CLAIMED BY THE GRIFFIN BROTHERS

Eden Vale

“Are you kidding me? Who the actual fuck let Eden in here?”

Oh, shit.

Kennedy Monroe is standing at the top of the stairs like she owns the house, and everyone in it. She’s holding a drink in one hand and her phone in the other, already recording me like this is some kind of content, her eyes squinted.

The music dips just enough for her voice to carry over.

People look.

Not all, but enough.

She comes down slowly, her girls behind her, all of them dressed in black and lip-glossed like it’s a uniform. I know how this ends before she even opens her mouth again.

“You’re seriously here? At my cousin’s house?”

She’s not even mad. She’s entertained. That’s worse.

“I didn’t know it was private,” I say. “I came to see Claire. She said—”

“I don’t give a shit what Claire said,” Kennedy snaps. “You weren’t invited. Everyone knows who’s supposed to be here. That’s why it’s not posted. And even if it was, you still wouldn’t make the cut.”

She stares at me like I ruined her whole night just by breathing.

Kennedy and I used to be friends. A long time ago. Middle school. We were tight until sophomore year, when I started dating the guy she told everyone she wasn’t into. She got over him quick but never got over me.

Since then, she’s been on my neck and she always took pleasure in making my life hell.

“I’m not staying,” I say. “I’ll leave in a second. I just… My car's parked by the road and it’s late. I have to walk through the woods to get to it, and there’s a fucking curfew. I’m not trying to get pulled over tonight.”

There’s been one all week. Not the kind where cops just tell you to head home, this one’s serious. One girl went missing behind the gas station on Route 6. She was walking to her car, never made it.

Kennedy shrugs like none of that is her business.

Of course.

“You probably should’ve stayed in your part of town then,” she says. “You want me to get you a flashlight, or…?”

People laugh.

Someone takes a photo.hn

The flash nearblinds me.

I ignore this, shake my head. “Let me just text Claire. I’ll go with her.”

“Claire left an hour ago.”

She says it like a kill shot.

I blink. My phone’s somewhere in my jacket, but I already know it won’t matter. No signal this deep in the woods.

“You can’t just throw me out,” I snap, voice rising. “It’s a long walk back to the road and my GPS barely even—”

Kennedy turns, “Security!”

Two guys come out of the hallway like they’ve been waiting for this. Both are big. One’s covered in tattoos, the other has a face that screams fuck around and find out.

I back up fast. “I said I’m leaving. You don’t have to fucking touch me.”

They don’t even hesitate.

The tattooed one grabs my arm hard enough to bruise and starts dragging me through the crowd. The other yanks the door open and pushes me toward it like I’m nothing.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I yell, jerking my arm back.

They push harder.

My shoulder slams into the doorframe.

I grit my teeth, “I’ll walk, I said I’ll fucking walk!”

I try to twist out of his grip but it only pisses him off. The one holding the door shoves me again, this time straight through it.

I hit the stone steps hard. My hands scrape open. My left ankle twisted from impact. I land with a choked breath, heart banging in my chest.

The door slams behind me.

The music cuts off like someone hit mute.

I sit there for a second, cursing Claire Simmone for inviting me to this party and then ditching me. My jacket’s half off my shoulder.

My head’s spinning.

I don’t wait. I shove myself up, wipe my scraped hands on my jacket, and dig out my phone.

No signal.

Of course.

I clench my jaw and start walking toward where I parked, just praying I make it through the woods. There’s gravel under my shoes, but I can’t hear it anymore, just my breath shaking, the ache in my ankle, and every twig that snaps beneath my foot.

I’m halfway down the hill when I hear a voice.

“Guess it wasn’t your night, huh?”

I spin so fast my foot nearly gives out again. A man’s leaning on a tree to my left, half-shrouded in the dark. One leg crossed over the other, like he’s been waiting there a while. His voice is low and throaty, like it belongs in a bar, not the woods behind a high school party.

I freeze.

“Jesus,” I mutter, eyes darting around.

He doesn’t move. Just watches me. He’s tall, built like someone who doesn’t need to try. Leather jacket. Messy dark hair. I can barely see his facial features, but from the throatiness of his voice. He isn’t a highschooler. He is older.

And clearly amused.

“They throw you out?” he asks. “That’s rough. I couldn’t even get past the door.”

I don’t respond.

He pushes off the tree like he’s stretching, but he stays where he is.

“Black dress,” he says, squinting at me. “Blonde. Loud. Looked like she’d scream if her lip gloss smudged.”

“Kennedy,” I answer without thinking.

He nods. “Yeah. Slammed the door right in my face. Didn’t even ask who I was. No invite, no entry. Shame, really. My brothers and I were kindaaaaa….” he draws out, “Counting on that.”

My fingers curl tighter around my keys.

He notices.

Glances down at my hand.

“Careful,” he says, still calm. “Hold on like that, you’ll split skin.”

My blood runs cold.

I step back.

He grins.

“Don’t worry. I’m not a creep. At least not in the traditional sense.”

I keep walking, backward, slowly. My heart pounds like it wants to burst through my throat.

He raises a brow. “What’s the plan? Run back into the house? Pretty sure your welcome expired.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Just someone who got bored tonight. Showed up for the drinks.”

“You’re too old to be here.”

He shrugs. “You’re too pretty to get thrown out like that. Life’s not fair.”

I keep going, almost to the tree line now. My chest is heaving.

“Seriously,” I say, voice low. “What are you doing out here?”

He pauses, as if pretending to think.

“Enjoying the night,” he grins. “And you.”

I bump into something hard.

Tree.

I whip around, heart in my mouth.

But by the time I blink, he’s moved.

He’s right in front of me now, and I swear I didn’t even hear him take a step. I flinch, barely swallowing the scream in my throat.

He leans down, close enough that I can smell the leather on his jacket, and feel the warmth of his breath.

“Try again,” he murmurs. “And this time, don’t trip. Gives you a head start... before my brothers and I start chasing.”