Three Devils | A Taboo, Scottish Dark Romance

Heavy bass thrums through walls of the massive house at the end of the street. Making my way up the circular drive, I immediately recognize the song. It’s one that Emma's been playing non stop for the last couple weeks. Something dark, pop-y, with a pulsing bass line. Perfect for dancing.

A crowd of drunk students mingle around the property, some of them smoking weed and chatting, others attempting a keg stand just on the other side of the wrought iron fence.

My eyes flick to a nearly half naked couple making out on the lawn and my stomach tightens, which I promptly try to ignore. Brushing it off because it's exactly what I should expect at a party like this.

Breathing out a half laugh, half scoff, I smooth the hem of my dress down, ensuring it’s covering my ass. I kind of regret my decision to wear something so short tonight. It's not something I usually choose, unless Emma has a say in my outfit, of course.

But, then I remind myself there's a chance he'll be here. And that's exactly why I chose this specific black, strapless mini dress. And put on a little more makeup than usual. And spent an extra twenty minutes getting ready.

It's almost pathetic. Almost.

By the time I reach the front porch I have to shove through a group of guys who are laughing and catcalling girls from the stone steps. They don't pay much attention to me, probably because they have no idea who I am—which is true for most people at this party.

I finally make it inside with a huff and I’m met with another wall of bodies. The foyer is crawling with people. Some of them I think I might recognize from Uni, but I can't be sure, and I don't bother to ask. They’re all mingling under the dimmed, crystal chandelier hanging from above.

I squeeze through the sea of students—which spreads into every room on the main floor—to make my way to the kitchen. I’m in desperate need of a drink after the night I’ve had and I’m hoping that’s where I’ll find Emma, too.

The distinct heavy bass of ’Fantasmas’ by Twin Tribes filters through the air from the living room speaker system while I push my way into the kitchen.

I instantly spot Emma sitting on the island counter, swinging her legs to the music. Her red bottom heels glisten under the overhead kitchen lighting. Relieved to find her here, my shoulders drop just a little. The last thing I want is to have to spend all night searching for my friend. Especially since she’s the only reason I’m here.

Emma waves at me, grinning from ear to ear as I approach. Throwing her a smile, I lean against the counter at her side.

The sound of glass breaking and people laughing slices through the air, but Emma barely reacts to it. Her parties are always like this and I have to hand it to her, she knows how to host a hell of a night.

“Drink?” She asks with a smirk, her deep brown eyes catching mine before they drag to something behind me. It seems someone has caught her attention already.

“Sure, whatever you’re having,” I reply with a shrug as I glance over my shoulder and spot the guy she’s checking out.

He has a neck tattoo and a cheek piercing… because of course he does.

I’ve known Emma for nearly three weeks now, and it’s been quite the ride. She’s bubbly, carefree and… let’s go with sex positive. Her energy is infectious, naturally drawing people in. And while some only take the time to get to know her on the surface, I’ve learned that she’s kind and compassionate under all of her sass and playful negging.

She's a real, true friend. Something I’ve never had before.

Emma shoves a drink in my hand and I take a sip. The alcohol instantly burns down my throat. I choke out a cough, eyes wide and watering. “Did you even put any mix in or is this just straight alcohol?”

“Och, Annie, ye ken I dinnae mix for nothin’,” she drawls, her Scottish accent thick and beautiful.

I roll my eyes. “First of all, you know I hate when you call me ’Annie’. And second of all, most people enjoy their alcohol with a bit of sweetness.” My tone is sarcastic and I flash her a pointed look as I pour some cola into my cup. “Ye ken?” I add in my fake Scottish lilt.

She nudges my shoulder with hers and laughs. My lips turn up into a smirk, watching her eye the guy behind me again. “Don’t tell me you’re going to ditch me already?”

“Come on, Anna… ye’ll be fine, aye?” She throws over her shoulder, already moving towards the door. I turn, watching her go as I sip from my drink.

