Blackmailing Aria [Book 1 of the Stavros Series]

5

Once we've gone through three rounds of drinks, we go outside to the street. Xander walks beside me the entire time, his hand on my lower back. I blame it on the drinks in addition to me lack of sleep when I lean into his side, resting my head on his shoulder as we walk. His hand moves to my waist and pulls me tighter against him.
A black Cadillac pulls up to the curb before us. Xander grabs my hand and pulls me into the car, before I have the chance to refuse, not that I would want to. I'm in no state to walk home.
My head is a fuzzy mess, courtesy of the three martini's I had. Maybe that's why I don't notice that Xander's hand is holding mine until we're three blocks away. I pull my hand out of his, but he doesn't show any sign of disappointment.
I can tell he's tipsy too; his eyelids are lowered more than usual and his cheeks are quickly turning pink. He keeps licking his lips subconsciously, his eyes wandering all over the car, but always finding their way to me.
The driver doesn't say much to us, or anything at all. He keeps his eyes on the road and his focus away from us, while we sit in the back. I welcome the privacy, although I don't have anything to hide from him.
Xander points to the window next to me, a drunken smile on his face. "Look."
I follow his line of sight, and see the street corner where I flashed a police officer my breasts. I laugh at the memory of running down the city streets with Xander by my side as a cop chased us. New York made me feel a certain kind of crazy that I haven't felt since.
"I still think that cop was chasing after us just to get your number," Xander teases.
"That was a fun night," I chuckle behind my hand. Xander's body freezes, his eyes slowly turn to find mine. That's when I realize what I just said. "I didn't mean that part."
His face drops and he falls back into his seat. He's silent for the rest of the car ride, and once we finally reach the hotel, it seems as though he's sobered up tremendously.
We make the silent and awkward walk through the lobby to the elevators. I want to say something, apologize or explain, but by the look on his face I feel as though it's better not to.
He might just snap.
When we walk inside his penthouse he makes a beeline for the bar that's next to the window. I follow after him, my tattered Doc Martins rubbing against the marble. I don't want to make a mess of the floor, but I'm too drunk to lift up my feet.
Xander begins to pour himself another drink while I stand in front of the window. It overlooks the city, showcasing the Empire State building in the distance.  "You have a beautiful view," I comment.
Xander responds with nothing, instead he takes large sips of his whiskey.
I look over at him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you ever have enough of that stuff?"
He slams the glass on the white countertop of the bar. He winces as the strong liquor runs down his throat. He begins to pour another glass.
"Alright," I sing, "that's my cue to go to bed."
I make it to the bottom of the stairs when suddenly his hand wraps around my wrist. I look over my shoulder at him, watching as his dilated eyes switch between my lips and my small chest.
"The night we met, we . . ." he slurs, licking his lips. The look in his eyes tells me exactly how he's planning on finishing that sentence.
I pull away from his grasp, taking a step up to put distance between us. "You should go to sleep Xander. You've had a lot to drink."
He leans upon the rail, his head tipping to one side. "I should make love to you again."
I shake my head, taking another step up. "You're drunk."
"And you're beautiful," he whispers as he drunkenly smiles.
"Xander . . ." I whisper softly. The tipsy part of me wants to lean in and connect our lips, feel the fire that I've been missing. But the rational part of me tells me to go to bed, to leave him to his drinking and desires.
He lifts his leg and climbs the stairs, still his face is inches away from mine. I feel like I'm in a flashback, as his breath mingles with mine, as his eyes stare deeply into my own.
He cage's me in against the wall with both his arms. "Why are you so scared?" His voice comes out in a soft melody, like a song.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes momentarily as the alcohol in my veins takes over. "I'm not scared," I whisper.
Yes I am, I think to myself. I'm terrified.
"You're a liar," he mumbles, leaning in close until our lips brush against each other.
I freeze, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. He stays like that, his eyes barely open while he looks at me and his lips a hair's width away from mine.
As he stays like that, my conscious comes back to me. I gasp and pull away from him. What am I doing? I hold my stomach and run up the stairs, trying to keep the tears at bay.
"Goodnight," he calls after me. I hear the drunken bitterness in his voice, haunting me as I escape into my room.
I close the door behind me with a slam, then rest my back against it. The tears come full force, running down my cheeks like an avalanche; all at once. I have to cover my mouth and bite down on my lip to keep quiet.
He'll never understand what those three weeks meant to me. I can never tell him. I need to leave here before the truth comes out. If it does . . . only nightmares will follow.
With the purpose to get a flight home, I dig my phone out of my skinny jeans pocket. When I see a screen empty of any notifications my heart drops just a little. A part of me thought my friends would try to call or text me, anything. Not even Daisy sent her regards.
After unlocking my phone I go straight to their contacts, starting with Chase's. I block his number, then delete it right after. I continue down the list of my friends, alphabetically. When I get to Sydney, I hover over the block button. The last bit of liquid induced courage hits me and I quickly press the message icon instead.
'Have fun with my sloppy seconds Slut.' I type, then I read over my words repeatedly until they begin to mean nothing to me anymore. I delete the text and go back to block and delete her number like all the others.
I take a deep breath of relief. They're behind me now, in the past, and for good. I don't need or want friends like them. I've figured out over the past couple years that I do my best when I'm on my own.
I google flights home to Dallas, Texas for tomorrow. They're relatively expensive. I can't afford a ticket, but if I call my Grandad. No, he can't spare me any money. He has even less than I do.
A voice speaks in my head, demanding to be heard as it reminds me of Xander's blackmail.
If I leave, my family's farm won't last long. Where will my grandparents go? What will they do? If I stay,  just for four months, they'll never have to worry about it ever again. They could enjoy the last years of their lives without stress.
They took me in when I was five years old. They never asked any questions, they never complained, and they made sure I had everything I needed.
They've been suffering for me for almost my entire life. It's time I suffer for them.
Four months with the devil, that became my first love.