever actually matter?
Sticking out my bottom lip, I poked him in the chest. “And you’re no fun at all. No Reagan for you tonight.”
He groaned. “Aww, come on. Don’t you know how much I love you, baby girl?”
“Just as much as I love you,” I said.
Then I laughed. Wildly. Madly. Deeply. Hysterically. Until my heart ached. Archer joined me, his shoulder and arm quaking against my body.
Liars. Both of us.
LOVE. What the fuck did either of us know about love?
I didn’t trust love. It had never done anything for me but give false hope, mask manipulation, and break me. I had no delusions about love anymore—I’d lost my innocence four years ago.
And I would never be broken again.
Emptiness filled every part of my body and mind. But who fucking cared? I had other, less conventional, means of fulfillment.
Pop an upper. Shoot some tequila. Fuck a stranger.
Bury shame. Get a 4.0 GPA. Play perfect daughter.
Rinse and repeat.
I was living a pretend life, all artificial happiness and forged feelings. And no one even noticed. Well, except for Archer. But that was only because he was in the same boat.
“You know, you’re gonna miss me when I go back to Harvard next week,” he said. Gloom clouded his eyes, but this time it had nothing to do with me.
Even though he’d already served a two-year sentence of his four-year business program at the top of his class, there would always be a big piece of Archer that wished his father had allowed him take that football scholarship. But, of course, in our world, business and politics trumped sports—trumped every-freaking-thing. Art? Suffocated. Freedom and creativity? Stifled.
“I won’t miss you, Arch,” I replied. “I’ll be too busy with school.” My second year officially started next week, and while I was dreading having to maintain a perfect GPA in courses I had no interest in, I was looking forward to being able to use midterms and study groups as excuses from family dinners. “Plus, I’ll have no time for anyone else but New York City. She and I need to rekindle our affair. It’s going to be dirty, rough, and absolutely amazing.” An entire summer spent with my parents had me desperate to get away. I was ready to grasp onto any sliver of freedom I could get. However pretend it might be.
“REEEEAGAN?!” I nearly jumped out of my seat when the screech hit my ears. How someone so petite could be loud enough to cut through the drum solo boggled my mind.
“Reagan! Oh, my god! What are you still doing here, love?!” Mika Malone—yes, the famous music exec Mike Malone’s daughter—bounded over from the dance floor, flinging herself onto the couch and conveniently falling into Archer’s lap. Her tiny, black skirt rode up to expose her red lace panties, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She looked up at me and smiled sickly sweet like only a long-time frenemy could. “Didn’t you say you were looking for a hottie to ensure your last Friday night of freedom goes out with a bang? What happened to that plan?”
Translation: Why are you still sitting here with Archer? I invited him to the most elite club in all of the Meatpacking District for an exclusive preview of a hot new rock band that’s about to blow up. Alone. Because I wanted to impress him with Daddy’s connections so he’d finally agree to screw my brains out. He insisted on bringing you and has refused to leave your side the entire night. I want you out of the picture so he can finally stop ignoring me. Like, yesterday.
“I’m working on it, Mika,” I said, returning her fake smile.
“I actually proposed my services, but Reagan refuses to take me up on the offer.” Archer grinned, his teeth immaculately white and perfectly straight. I cringed inwardly as Mika’s dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction.
Before any of us could speak, our waitress returned. “Here you go! Enjoy!” She set two shot glasses in front of us. Damn it. For the umpteenth time tonight, Archer had forgotten to count Mika in.
“Oh.” She swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on the alcohol that was clearly not meant for her. For a brief instant I didn’t know if she was going to cry or throw something. But she didn’t do either. She stayed terrifyingly silent.
“Mika, Arch wasn’t sure what you liked to drink so he got you a shot of Patron.” I picked up a glass in each hand and held them out to the duo. “Cheers, guys!”
Why in fuck’s name had I agreed to come here again? Right. Archer was providing me with a goody bag of pharmaceuticals I’d need to get through the next semester, and would only agree to trade me for a night out.
Mika looked at me warily, but took the shot. “Thanks.”
