The Victim (Book #1)

Chapter 53

That big step nearly ran me into a girl who was wobbling in heels and trying to get to the bushes to throw up, unfortunately. I caught her and pulled her hair back from her face as she got rid of whatever toxic substance she'd ingested, twice.

"Oh my gosh, thank you!" she said with tears in her eyes as she turned back to see who had helped her.

"Any time!" I said with a very scared smile, before booking it after the boys who were now out of sight.

"Damon!" I called out. "Brooks!"

A guy sitting in a plastic fold out chair grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to him, before yelling "My name's Trey, gorgeous. You have a drink yet?"

"No," I said sweetly. "But I'd need about 5 before I'd consider talking to you." I ripped my hand out of his grasp and quickened my pace before walking into the house.

It was louder in here, and even more packed. But at least the people in here seemed regular drunk, and not completely wasted. I walked through people dancing and people making out until I reached a hallway that I took. Still no sign of them.

I took a new doorway and found myself in the somewhat calm kitchen. There were a few people here picking up drinks at the dining table, but it was mostly empty.

"Need any help?" a guy to my right asked. He had dark shaggy hair that nearly covered his eyes and he was very broad, but not in an overweight way. It just looked like he was born to lift weights or be a superhero. Despite his height and build, he reminded me of a teddy bear. He didn't need to yell or lean close to speak, which I was grateful for, too. The music was softer in here.

I must have looked confused because he answered, "You looked like you were trying to find someone."

I felt a rush of gratitude for this guy that wasn't making a move or giving me a pickup line.

"Yeah! Um, have you seen any of the Anders boys?" I asked, wondering if he'd need clarification.

His eyes squinted and I began to describe them, but he cut me off with a small smile that was nearly a straight line.

"I know the Anders'. Haven't seen them. Sorry!" he said, looking genuinely remorseful.

"Oh," I said, letting out a huff of air. "Dang it." I mumbled.

He smiled at that and muttered something under his breath.

"What?" I asked, cocking my head to the side and looking up at him.

"You're cute!" he replied, with a laugh.

My eyes widened. I had not been expecting that. He didn't say it in a way so as to ask for anything from me or try to get me interested in him. He merely said it, like it was a fact.

"Thank you." I said back in clear shock, making him chuckle once more.

"You're welcome." He offered back, as if the conversation was amusing him.

"You want a drink?" he asked, holding up an empty cup and waving one arm at the array of alcohol.

It wasn't that I hadn't had a drop of alcohol in my life before. Despite his many rules, my uncle never had a problem with me drinking. He even encouraged it, occasionally. He would offer me a sip of beer or whiskey like it was a prize, then he would laugh when I made expressions at the disgusting taste it had. I learned to keep my expression neutral when I tasted it, or simply denied his offer. I didn't see the appeal.

But with the house buzzing and the music whispering and the feeling of a boy thinking I was cute and wanting nothing from me, I said, "Sure!"

He smiled at that and nodded, before pouring a clear drink that I was pretty sure was tequila into a cup and adding a mixer on top of that.

He handed it to me and then made one for himself. We pressed our cups together with a clink and then I watched as he took a big gulp. He watched me take a little sip.

"Wow!" I said with a smile. "That actually tasted good!"

"Thanks." He said as if he was insulted. I slapped his shoulder playfully and said "You know what I mean. Most alcohol is gross."

He raised his eyebrows, and I noticed the light shine off of a ring he had in one of them.

"Why are you at this party then? The decor?" he asked. I laughed and then took a bigger sip and licked my lips. It tasted like soda.

"Looking for someone." I said, shoulders slumping as I remembered why I came.

"Your brothers?" he asked curiously.

"Nope! They're helping me, though. Do you know Asher Kelly?" I asked.

His face lit up in recognition and I grew more curious as he laughed and pointed his finger at me.

"So, you're Maya Anders!" he said as his eyes crinkled around the corners. I almost choked on my drink but breathed in a little with relief as he used my fake last name and not my given one.

"Yes. And I'm assuming Asher has told you I'm the devil incarnate?" I asked, shaking my head in anger. He bit his lip and looked me up and down as if comparing the real me with the version of me that he created mentally.

"Something like that." He admitted, with a grin that told me he knew more than he was letting on.

"He's up there. Got a headache and needed a break from the music. The door will probably be shut." He pointed in the direction of a staircase at the end of the hall and then scribbled his number down on a napkin with a Sharpie and passed it to me.

"You can call me if there's any trouble." He rationalized. I was going to tell him I left my phone in the car and that I wouldn't call him anyways because I could handle it, but instead I said "Thanks."

"What's your name?" I asked as he began to turn away.

He bent down closer to me and said, "My friends call me Mav."

I looked at him and wrinkled my nose up in thought. The name didn't fit him at all. He was friendly and sweet, not some wild guy who did flips on his BMX bike through fire, as the nickname seemed to imply.

"What's your real name?" I asked, hoping he would tell me.

He groaned but smiled at my eagerness and rubbed the back of his head as he considered answering me. I saw the tip of a tattoo peeking out from his shirt on the side of his neck.

"Magnus." He finally admitted. I let out a giggle at that and he gave me an expression that told me to shut up.

"Thank you again!" I said loudly before leaning close to his ear and whispering "Magnus." I gave him a wink which he returned with a bit of a chuckle.

"Be safe." He warned, as I finished my drink and headed in the direction of the room. I waved an arm behind me and said "of course", as if it was a given.

But as I crossed the hall and took the stairs two at a time, my heart began to pound, and my head grew heavy. The shadows from the flashing lights drew pictures on the walls and I fell into one of my memories.