She sidles up next to Cheek Piercing, snaking her arm through his like she has every right to stake her claim and they lock eyes. The poor guy doesn't stand a chance.

And there goes my night.

I check my watch with a sigh. It’s almost one in the morning. Which is just perfect. I plan to be out until at least three. That way, if The Devil is waiting up for me, there’s a high chance he’ll pass out and I can sneak in without being noticed.

We’ve been in Scotland for almost a month now and, aside from the beauty of Glasgow, it’s been a shit-show to say the least. My mom’s new husband is a complete fucking asshole.

Lachlan McTavish.

Or as I like to call him, the Devil Incarnate.

He’s overbearing, incredibly strict and seems to think he has some type of responsibility over me despite the fact that I’m a literal adult. I’m twenty-two, not some dumb teenager. Plus, I lived in New York City for most of my life and survived just fine without him.

The man acts like I’m some innocent, inexperienced little girl who has no idea how the real world works.

I hate it here.

I hate him.

I hate my mom.

The only thing I don’t hate is university. And the two friends I’ve made here so far. Emma and Mac.

Emma’s in my Sociology class, and Mac is… well, he’s Mac. I met him through Emma a little over a week ago and we text here and there. Mostly sending each other memes. Mac is moody, sarcastic and hot.

Really hot.

Just as I down my drink, a shadow falls over me, and I turn my head, meeting a pair of pale blue eyes. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Princess?”

His tone is dripping with condescension, as it so often is. He loves getting a rise out of me and usually succeeds despite my attempts at brushing him off. Though, I do like to toss shit right back at him when I get the chance.

“Mac,” I drag out his name as I lean against the counter, facing him. “And here I thought you were spending the weekend in jail.”

He leans a little closer, plucking the now empty cup from my hand and turning towards the counter to make us drinks. “Nah, got out a few hours ago. You know how it is.”

I snort with a laugh and nod. “Uh huh, sure. Em said you weren’t coming tonight… why the change of heart? Miss me?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Not a chance, baby.”

As he flashes me a wide, charming grin, I can’t help the way my pulse spikes in my veins. The word baby on his lips sends heat pooling between my thighs.

Mac hands me my cup, and I take a slow sip. It burns down my throat just right. At least one of my friends knows how to make a decent drink. I slide my eyes up to him, catching his gaze while he sips from his own red Solo cup.

“Quite the spectacle she’s put on tonight, huh?” He mutters.

“Mhmm… I’m learning that she’s quite good at that,” I reply, taking another sip of my drink as I scan the crowd of dancing bodies in the dimly lit main room.

I wonder if Mac would dance with me if I asked. Then I realize that’s a ridiculous idea and firmly squash it down before I can make a fool of myself.

He follows my line of sight, breathing out a rough chuckle. “That she is.”

Mac relaxes against the counter. As he shifts, his forearm brushes across my lower back. His heat seeps through the thin fabric of my dress. I strongly dislike how his closeness makes me feel… he makes my heart race without even trying.

I drag my eyes back to his. “So, where were you really? Em said you disappeared for a few days… and yeah, I noticed the distinct lack of memes hitting my socials in your absence.”

He nods, sipping from his drink, but I notice a tightening in his jaw that has me wondering if I shouldn’t have said anything. Shit.

“Just working,” he mutters as he shifts, moving a few inches away from me before crossing his arms over his chest. His walls snapping back into place between us.

I swallow hard, a little gutted by how easily he pulls away from me. He’s so touchy about his personal life—his job especially.

Emma said he was into some dangerous stuff, but I can’t see it. I mean, sure, the guy is nearly seven feet tall, completely ripped, and covered in tattoos. But that doesn’t automatically mean he’s involved in something nefarious. Lots of guys look like that, both in Glasgow and New York.

Sure, Emma knows him better than I do, but I still don’t see how he’s dangerous. There’s a softness about him, at least when he’s around me.

Am I just naïve?

Fuck… maybe Lachlan’s right about me.