“Hey, M&M, why don’t you pick a guy for me?” I said. She couldn’t do any worse than me with all the strikeouts this week. Plus, this would show I had no interest in doing anything with Archer and she could have him to herself. Win-win.
“Yes! Brilliant idea!” Mika sat straight up. “Why don’t I introduce you to the lead singer of No Man’s Land after the band’s set? His name’s Dash and he’s pure sex on a stick. I say you jump that ass before he’s super famous and riddled with STDs.”
“Whatever.” Archer rolled his eyes. “He’s probably all gonorrhea-d out already.”
“When do they wrap? In another hour or two? My buzz is going to wear off by then.” I wanted someone now. While I was still riding a high. While there was still a chance I could feel something—regardless of how little, how short, how fake.
“Well if you’re not willing to wait for a sexy rock star, why not go for the drooler at five o’clock?” Mika giggled and nodded toward a short, scrawny guy wearing—no fucking way—a sweater vest and oversized black-rimmed glasses. He was trying to keep tempo with the music, but failing miserably. The moment my gaze landed on him, his eyes widened and he stumbled.
Archer winced. “Ouch.”
“Oh. My. God. He’s literally wagging his tongue!” Mika laughed. “What a little bitch. Clearly a rich bitch, but a bitch nonetheless.”
“He looks like a nice guy,” I said with a shrug. Nice and tame. Which was the furthest thing from what I wanted. “Just…not my type.” No one in this club was my type. Too many black cards, designer suits, expensive haircuts, and rich douchebags.
“You want something higher-end?” Mika asked. “I have the PERFECT guy for you!” She jumped off the seat to scan the crowd. “You know Richard Emerson, right?” Her manicured fingers flew across her phone screen.
“Who?” I asked.
“He goes to Columbia, too,” she said. “I think he’s in one of the frats. Two years older and super hot. Not to mention, mommy and daddy are loaded beyond belief. He has a booth near the stage. I texted him to come over. You’ll love him.”
Shit. I already knew I wouldn’t. “I don’t—”
“RICHAAAARD! Over here!” Mika called.
Double shit. I groaned inwardly when I saw a familiar head of light brown curls glide through the crowd. “No, Mika! Not him.”
She waved her arms above her head. “Hey, come here for a second!”
No, no, no.
“My friend Reagan is here all by herself and needs a little entertaining,” Mika said when the guy came to a stop in front of us. His hazel eyes widened when he saw me.
Fuck. Of course he recognized me.
From. Last. Week.
“Reagan McKinley!” he grunted my name. Fucking Neanderthal. “Hey, babe!” He slid onto the couch and wrapped his meaty arms around me. “Back for more Dick-meister so soon?”
Archer stiffened. I could’ve sworn I heard his jaw snap.
“My buddies and I have a penthouse suite in the hotel a block over,” Richard said, leaning way too close. “Wanna get out of here? I’ll pick us up a bottle or two of Dom from the bar, and we can—”
“I’ll pass,” I said.
“But…what about last week?”
Jesus Christ. What about it?
It had been bad. Awkwardly bad. Richard had been much too eager and way too full of himself. My mind had checked out almost as soon as he’d started and my body followed closely behind. They’d reluctantly returned only when enough time had passed to believably fake it—though I didn’t even bother calling out his name.
I never called out anyone’s name.
All I’d done when Richard FINALLY sputtered to the finish line was gather my clothes and hightail it out of whosever mansion-sized bathroom we’d ended up in. It was my parents’ fault. If I hadn’t been forced to spend the summer at their Hamptons estate then I wouldn’t have been at that fundraiser with them, wanting to blow my brains out, but instead ending up fucking my brains out with a random...well, Dick.
“Excuse me.” I wiggled my shoulders, trying to get out of his embrace, but he must have thought I was rubbing up against him so he tightened his grasp.
“Oh, yeah. I remember this sexy little bod.”
Oh, god.
“Richard…let…go.” I couldn’t breathe. My skin crawled and my pulse quickened while a scream built up in my chest.
“Get the fuck off of her!” Archer pried Richard’s hands off and shoved him onto the floor.
