Read Vein of Love (Blackest Gold Book 1) Online
Authors: R. Scarlett
Vein of Love (Blackest Gold Book 1)
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations,
and events portrayed in this novel are either products of
the author’s imagination or are used factiously.
ISBN: 978-0-9952361-1-0
VEIN OF LOVE
Copyright © 2016 by R. Scarlett
All rights reserved.
Cover and book design by
Mae I Design & Photography
Back cover photography by Lauren Perry
Edited by Ashley Carlson and Megan Lally
Stock Photo ID: 417585937
Copyright: © glebTv
For each and every person you rapture with your essence
Is a delicate, dark, monstrous dance
And I feel the pull,
The tenor, the touch, the strain.
I feel the urge to be yours
And you to be mine
To feel your flesh in my arms
the curvature of a body so loving
Your smile simmering into my shoulder
Golden strands of your hair slipping past my fingers
Like a celestial outflow of water
Much like blood slipping from the vein
It’s too much
Or possibly not enough
Creatures like you
And me
Are aglow with our differences
More often then nought
Beautiful Crime
by Tamer
Damn Your Eyes
by Alex Clare
Waiting Game
by Banks
Burning Desire
by Lana Del Rey
I Know I’m A Wolf
by Young Heretics
Bloodsport
by Raleigh Ritchie
Young God
by Halsey
One Way Or The Other
by Until The Ribbon Breaks
Dangerous Woman
by Adriana Grande
Salt and Vinegar
by Hooverphonic
Holy Water
by Laurel
Heavy In Your Arms
by Florence and the Machine
War of Hearts
by Ruelle
TURNING NINETEEN WAS
supposed to mean ultimate freedom, but as Molly continuously glanced over her bare shoulder down Madison Avenue, she felt anything but free. The knot in her stomach coiled even tighter at the thought of the three shadows returning.
For her.
“Stop panicking,” she muttered. She adjusted her sunglasses, ignoring the judgmental stares from other black-clad New Yorkers pushing past. They shouldn’t have bothered themselves with why Molly was wearing her Ray-Bans at night—in fact, they should’ve
thanked
her. As she approached Stella’s brownstone, she glanced over her bare shoulder repeatedly, the nervous drumming in her stomach refusing to subside.
Molly dug out her phone and called September.
“So did those people finally show up?” September’s voice was muffled and Molly could only suspect a bag of chips was at fault.
“I left. I literally climbed out the window and ran,” Molly said, breathless as she stumbled in her teetering heels on New York’s uneven, gum-stained sidewalk.
“Seriously?”
“I can’t waste every single birthday waiting for some figurative shadows to show up and what,
take me?
It’s ridiculous.” Molly huffed, the outburst releasing a bit of tension from her body.
September stuffed chips into her mouth and chewed unapologetically. “So are you heading back to the apartment then?”
“Well, I thought I’d go to Stella’s birthday party for me. I won’t stay long. I have to work at the museum tomorrow.” Molly looked away from the shadows crawling up the wall and hoped her voice stayed calm.
September grumbled into the phone at the mention of Stella. “Well, have fun with
that
. She’ll invite the entire Upper East Side. A high school reunion.”
Molly’s stomach twisted more as she recalled her old classmates. “No, I told her to only invite a few people.”
One in particular.
September snorted.
“You can come too, if you want. It’ll be like old times,” Molly said. Something that might’ve been a footstep echoed behind her, and she checked over her shoulder.
“You mean Stella threatening to strangle me while I fantasized about ways to gouge her perfect little eyeballs out? Yeah, that sounds tempting.”
“Okay, well Tina will be there.”
“She cheated off all my Spanish tests, and got pissed if I answered something wrong! Just because I’m Mexican doesn’t mean I’m born knowing Spanish.”
“Okay, so that’s a no.”
“Last time I checked, cheating off someone’s schoolwork isn’t exactly the strongest foundation for a lifelong friendship. And you speak
much
better Spanish than me, anyway; she should’ve been cheating off you. Language freak.”
“I will take that as compliment instead of an insult.” Molly smiled. “I’ll bring milkshakes from McDonalds when I get home, okay?”
