Prologue

“I give up,” he whispered, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. “Not yet.”

He sat on his bed, the moonlight seeping through the slightly parted curtains behind him, his right hand holding a rusty old knife over his left arm. Another job done. A piece of his soul bartered. A hefty amount earned. He blinked, and a warm tear wrote a eulogy on his face, leaving a trail of memories in its wake.

The knife didn’t tremble under his firm grip. The older cuts tingled.

His eyes traveled around the room. A photograph hung on the wall in front of him. He stared at the thin blonde woman who cradled a little girl in her arms. He could picture a boy smiling at them behind the borrowed camera, ready for his turn that never came.

A faint smile—was it there?

Like a well-practiced dance routine, his eyes snapped from the photograph to the painting on the opposite wall. The violence it depicted had drawn him to the art the first time he’d seen it.

In a jungle under the full moon, a pack of wolves feasted on a lifeless deer. A woman in white hid behind a tree, watching wide-eyed. It was apparent to him that she’d never witnessed something so cruel, though it was completely normal for the wolves. They were predators. Hungry. Lustful. The deer lay motionless with its blood pooled beside it.

And a golden eagle sat quietly on a branch of the same tree, observing. He stared at it. Had it tried its best? Shaking his head, he looked down at his arm and sliced open his skin. How else could he show the scars inside his soul? Nausea gripped him, his head lulled, and the darkness took over.

He woke the next day with sunlight irritating his eyes. He squinted down at his red-stained shirt and then at his arm. The blood had dried on it.

Blinding dreams. Deafening screams. He was sick of it.

The lady in white would’ve tried to run, he assumed, the wolves catching up to her. The eagle would’ve charged at the beasts, tearing at their eyes. The woman might have died, the eagle wounded, but everything came down to a simple objective—the wolves were made an example of.

 

Chapter 1

Thirty minutes.

Giselle had been waiting thirty minutes in the club, and there was still no sign of Chris. Apparently, he’d gone to get a drink for himself, which was odd because they were already seated at the bar. She thought he’d gone to sulk in a corner because, back home, his Rock had lost to her Paper. As always. Stakes had been high. Giselle had wanted to try one last time to find him a girl, and he’d wanted to stay home to finish his employee report. Rock, Paper, Scissor was the only way to decide. And naturally, she’d won.

But it’d been too long, and worry was starting to settle in. Her heart hammered for a moment, but she brushed it off. He was a grown man who could handle himself. And if he’d decided to ditch her because of the bet he’d lost, she’d strangle the sore loser at home.

This was the final attempt, though, she reminded herself, and if he dared to reject one more girl of her choosing, she was ready to give up on him and his I-suck-at-relationships attitude entirely.

Music blared, and the ground vibrated as her eyes traveled across the heated dance floor. Bad Blood by Taylor Swift started playing, and she sang along as her fingers drummed her thigh over her loose, blue jeans.

Someone grabbed her shoulder from the side, and with a little jump of her heart, she spun to her left.

“What—Are you drunk?” she bellowed over the loud music. A few people turned to give them a fleeting glance.

Giselle held him by his shoulders as Chris stumbled on his step.

“Not my fault.” He hiccupped and then laughed at himself. She cringed at the smell, then sighed in defeat, letting him go.

“Chris,” she said with a steady voice. “Why did you drink?”

“Not my fault!” he repeated, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind, then frowned innocently. “You know I don’t drink.”

“What happened, then?”

“I just wanted to forget,” he said. He squinted his brown eyes as if trying to focus.

Her brows knitted. “Forget what?”

He stared at her, his eyes doing that usual double-blink at her. “I… I couldn’t… I…”

She shook her head in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t understand how Paper can beat Rock. It’s so stupid.” He raised his finger to her nose, flicked it, and grinned.

Giselle stared at him ridiculously.

A drunk Chris defeated the purpose of being at the club, as ironic as it was, because this state seemed to strip him of all his charms. And as bad as he already was at relationships, this was an additional blow to any advancements she wanted him to make today.

Chris sat on a stool beside hers, both hands in his lap. He turned toward the bar behind them and gestured for the bartender to come.