Oxygen flooded my lungs as I stood up.
“I need…air,” I said, my breaths coming in gasps.
“Reagan!” Archer reached for me, but it was too late.
I fled.
two
I didn’t stop running until I was safely through the doors of the women’s restroom. I bent over the sink, grasping the marble counter tightly as I tried to regain control of my breathing. Why did this always happen?
McKinleys are ALWAYS in control, Reagan.
I could hear my father’s voice. Loud and clear. And disapproving.
The way he always sounded.
I fought the urge to grab the hand cream bottles on the counter and smash them against the mirror in front of me. Instead, I took a deep, shaky breath and splashed some water on my face. Control. Yes, always.
Gazing at my reflection, I counted to ten, blinking away the fogginess in my dark blue eyes. My mascara and eyeliner weren’t smudged—I hated the feel of heavy make-up, so I never wore much—but I ran my fingers under my eyes anyway, swiping away the imaginary streaks. Smoothing out my hair, I ensured every single strand was back in place.
McKinleys NEVER lose their composure, Reagan.
A toilet flushed and two giggling girls stumbled out of a shared stall and sidled up next to me. They wiped the white power from their nostrils and touched up their make-up as they gossiped about No Man’s Land.
Brunette: “Can I just say that I’m head-over-heels in love with Dash?”
Blonde: “Oh, my god. His deep, raspy voice totes speaks to my heart.”
Brunette: “Your heart? Please. His voice speaks to my girly bits.”
Blonde: “Well, see, it’s his abs that do that fo—”
The brunette cut her off as she gave me the once-over in the mirror. “Looove your dress,” she said, as she applied red lipstick to her already vibrant lips. “What is it? Versace? Valentino?”
“Uh-huh,” I said absentmindedly.
Her friend leaned over and took my skirt between her fingers. “Ohh, next season’s Valentino! Nice!”
I nodded. Sure. Whatever. I’d had to wear it. I would have preferred my own clothes.
“Are you here for Fashion Week?” she asked.
“No. School.”
I got that question a lot around this time of year. People as
sumed. Mistakenly. I suppose it had to do with being five-eight and having a naturally lean frame.
“You could totally lie and tell people you’re in one of the shows,” the brunette said. “I’m with an agency downtown and there are way less-fortunate looking girls on our roster.”
“That’s very sweet, but I’m good.” The last thing I needed was some agent telling me how to dress, where to go, and what to eat. I already had my mother for that. I scrunched up the paper towel I’d used to dry off my face and chucked it in the garbage on my way out.
Threading through sweaty, gyrating bodies, I ended up at the back of the club, far from the stage and VIP section. Leaning against a smooth marble wall, I shut my eyes and inhaled. The air was stuffy, humid. My lungs protested, my head spun. I didn’t want to go back to Archer, Mika, and Dick, but I really didn’t want to end up alone.
My fingers slipped into my clutch and wrapped around a familiar cylinder. Just feeling the bottle of pills soothed my nerves.
I stood there for I don’t know how long, debating between swallowing something, taking another shot, or doing both, ensuring my mind chilled the fuck out. How can a person have so much noise inside their head and at the same time feel like they’re drowning in silence?
But what I really wanted was someone who could ground me. Sex still counted as mind-numbing, right?
I opened my eyes and scanned the men in my vicinity. Not like it really mattered where tonight’s dart landed. None of them could ever truly give me what I needed. But one of them should be good enough for a temporary release.
I didn’t need Mr. Right.
I just needed Mr. Right Now.
As I turned toward the bar, my eyes connected with a pair of dark ones, and all of the air left my lungs in a rush. My heart stopped. Yes. Actually stopped and skipped a beat. The guy’s intense gaze slammed into me. From halfway across the room, the color of his irises was impossible to see, but I was sure of one thing. They were dark. Dark and wild and powerful. He stared at me with bold, unabashed interest that made my entire body buzz and my head spin.
The temperature inside the room spiked to an all-time high. The beat of the music became a dull throb only to be replaced by the sound of my hammering pulse. And my vision? The rest of the world blurred until there was only him.
Untamed (Untamed #1) Page 1
