We pulled down a narrow alleyway between two buildings that ended in a small parking lot. There was a group of people standing beside a Dumpster.

Brooks put his car into park and jumped out. “Come on!” he called out to me, hurrying over to the side of the building. There was a large amount of graffiti—your typical gang tags and names.

But that wasn’t what people had flocked here to see.

It was the portrait of a woman on fire that had their attention. It was at least ten feet high and fifteen feet across. It was massive.

“Please explain to me what this has to do with a dance club?” I whispered to Brooks, who had his phone pulled out and was punching numbers into his GPS. He glanced up at me and gave me a distracted smile.

“Not a damned thing, Aubrey,” he replied. I frowned and turned back to the picture. The wind had picked up, bringing with it the rancid smell of old garbage. The small parking lot was disgusting. But the crowd of people couldn’t care less about their surroundings. We were all here for one thing only . . . to find our way to a club that promised things we couldn’t begin to imagine.

I had to admit that the artistry of the graffiti was impressive. I remembered the picture from a few weeks ago, the monstrous hand with people falling from the sky.

That painting had been dark and almost threatening. This one seemed to convey something else entirely.

Longing.

Wanting something you’ve watched from afar.

Desire.

Blatant, unbridled lust.

Somehow, some way, this smattering of paint on a dirty wall conveyed all of these things. And I knew that Brooks was right. That whoever X was, this person was seriously talented.

The picture depicted the side profile of a woman, her long, golden hair licked by bright red flames as they crawled toward her face. You could see only the outline of her nose and jaw, as she was turned away, looking off into the distance.

The rest of her body was done in dark, bold lines that were almost crude and undefined, until you got to her hand. The hand was painted precisely and almost delicately. The fingers were uncurled, the palm was spread open, and from the hand fell lovely, purple blossoms that reminded me of the aster flowers that grew on campus.

The fire at the girl’s feet reached up and seemed to engulf the flowers that were floating to the ground. It was such a contradiction—the power of the fire and the placid gentleness of the flowers. There was a violent sort of possession in the way the flames seemed to devour the petals that fell from the woman’s hand, almost, but not quite, touching her skin, as though they were reaching out for her yet not quite able to reach her. I noticed the characteristic X enmeshed in the red and orange.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air raced down my spine.

“I’ve got it!” Brooks called out, a little too loudly. I jumped with a start, having been so fixated on the painting.

“Come on!” Brooks yelled in my ear, and I gave him a look of annoyance. I noticed others were quickly leaving as well, having gotten what they came for. I glanced back at the picture, feeling strangely sad about leaving it behind.

“Aubrey, it’s already late. We need to hurry or the line will be huge!” Brooks urged, pulling me toward his car.

After I was buckled in, I looked again at the picture, wishing I understood the strange twist of emotions I felt when I looked at it. I stared at it until my eyes started to tear over.

Blinking, I looked over at Brooks, who was programming an address into his phone and then setting it down on the center console. I rubbed at my temples, feeling the twinges of a headache coming on.

I felt oddly unsettled, and a part of me wanted to go home and forget about tonight’s grand adventure. I felt a sense of foreboding that I couldn’t shake, mostly because it was tangled up with an almost euphoric need to let go.

I was a fucking mess.

Clearing my throat, I tried to get my head straight by focusing on my friend, who was practically buzzing with excitement. “How did you get the address?” I asked, knowing that during my free fall into emotional turmoil I had missed a major part of what we were doing there.

Brooks pointed at the picture. “See those numbers painted into the fire at the bottom?” he asked, and I tried to see what he was talking about. And then I saw it. The numbers one and four and then five other numbers intertwined along the base of the flame.

“Yeah, so?” I asked.

“The first two are a street number, the last five the zip code. The stems of the flowers are actually the street name. So you put it into the GPS and voilà, there you have it, the location for Compulsion,” he answered, sounding like a little kid revealing a top-secret magic trick.

“Well, isn’t that supercreative,” I quipped, trying to hide the increasing sense of disquiet unfurling in my belly.

