Lexie and Killian

Hazel POV

The bass at the Omega fraternity party vibrated straight through the soles of my sneakers. I pressed my back against the crowded hallway wall, gripping my red plastic cup like a shield.

"Just blend in," my best friend, Winter, had whispered before disappearing into the sea of dancing bodies with Mila.

I didn't want to blend in. I wanted to vanish. At five feet tall, hiding in a crowd of elite, wealthy students should have been easy. But Legacy Thorne University was crawling with predators.

Suddenly, a heavy arm clamped around my shoulders. The scent of cheap alcohol and expensive cologne hit me.

"Look what we have here," a loud voice boomed. It was Jason Jax, one of the notorious campus bikers. He smirked down at me, his eyes glassy. "A freshman. And she looks terrified."

"Let go of me," I murmured, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A crowd instantly formed around us. I tried to duck under his arm. He yanked me back against him before I'd moved an inch.

"Where you going, freshman?" Jason's grip dug into my shoulder. "Party's just getting started."

"I said let go."

"Feisty. I like that."

Someone in the crowd laughed. Phones came up.

"Hey, Jason! Ten bucks says you can't get the freshman to drink the whole bottle of tequila right now!" someone yelled from the crowd.

"Make it fifty, and I'll make her crawl for it," Jason barked back, laughing.

The crowd cheered, holding up their phones. Flashlights blinded me. The humiliation tasted like ash in my mouth. It felt exactly like middle school. The same mocking laughter. The same helplessness. I shoved Jason's chest with all my might.

He didn't move an inch. Instead, his grip tightened, forcing the plastic cup against my lips. Liquid spilled down my chin.

The smell hit me first, sharp, burning, wrong. My stomach lurched. I clamped my mouth shut and twisted my face away, but his hand followed, cup pressing harder, cold plastic digging into my bottom lip.

"Drink it," Jason said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Come on. Everyone's watching."

I could hear them. Phones held up, somebody counting down, somebody else laughing the way people laugh when they've already decided you're going to lose.

My eyes burned. I wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not again.

"Hey. Drop it."

The voice was low, cutting through the roaring music like a blade. The hallway instantly fell dead silent. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Six feet of pure, calculated malice. He wore a heavy leather motorcycle jacket, his dark hair messy, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. But it was his eyes that made my blood run completely cold.

Pitch black. Cold as ice.

Killian Blackwood.