Why was Dean an idiot?

When Jaime noticed I was there, he pinched the bridge of his nose before shooting Dean a dirty look. “You just had to, huh? Douche.”

The circle broke, and I caught a glimpse of Vicious, his hip leaning against a desk, a beautiful girl I didn’t know by his side. My chest hurt when I noticed how close he was to her. Still, he didn’t touch her or even look at her.

What he was looking at didn’t surprise me. He was staring right at me.

“That’s my fucking girlfriend, man,” Dean garbled to Trent, ignoring Jaime. “You better shut your pipe if you don’t want that pretty face of yours ruined.” He turned around, his steps wobbly and uneven, and shot me one of his panty-melting smiles, but his eyes were heavy with drowsiness and alcohol. “Millie, please?” He clasped his hands together, sinking down theatrically and walking the remaining way to the door on his knees. His dimples were on full display, but it did nothing to ease my embarrassment.

I turned a nice shade of tomato-red and buried my face in my hands, my fake beam so wide my cheeks hurt. “Dean,” I groaned, squeezing my eyelids together. “Please get up.”

“That’s not what you said just twenty minutes ago, babe. Actually, I think it was ‘Dean, does it ever go soft?’” He snorted out a laugh.

I was no longer smiling.

When my hands left my face, it completely wiped the grin off his face. Behind his back, Vicious sent me a death glare, his jaw ticking to the rhythm of my heartbeats.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

His lips were so thin they were practically invisible. The first step he took forward made me flinch. He cut through the mass of people in the media room toward the hallway in a few long strides and yanked Dean from the floor by the back of his collar. Dean spun in place, his face colored with surprise, and that’s when Vicious slammed Dean’s back against the nearest wall, twisting his designer white crew-neck shirt.

“I told you not to bring her here,” he whispered darkly, his lips barely moving.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean pushed him away, taking a step forward, his every move laced with unrestrained adrenaline.

They stared at each other for a moment too long. It made me think this was going to escalate to a fight, but Jaime and Trent stepped in. Trent pulled Dean toward the door, while Jaime shoved Vicious deeper into the room.

“Enough!” Trent shouted at both of them.

Jaime grabbed Vicious’s arms, locking them behind his back. The rage radiating from both of them was thick in the air like suffocating smoke.

“Tennis court.” Vicious shook out of Jaime’s hands and pointed at Dean, seething. “This time don’t cry when I fuck you up, Cole.”

I didn’t want them to fight. Vicious had a reputation. He fought until he passed out. His arms had the scars to prove it.

Trent rotated, marching in my direction and narrowing his gray eyes at me. “Get the hell out of here,” he commanded, his big body filling the doorframe, his eyes hooded. He looked royally pissed off.

I couldn’t see Dean or Vicious. Whatever was going on, it was a private matter I wasn’t a part of. Dean and I had been together for a couple of months, but I knew the other HotHoles wouldn’t help me stop the fight. I’d be wasting my breath.

“When are you guys going to stop acting like I’ve got leprosy?” I questioned in a low voice, folding my arms across my chest. “Dean is my boyfriend, and y’all have literally never spoken a nice word to me. Why do y’all hate me so much?”

Trent shook his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips. “Jesus. You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t.” My face heated again. Was it that obvious? Was I missing something that was colossally clear?

When he leaned down, his face level with mine, I shivered. “If you think you can rip us apart, you’re wrong. Leave Vicious alone.”

Leave Vicious alone?

My blood went from zero to boiling in a second, and I was ready to burst. Baron Spencer was everywhere. Where I lived, where I hung out, where I slept, and where I studied. That was fine, and not his fault. But he didn’t have to look at me the way he did, to talk about me the way he had. He didn’t have to bark at me and mock me every chance he could.

Leave him alone? No. I’d had enough.

Vicious wasn’t only in my life without my permission. He was in my veins. Always close by, like a shadow, haunting me without really touching me every time he was close enough to grab me by the throat.

“Happy to. I don’t want anything to do with the guy, anyway.”

Throwing a look of indifference in Trent’s direction, I swiveled and stalked downstairs, through the kitchen and out the servants’ entrance. I needed to find Rosie and tell her what had happened. She would make sense of it all.

I was a little mad at Dean for making that crude joke.

I was a lot mad at Vicious, Jaime, and Trent for acting like I was a North Korean dictator. They were obviously allergic to me, and though it was never my intention to become the modern-day Yoko Ono, I was starting to believe breaking up with Dean was inevitable.

The HotHoles were such a huge part of his life. They fought together, played football together, and partied together. If they didn’t like Dean’s girlfriend—me—that was a serious issue. I was tired of feeling like an STD they were trying not to catch every time I was near them.