“Just chill out and have fun, Aubrey. Let your hair down for one night,” Brooks teased, and I tried not to get defensive at the implied criticism.

“I can have as much fun as the next girl,” I argued, and tried not to get annoyed at Brooks’s bark of disbelieving laughter.

The rest of the ride continued in silence, and I tried to contain the confusing rush of nerves and excitement that made my heart thud in my chest.

The GPS led us to the outskirts of the city, far away from the lights and bustle of normal, Saturday nightlife. Brooks pulled his car into a field, and I could see people heading off toward a group of trees.

“Let’s go,” Brooks called out as he got out of the car. I exited the vehicle, walked through the tall grass, and headed for a break in the woods.

It was dark, with the lights of a thousand cell phones and lighters punctuating the air around us. I could hear the thudding of music not too far off in the distance. I stumbled over a tree root, and Brooks had to grab me by the arm so I wouldn’t fall. Something about Compulsion clearly had me struggling to stay on my feet.

“There it is!” Brooks yelled into my ear, pointing to a run-down farmhouse that looked as though it had been condemned several decades ago. The building was huge; at one time it was probably a lovely home to a nice family. Now it looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

The windows were either broken or missing glass entirely. The porch was in a crumbled heap at the front. The long line of people wrapped along the side and disappeared around the back of the house.

“Seems like Texas Chainsaw Massacre is the theme for the night,” I muttered, zipping the leather jacket up to my chin in an attempt to stay warm.

Once again, we found ourselves waiting in line for our chance to get inside. I wondered if Renee was already there. I recognized a few students from school, but other than that, it was a mass of strangers.

I groaned under my breath as we reached the front of the line and noticed good ol’ Randy, my bouncer BFF from our last sojourn to Compulsion. He looked as fierce and unyielding as ever, and I hoped like hell he didn’t recognize our sad attempts to fit in as the fake acts that they were.

I was relieved when our obligatory once-over was greeted with a gruff demand for money, followed by a smeared stamp on the back of our hands. And just like that, we were granted access.

Brooks let out a whoop and rustled my hair. “We got in! Awesome!” he enthused, and I tried to smile back. But the deafening boom of the bass and the familiar sensation of anticipation and fear that licked my insides had already taken over.

I had found my escape.

chapter

seven

x

i ran my tongue along my bottom lip, enjoying the numb sensation that filled my mouth. I could still taste the bitterness of the pills in the back of my throat. My eyelids drooped, and my limbs felt heavy.

I fucking loved it.

The music rang in my ears as I pushed through the crowd. I pulled the baseball cap down over my forehead and enjoyed the feel of a hundred bodies pressed against me. The smell of sweat filled my nose, and I wanted to lie back on the floor and let the ground swallow me up.

A girl with bright blue hair and wearing a tight tube dress rubbed up against me, her arms going around my neck. Her lips stretched into an over-enunciated caricature of a smile. She was like a trampy Smurfette with breasts that pushed aggressively into my chest.

Hell, I was game. I’d play along. So I let my hands wander down to her ass. She gave a little squeal as I squeezed.

Yes, I was copping a feel with a random chick, but it felt so damned good. Everything seemed to slow down, the air pulsed, and I wished I could just be like the rest of these crazy fucks enjoying the mood.

But I had shit to do.

Smurfette rubbed against my crotch, and I gripped her skin, feeling like I could sink my fingers into her flesh and disappear. My head was fuzzy, and my mouth felt dry, but I didn’t want to move. Ever again.

“You got anything?” the girl whispered in my ear, her tongue darting out to lick the sweat that beaded along my jaw.

I grinned wickedly and pulled her up against my front, thrusting in time to the music. “I’ve got exactly what you need,” I promised, getting off on the gleam of excitement that lit up her pale face.

“How much?” she breathed out, her movements becoming frantic in her enthusiasm.

“Come with me,” I said, grabbing her hand and dragging her through the crowd toward the hallway off the dance floor. We were practically running as I found a dark room toward the back of the house.