Page 80 of Kill Feed

Regardless, it seems I’m the idiot, because my hands move voluntarily down to my sweatpants, ready to feel but a fraction of how Dante had me feeling last night despite leaving me dick out and still tied up.

Alas, the moment’s broken by the sudden chime of my phone resting next to my head on the bed. I grab it and watch the screen blow up with messages from both Amani and Lucas, followed by a pin location. It’s her birthday after all and might just be the perfect distraction I need.

Thirty minutes.

That’s how long I’ve been here.

Long enough for the bass to settle into my bones and for the room to start feeling like the walls are caving in. Patterns reveal themselves if you sit still long enough as bartenders work the same stretch of counter, waiters slipping between tables with trays balanced like they’ve practiced in a mirror, strangers drifting toward the bar like moths toward open flames.

Amani sits beside me, glowing in a way that makes it obvious this night belongs to her. She keeps leaning over to shout something into Lucas’s ear over the music, laughing when he inevitably shouts the wrong thing back.

Across the table sit two women I’ve seen a couple of times over the years. Amani and I have been friends.

Her cousin, Naomi, is the complete opposite of Amani at first glance despite sharing the same deep, warm-toned skin and sharp cheekbones—but where Amani dresses soft, Naomi goes gothic.

Next to her is Sofie, Amani’s friend since kindergarten, her copper curls pulled into a messy knot and the kind of smile that stretches just a little too long when she looks at me.

No doubt they’re going to drag this night out, and I’m already incredibly bored. That is until Ryan and Leo show up.

Ryan drops into the empty seat beside Lucas. “There she is!” he shouts over the music. “The birthday girl.”

Amani laughs as Ryan leans across the table to hug her. I wasn’t under the impression that they knew each other… but ever since that little incident at my university, I haven’t been as active in both Lucas and Amani’s lives, and the two of them have been spending a considerable amount of time together, so naturally this would’ve happened.

Leo follows a second later, but unlike Ryan, he doesn't announce himself.

His eyes sweep over the table before landing on me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he utters under his breath before evading his eyes, announcing that he’ll be at the bar.

Said bar stretches nearly the entire length of the room, polished black marble glowing violet and pink from the lights running underneath it. Above it, mirrored disco spheres hang at different heights, catching the neon and scattering it across the ceiling like fragments of a broken star.

I follow because I would rather chew my own leg off than be in the chaotic company of Lucas and Ryan.

The room behind us opens into different levels of seating—small tables near the dance floor and further back, raised glass-walled sections overlooking the main room. Velvet couches and low lighting scatter across the vast space with private areas and a sign near a staircase that reads AURORA LOUNGE – PRIVATE BOOKINGS.

“I thought I said—” Leo starts, but I cut him off, ordering a drink at the bar, never once looking over at him.

I take a slow sip, eyes drifting briefly toward the dance floor where Lucas is already moving like he’s trying to embarrass himself on purpose. Amani is laughing so hard she’s barely standing upright. Naomi spins beside them with surprising precision for someone holding a drink, and Sofie seems to be enjoying Ryan’s company as they stay seated at the lounge.

I’ve never understood the appeal of places like this.

People spend half the night pretending they’re having the time of their lives and the other half shouting over music loud enough to stop any real conversation from happening. Alcohol does most of the heavy lifting, turning strangers into temporary friends and bad decisions into embarrassing stories.

I don’t see the point.

The only reason I’m still here is because Amani asked me to be. If it were anyone else, I would’ve left exactly fifty-nine minutes ago.

Leo and I stand shoulder to shoulder at the bar, completely wordless. Strangely, the silence works, and it’s almost pleasant. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me, and I couldn’t care less. Still, his presence is useful. A shield against idle chatter and an excuse not to be dragged onto the dance floor. My unwilling ally in avoidance, yet the peace doesn’t last as Lucas’s unavoidable gaze finds us from across the dance floor.

“There you two are!”

He weaves through the crowd, far too energetic for someone who’s only two drinks in, and without warning, he throws an arm toward my shoulders. I pivot aside, letting him catch nothing but air. He stumbles a step, recovers with surprising grace, and, without missing a beat, swings his arm around Leo instead, who sighs deeply.

“You know,” Lucas says, looking between us, “you two should really lighten up.”

Neither of us responds.

“You both look like a couple of depressed middle-aged men whose biggest hobby is arguing about the best way to cut grass,” he continues, shaking his head in almost disbelief that two guys in their twenties couldn’t possibly not enjoy the art of drinking.

Lucas ignores the fact that we don’t find his joke remotely funny, giving the room another sweeping glance before nudging Leo with an elbow.