He said, “A tequila shot, please.” She gaped at him, and he shrugged at her. “It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

Giselle turned to the bartender as well. “He will not be having any more of that.” The man raised his hands in surrender and moved on to the guy clad in purple, who licked a slice of potato and took a shot, his whole body vibrating at the impact. She cringed, asking herself why anyone would ever want to do that with a potato, then ignored him and turned to Chris. “It’s Friday tomorrow, not Sunday. And are you serious? We’re here to find you a girl—”

“Which I don’t want.”

“You can’t be single for the rest of your life!” she almost whined.

“It’s really not that serious, Pigtails.”

She huffed. “Don’t call me that. And do you plan on never dating? Because, frankly, you don’t seem too eager…” She gasped mockingly. “You’re gay. We can look for a guy, instead, just say the word.”

He flicked the air beside her head a few times, then said, “Aha!” when he managed to hit her forehead. “It’s not like I’ve never dated.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you have, and it has always ended up in a disaster.”

“Maybe girls don’t like nice men,” he mumbled.

“Someone thinks too highly of themselves,” she mumbled back.

He ignored her. “I already have a girl, you know,” said Chris, “and she’s enough.”

She met his eyes with her narrowed ones. “I find that hard to believe. Who’s the lucky lady?”

His lips twitched up. “You.”

Her lips stretched in a warm smile that turned into an amused one. “Very funny. With words like these, girls will swoon all over you. What’s sexier than a man flirting with his best friend instead?” She scrunched up her nose at him.

He was right, though. It really wasn’t that serious. Maybe she wanted to make sure Chris had a girlfriend, she reasoned, was so he could finally ease up to the idea of her relationship with Xavier. It had been a year since they’d started dating, and Chris still hadn’t warmed up to him.

He scoffed at her exclamation. She grinned as her eyes moved around the packed room of partiers once again to see if any girl looked single enough for Chris.

Since his past relationships had all been disastrous, this had become a game for them in recent months. Whenever she was bored, she’d find ways to set him up with someone, though it never worked out how she wanted. Chris was set on denying dating any girl Giselle chose for him.

They’d exhausted all the other social locations; this club was the last place she’d brought him to. If this failed, she was giving up.

Red caught her eye again as she searched the mass. A girl sat alone in the farthest corner of the club. The entire time Giselle had sat there, waiting for Chris, the girl in red kept herself immersed in her phone, looking bored and uninterested in her surroundings.

“Chris?” she called, distracted by the girl she didn’t want to lose sight of.

But he was more distracted than she. “Hmm?”

“Check out that—” She paused, her face scrunching in disgust. “What are you doing?” He held the slice of potato. The same one that the man in purple had licked…

He smiled widely. “Congratulating a potato on getting a role in Toy Story.”

“Chris!” she scolded, stifling her laughter. Unbelievable.

“What?”

“Focus!”

“On what?” Throwing the potato away, he looked at Giselle with raised eyebrows. “What?”

She sighed and snapped her fingers in front of his face, trying to gain all his attention. “I found you a girl, mister.”

“Where is she? I can’t see her,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not imagining her because you’re so drunk?”

She pursed her lips.

“Wait a minute!” He gasped. “She’s invisible, isn’t she?”

“Chris. Never. Ever. Ever. Ever—”

“Look this gorgeous?” he cut her off, “Impossible!”

“—ever,” she continued, “drink again.”

Ignoring the look he gave her, she jumped off the stool and walked toward the lady, clicking her white heels against the wooden floor. The woman in a red cocktail dress sat poised on the sofa. She held a glass of margarita stylishly in one hand and scrolled away on her phone with the other. Her curls were defined and tied back into a high ponytail. Giselle wished she also had such gorgeous hair.

“Hey!” Giselle invited herself across the table on the sofa opposite hers.

She looked up at Giselle with her almond eyes, put down her phone, and pursed her red lips. “Can I help you?”

Giselle had it all planned. “You see that guy over there?” She pointed in Chris’s direction, who, thankfully, wasn’t making a fool of himself.

“The one wearing purple robes?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest in horror.

“What? God, no. The one with the black jacket.”

Chris stood leaning against the bar and casually typed something on his phone, unaware of the girl on his right who kept giving him suggestive glances. Giselle smiled at how handsome he looked. His dark hair was styled into his usual pompadour, clothes fitted his muscular body, and his sharp jawline adorned with a soft stubble got more prominent every time he looked around the club.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “What about him?”