“Oh honey,
now
you’re speaking my language. Can I just date you?”
Molly laughed. “I’m hanging up now.” Molly’s shoulders relaxed and a deep sigh parted her lips. September always made things better, lighter.
Tonight will be different. You’ve got this.
She’d win his heart.
Her determination died as she entered Stella’s glamorous foyer. Music shook the floors and rattled her teeth as she paused in the entryway. A group of guys were dancing on a table with beers in hand, and in one dark corner just inside the foyer, a half-clothed couple was fumbling at each other in ways she was pretty sure counted as indecent exposure. When a splash of champagne soaked her Louboutins, Molly cringed.
As Molly pushed through the crowded doorway, people bobbed to the latest Lana Del Rey song and the air stank of Hermès perfume and expensive pot. Stella’s parents were always out of town, and she’d have their oriental rugs professionally cleaned of any spilled Cristal and vomit before they returned. People were using antique vases as cups, a couple was making out dangerously close to a marble statuette, and every bit of Molly’s inner curator wanted to scream.
Deep breaths.
She spotted her host in the middle of the living room: Stella Vanderbilt. Dark crimson hair framed her sharp, feline features, and she stood in the midst of the chaos with an exultant grin, thriving off of it. Everyone revolved around her like planets circulating the sun; they were all at her mercy, and she kept them warm and happy. But with one mood swing, Stella would scorch them to a pile of ashes under her pedicured feet.
Next to Stella was Tina Fitzgerald, the “good girl” around her parents, but a giant flirt with a voracious sexual appetite everywhere else she went.
“Molly!” Tina hollered over the booming music. Molly timidly weaved through the crowd of bodies and joined the girls in the middle. Tina threw herself onto Molly, giggling and splashing her wine.
“I said a
few
people.” Molly eyed the two girls.
Stella bit her slim lower lip, the one perpetually curved into a smirk. “This is
so
much better than watching one of your stupid
avant-garde
French movies. Admit it.”
Molly frowned and wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs, immediately wondering why she’d come. She wanted to have a night to relax, to forget about her stack of bills for her crappy apartment, about her internship that needed to pay those bills, and about the shadows. For once, enjoy a birthday.
Molly scanned the crowd for the reason she’d skipped her parent’s dinner.
Stella raised her glass, her brown eyes sharp. “So where’s the slut?”
“Her name’s September, and don’t call her that,” Molly scolded, gritting her teeth.
“Relax,” Stella whispered with a hint of a drunken smile. Molly glowered at the typical tactic used to shut her up. Everyone was always telling her to
relax
, completely unaware of the consequences if she were to ever fully let go. “You need something to drink.”
Molly shook her head. “I prefer going to my internship
without
a hangover, thanks.”
“You need to let loose,” Stella told her, and her eyes narrowed in on Molly’s sunglasses. “And take those damn things off! People won’t give a damn about your eyes.”
Molly waved Stella’s hands away. “I need them.”
Tina embraced her from behind, nearly knocking Molly over. “Come on, Mol, let go a little! Lose that pesky V-card. Sex is so fun. Great stress reliever, too, which you
need
.”
Molly wanted the floor to just open up and swallow her whole. She unwound herself from the drunken girl’s grasp and watched as Tina stumbled over to some guys from the lacrosse team. Somehow her tongue ended up in one of their mouths, and she soon forgot all about Stella and Molly.
“She’s just wasted, Mol, don’t mind her,” Stella said, squeezing Molly’s shoulder. “You’re so sensitive. You know, guys don’t like girls like that. They want fun, not work.”
So I’m “work” to date?
“Merci pour le conseil,” Molly murmured sourly.
Stella cocked a brow. “Huh?”
“I said ‘thanks for the advice.’” Molly forced a grin; it was truly what she’d said, only with a huge dose of sarcasm added.
“Okay, you’re smart; don’t have to flaunt it. Just drink,” Stella said with a similarly fake smile, shoving a glass of champagne into Molly’s hands from a passing tray.
