And All Hell Broke Loose (A LIKE HELL collection)

The Party

Flynn sighed, and Isaac disappeared down the spiral staircase, grinning.

A trembling young second-ringer passed by, clutching a silver tray of drinks. Flynn leaned over and grabbed one, causing the boy to flinch. Flynn gave him a look. 'I wanted a drink, not to punch you in the face. Relax.'

'Sorry,' he squeaked, and scampered towards the other side of the balcony. Flynn had to stop himself from snorting; the far side was crammed with hissing Inflamers, and he doubted the boy would fare much better with them.

The music rose up a few decibels, the soaring beat thrumming through his body. Flynn clenched his fists together at his sides. He remembered when music had been a pleasure to listen to; when he used to lie back on his bed at home, college work scattered around him, the guitars and drums of his favourite bands making his pencil tap against his books. But now music seemed too... human. Too frivolous. Something only reckless first-ringers would throw themselves into. He was representing Samuel now – representing the Ember Circle, the Inflamers. He was a constant reminder of what would come down on the Dwellers the second they stepped out of line.

Restless, Flynn wandered over to the edge of the balcony. The party was in full-swing; purple and green lights clashed beautifully on the rock walls, the tables were surrounded by blissed-out cavern junkies, and the dancefloor was a riot of bodies swaying and sweating to the music. His eyes sought out Isaac, wondering if he'd had any luck yet. Flynn couldn't count the amount of times he'd watched the boy get rejected by girls way out of his league.

He scanned the cavern, his sharp eyes searching for Isaac's familiar round figure. A gap opened up in the dancefloor, and Flynn suddenly caught sight of Isaac slipping through the dancing crowds. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, like an animal that couldn't work out if what was approaching was prey, or predator. Flynn followed the direction of his gaze, and found the two girls Isaac was heading for. They were talking earnestly, not quite drunk enough yet for what Isaac wanted. The girl facing him had flaming waves of red hair, and was gently tying off a loose braid in the other girl's dark hair.

Flynn shook his head. Isaac was going to crash and burn.

He trained his attention back on the crowd, but the red-haired girl had strode off, calling something over her shoulder to the second. He watched as the darker-haired one seemed to square her small shoulders, and grabbed a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing first-ringer. Isaac was nearly level with her, trying to push his way towards her through a swarm of grinding Dwellers. Flynn smirked, watching the girl take a hesitant step towards the other end of the dancefloor.

But then she turned around.

And the smirk immediately vanished from his face.

Flynn felt all the air escape from his lungs as wave upon wave of choking panic crashed through him. Her eyes had slid directly to his own, and she gazed at him curiously, not a hint of recognition on her features.

Shock clawed deep inside him, twisting every muscle in his body. He wanted to run – to get as far away from her, from this party, as possible. If the Inflamers caught the scent of him, he was as good as dead. It had taken him months – months – to force down the guilt that plagued him, to smother the torment that woke him in the middle of the night. The dreams were always bad – water in his lungs, screeching tyres, a car door slamming behind the murky shadow of his father. But her face – the face that now stood staring up at him from the crowd – that had been the hardest to forget, the hardest to lose any feeling towards.

He was a murderer.

He'd buried this secret into the furthest reaches of his consciousness, and dredging it back up made his head burn like hell. No matter how hard he tried to forget, he was a killer. And just the presence of this girl was about to get him mutilated by the Inflamers, torn apart for everyone to see. They'd never let him lead the Circle when they discovered that Samuel's right-hand-man was not made of stone, not even ice. He was made of gaping holes and broken glass shards. The glue he'd used to paper over the cracks wasn't going to fool them any longer.

The stench of his guilt was overwhelming. Flynn wanted to stumble back, but his feet stayed frozen to the balcony floor. She was still watching him, her eyes flickering over his messy hair, the breadth of his shoulders, the tanned skin of his forearms. He couldn't help but stare back. He hadn't noticed it before – had been too lost in his own shame when she'd appeared in his nightmares – but the girl was beautiful. Long dark hair tumbled around her pointed face, and her eyes were the colour of evening skies in the dead of Winter. And her mouth. Full and so innocent-looking. For a second, he wondered what it'd be like to touch those lips, to taste her-

He dug his nails into his palms as hard as he could. That face – too distracting. His eyes burned with fury, with frustration. She shouldn't be here. It had been months since the... incident. He'd assumed she'd made it to the Azure, had settled into a new life with the residents there. Why was she here? Were the Senatus falling behind with their categorizations?

He felt, rather than saw, Angeline approach behind him. The thought of her touching him made him feel nauseous, but he resisted the urge to flinch away. He still hadn't broken eye contact with the girl in the crowd, and he suddenly realized that he didn't even know her name. No doubt it was something lovely, something to stab at the hole in his chest even more.

Angeline sauntered in front of him, not saying a word. She didn't have to. He knew what she was here for. She tugged on the loose knot of his tie, and Flynn did his best to look bored, to look indifferent as he finally tore his gaze from the dark-haired girl below.

He needed to stop thinking. He needed a distraction, a way to stop the guilt flooding back out of the holes he'd stitched up. The alcove at the back of the balcony caught his eye, and Flynn headed towards it, trying not to look too unnerved. Angeline followed swiftly, a feral grin creeping across her face. The Inflamers snickered as they entered it, and Angeline ripped the drapes across the alcove for privacy. Flynn knew what was about to happen. He'd been here too many times before.

She prowled over to him, and before he could blink, she was climbing on top of him. Her hands slid everywhere, twisting in his hair and scraping down his spine. Her mouth was hot, urgent on his – but Flynn couldn't bring himself to move back against her, meet her fervour with his own. The girl on the dancefloor, the girl haunting his dreams... she was only half a cavern away. Was this some kind of test? Did Samuel know somehow? Flynn made a noise of frustration, which Angeline mistook for pleasure. She slid between his knees, her mouth tracing the lines of his hips. Flynn jerked back, anger coursing through him. This felt too much like Samuel's doing. He knew the perfect torture instrument for every Dweller in this place.

'What's wrong with you?' Angeline demanded, her voice rough and low. She leaned back, watching him from beneath her eyelashes.

Flynn stood up, pushing himself away from her. 'I'm not in the mood.'

She didn't argue with him. Standing up, she fixed her hair back into place, and wiped the edges of her mouth. Then she vanished behind the curtain of the alcove, her spine rigid with irritation.

Flynn sank back onto the stone bench carved into the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, letting his head hit the rock behind it. This was a mess. And it was only going to get worse. He had to find a way to keep away from the dark-haired girl – or to keep her away from him. Flynn flexed his jaw, grinding his knuckles into the bench below him. A small, hysterical part of him wanted to laugh in frustration, in despair.

Keep himself away from her. Yeah, right – like he was going to be able to do that.