Part 3Mine to Claim

I ran.

Not home, not to school. I spent the next seven days and seven nights drowning myself in bars and clubs.

Preston, some trust-fund kid who’d had a thing for me, finally saw his chance and stuck to me like glue. He opened a five-figure bottle of champagne, determined to get me wasted.

My head was spinning, nausea rising in my throat. He kept pushing the glass toward me. “Skye, drink! If you don’t drink, you’re disrespecting me!”

My hair was a messy curtain over one shoulder. I shot him a glare. “Don’t push your luck. What ‘respect’?”

“Hey! If you don’t want to drink, fine, but why the attitude?” He was offended, calling over his buddies to back him up.

The door clicked open.

Like the hero walking into a movie, Addison’s entrance had an unreal, luminous quality. He stood tall, a cut above everyone else, his presence commanding. He was dressed in black, a palpable chill emanating from his sharp features. The restaurant manager scurried behind him, trying to stop him. “Sir! You can’t just walk in here! Who are you?”

Addison ignored everyone. His eyes locked onto me, a storm gathering in their depths. He strode over, grabbed my wrist, and started pulling me out.

Preston stepped in his way. “Hey, who the hell are you?”

“You dare touch someone who belongs to me?”

Addison didn’t say a word. He just lifted his gaze and leveled it at him. It was a look forged in crucibles Preston couldn’t even imagine, and it made the boy flinch. Preston started to bluster, but Addison had already turned to the stunned manager. “My name is Vartan.”

“Vartan? As in, the Vartans?”

“Holy crap! We can’t afford to mess with him!”

“Come on, anyone can say that. How do we know he’s not bluffing?”

The whispers rippled through the room, but no one dared to move.

Addison let out a cold laugh. “Since you’re Skye’s friends, you’re my friends,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Their tab tonight… put it on me.”

He turned back to the now-terrified Preston.

“May I take her now?”