“Um, thanks—”
“When are you gonna get a new signature ring?” Stella cried suddenly, snatching Molly’s hand to glare at the discolored gold jewelry. Since the day it had been placed on her index finger thirteen years ago, neither Molly nor her family had been able to remove it, trying everything from butter to a dremmel tool. As her finger grew, the ring seemed to magically resize, never cutting off circulation, never hurting her. Over the years, Molly’s confusion about the bauble had faded to complacency.
“Happy birthday, Molly,” a voice echoed from behind Stella, interrupting the haughty heiress.
Molly’s adrenaline spiked as the speaker walked over; he was tall and sturdy with broad shoulders and cheerful green eyes. “H-hi Michael.”
Michael, the guy who had gone out of his way to sit with her at lunch on their first day of ninth grade and kept her in the friend zone ever since. They’d been texting constantly since graduation though, and his physical presence was making Molly dizzy.
Win his heart.
“So, how was your first year at Columbia?” he asked, folding an arm under his chest while the other held his drink.
“I-it was good.” She cringed at the familiar stutter.
Keep taking those deep breaths, Molly. Try not to make a complete ass of yourself for once.
“She had guys begging for her attention,” Stella said, cutting between them. Molly thought she saw Michael’s smile falter for a second, but she wasn’t sure. “Working at a museum. And she’s the top in her class. A guy would be a complete idiot to pass her up, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah. Definitely,” Michael said softly. Molly’s eyes flickered up to see his sullen expression. Was that regret in his voice?
She took a deep breath, parted her lips—
“Hey.” A girl with bleached hair suddenly appeared, attaching her body to Michael’s in an overt claim of property. A flush burned all the way to Molly’s hairline as she shut her mouth. “Where’ve you been? I was looking everywherrrre,” she whined, her nasally voice grating on Molly’s taut nerves.
Michael smiled down at the petite, athletic girl. “Sorry, Bonnie! I was just talking to
my—” He looked over at Molly and swallowed. “Friends.”
“I don’t remember inviting you, Bonnie,” Stella said with thinly veiled contempt.
“I invited her,” Michael said as Bonnie stared up at him, completely oblivious to Stella’s death glare in her direction.
Molly cleared her throat.
Bonnie glanced over, narrowing her eyes as she took in Molly’s sunglasses. “Oh, was I…interrupting something?”
“Huh? Oh, no, not at all. You guys remember Bonnie from high school, right? We all had gym class together,” Michael said, making an effort to keep some space between Bonnie’s torso and his own.
Molly simply nodded. She hadn’t a clue who Bonnie was.
“Oh yeeeah, I remember you!” Bonnie said, pointing in Molly’s face. “You’re the girl who broke Jefferson’s arm in gym class! That was crazy!”
Molly’s hands grew clammy; she seemed unable to escape the memory, no matter how hard she tried. The horrible crunching noise as her hand grazed his arm. His blood-curdling, horrified scream as he curled inward on the floor, cradling his cracked limb.
Rumors had followed her into high school, and for good reason. In sixth grade she’d ripped the classroom door off with one hand, her parents explaining it away as due to faulty construction. She hadn’t understood what was happening to her; the strength would come at the most random moments, and she’d never been able to control it.
Michael changed the topic fast, aware of Molly’s embarrassment surrounding it. “Bonnie ended up at Notre Dame, too. We lived in the same dorm, actually.”
Bonnie touched his chest. “He always walks me back at night after class. Isn’t that sweet?”
They didn’t wait for Molly’s reply before dissolving into a laughter-filled conversation, something about “Professor Pointy-Tits” and other inside jokes. Molly glanced at Stella, whose salon-sculpted brows said,
Flirt! Show him you’re interested
.
“You look good in your football equipment,” Molly blurted out. “Makes you seem really…um…muscular.”
Stella snorted so loud she had to wipe at her tiny nose.
“Uh, thanks Molly.” A touch of color appeared on Michael’s olive-toned cheeks. Beside him, Bonnie smiled sweetly.
“You do, though, Michael,” Bonnie added, directing his attention back to her. “Wanna get another drink and talk about my favorite plays of yours in the last game? You
slayed
the Cardinals; it was so sexy.”
That did it; Molly was toast. She searched her mind for anything she knew about football besides the fact that Tom Brady was hot—and came up empty. She’d spent too much time in books.