“Well, you see, he’s very shy. He wanted me to ask if he could buy you a drink and that the said drink won’t end up splashed on his face.”

The girl chuckled and sipped from her glass. “Is he your brother?”

“My best friend.”

“You play matchmaker for him a lot?”

Giselle grinned. “Never works, I assure you.”

The girl bit her lip and waited momentarily before saying, “Not serial killer, right?”

“Would I tell you if he was?” Giselle winked.

“Is that so?”

Giselle flipped her straight hair back with a smile. “Giselle,” she said, extending her hand as if that was explanation enough.

“Oh, Abigail… Or Abby, whatever.”

“Beautiful name.” A beat of awkward silence passed, then she said, “So…?”

“What’s his name?” Abby asked, glancing at him once.

“Chris.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Sure. Ask him to come over if he’s interested.”

Giselle gulped. Drunk Chris was not impressive. Drunk Chris knocked things over. Drunk Chris talked to potatoes.

She cleared her throat, then said, “He’s shy and, uh, wants to take you out… Would you mind giving me your number instead?”

Abigail looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “If he doesn’t act, honey, he’s not worth it.”

“Oh, he acts.”

Abigail raised both her eyebrows.

Giselle cleared her throat. “I mean, I know that because we’ve been friends since forever. But I assure you, he’s daddy material.”

Abby pursed her lips, her eyes bulging slightly, and then the corners of her mouth twitched up.

Giselle’s entire existence stopped at the realization, a buzz of embarrassment running through her body. What did I just say?

She licked her lips. “What I meant was… What I wanted to say was…”

Abigail chuckled. “It’s okay. But I’m not handing out my number unless he has the guts to ask for it himself. For all I know, he stammers when he talks.”

Gisell’s smile fell. She wanted to call her out on it or defend Chris but bit her lip instead, still awkward at the words she’d uttered earlier. “Right. One sample of male species coming right up.”

Before Abigail could say anything else, she hurried toward her best friend.

“Hello!” Chris greeted her with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“You have to ask her for her number. Right now,” she said to him over the loud music.

Chris merged his brows. “Who?”

“I’ll take you to her.” She was sure Abigail was looking at them, so she had to play it cool.

He looked at her as if she was crazy. “I’m going nowhere.”

“Please, please! I already talked to her.”

“Giselle, life doesn’t have to be so complicated…” he slurred.

“Okay, first of all, you will keep your speech to a minimum. Second, you will act shy because that’s how I pitched you.” Chris opened his mouth to, no doubt, protest, but she spoke over him, “And third, you will be a gentleman who asks for a lady’s number at a club, and then we’ll be out.”

His eyes sparkled at the last sentence. “We go home?”

She smiled smugly. “Only after you do exactly as I say.”

“I get her number, that’s all?”

“And you’ll call her and go on a date, of course!”

“Not happening, Cupid.”

She folded her arms, and as her last resort, she started rambling, “It’s rude not to call. And maybe you’ll like her. She’s so sweet! She’s got the prettiest hair. And I’ll look ridiculous if you don’t. For me, please? As my birthday gift.”

He smirked. “Your birthday is on the twenty-fifth of April next year.”

She wondered how he could remember that, considering how drunk he was. “Early birthday present?” She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes.

“I hate you,” he muttered and pushed off the bar, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his pants. Sighing, he gestured for her to lead the way.

“Really?” she squeaked.

“Only because you’re rambling like an idiot.”

Grinning, Giselle grabbed his arm and led him to the girl in red. She hissed at him when he stumbled a little, earning a ridiculous what-have-I-done look from him. When they sat down with Abigail, he suppressed most traces of intoxication surprisingly well.

He asked for her number, his charms turned on, and all his claims of sucking at relationships went down the drain. At one point, Giselle noticed Abigail blushing as Chris kissed her on the hand, being the gentleman he was, before they headed out of the club. They had agreed to meet on the coming Sunday over lunch, and she considered that a success.

I can go to Petrichor tomorrow, she thought after pushing him into the passenger seat of his car, much to his dismay, and getting in the driver’s seat herself, and Chris might just warm up a fraction more to the idea of Xavier.