A High so Sweet (Thornes & Roses 2)

Music blares from the speakers, but my mind is still racing with possibilities. The thought of finally seeing him is at the forefront of my thoughts, and when Paulo leans in, I gasp in surprise.

“I’m going to the restroom,” he tells me. “Be a good girl.” There’s another warning in his tone. Paulo has never trusted me. The past two years have been a struggle. And even though I have no choice but to keep the ring on my finger, deep down, I wish someone would save me from the life I chose.

I set my empty glass down and move through the garden. With every step, I can’t help but smile at the decorations. After years of hosting the gala, the Thornes still go out of their way to ensure it’s the talk of the town.

A cold shiver trickles down my spine, and when I turn toward the porch which lines the back of the property, my mouth falls open. In the shadows, closest to where the kitchen entrance is, is a form. A man. It’s clear that he’s staring right at me, his gaze driving a hole through my chest.

The lights are off, which casts him in an eerie glow from the illumination from the party. I’m about to make my way toward him. To demand he talk to me when someone grabs my arm. I turn to find Genevieve, the redhead who I grew up with, smiling at me.

“It’s good to see you,” she says. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

“We only arrived yesterday,” I inform her. We’ve never been friends. She’s always wanted a Thorne on her arm, and while her jealousy over my friendship with Cassian was clear, it didn’t stop him from choosing to hang out with me rather than her.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the party. Cassian and Finn will most certainly be shocked to see a blast from the past,” she remarks before leaving me alone. I want to turn around to see if he’s still standing there, but I don’t. Instead, I fall into the sea of people and find a few old classmates.

We get into conversation, and for a moment, I relax.

But I know it won’t last long.

Because those eyes are still on me.

8

Cassian

The silver moon peeks at me from between the dark and stormy clouds, reminding me that it’s watching. I can’t help but smile. The promise of a night of debauchery is what I needed, and now that I’m back in Thorne Haven, I can enjoy the freedom.

The woods beckon with the creak of branches as the howling wind snakes through the trunks. Nature has a mind of her own, and when she’s angry, you’d better be careful. Shrugging on my hoodie, I smile, which causes the skeleton mask painted on my face to twist into a grin. There are easily a hundred guests at the party, and the moment I step foot off the porch, onto the soft, lush grass, my gaze zones in on my prey for the night.

The wavy, silky chocolate strands hang to the gentle curve of her bared shoulder blades. She’s draped in a long, satin champagne-colored dress that hugs each curve of her frame. Tanned arms are bare, offering me a clear view of the small rose tattoo inked on her shoulder.

The music vibrates through me, the deep bass reminding me of just how fragile we are. If something so small can make the body feel so much, just imagine how an object made of sleek, cool metal can break through the delicate flesh of a human body.

Her laugh echoes across the grass toward me, and I close my eyes, basking in the soft tinkling melody that’s made my dick hard each time I’ve heard it. Following her is something of a hobby, a pastime that’s become an addiction.

My father sent me off to London; he ensured I had work to do. Keeping me busy was the plan, but what my family doesn’t know about me is that I’m susceptible to human emotions as well. Not the sweet and loving kind, but the dizzying darkness that takes over.

When I was thirteen, I told Dad I was worried. I needed to see a professional. All I got in return were a few sessions and some pills. Talking to a stranger didn’t appeal to me after a while, so instead, I enjoyed the calmness and serenity that came with swallowing those little white capsules of calm.

“She’s a beaut,” my brother Finn says from beside me. A few years younger than me, and he’s most probably had more women than I have. But that doesn’t bother me too much. I don’t respond to him; instead, I sip the spicy alcohol in my glass. The rum that my father imports is sweet, but there’s a hint of spice on the palate, and I have a feeling the woman before me will be just as delicious as my drink.