Meet the new characters, Seth and Zola! <3

T e n : Delirious 

Chase Thatcher drives fast.

Pin you back in your seat while you struggle for air kind-of-fast. Miko when she hears the microwave timer go off kind-of-fast. Or when she spots something polka dotted.

It's probably a combination of the speed we flew down those country lanes and the sheer volume of The Wombats blasting from Chase's speakers that make me so unsteady as I leave the car. My legs wobble, my head feels oddly airy and it takes all my effort to click the car door in place before I lean against it. Crikey. Next time I'm in a car with Chase, I'll remember not to be. I close my eyes, but even blind, I can sense his warmth as he ambles around the bonnet to examine me.

"Well," he says smoothly. "It seems I finally broke Erika Monroe."

"Of course, you didn't," I say with a sigh, keeping my eyes closed and tilting my head back for ample comfort against the cold window. "I'm just trying to diagnose your problem."

His voice is closer this time. "My problem?"

"Yeah, whatever made you like..." I wave a hand around blindly. "This."

"My hotness isn't due to a fever, gorgeous."

I finally open my eyes to see that Chase is standing directly in front of me. "Well, deliriousness is clearly a symptom. Useful to know."

Chuckling, he places a hand on the glass above my head and leans in closer, his warm chest hanging tauntingly close. He smells fresh, clean and masculine- like limes and coconut with woodsy, sexy undertones. From under his unkept, messy hair, his honey eyes glow with playfulness.

"Well, I must be a little mad to hang out with you."

Lovely.

I roll my eyes and stand up properly, stretching my arms behind my back to expand my shoulders. Once I'm certain that I'm not going to topple over, I utilise my proximity with Chase's hard chest to reach my hand up and lazily trace a finger over his collarbone. The cotton of his t-shirt is soft under my fingertip. I hear the noticeable hitch in Chase's breathing and smile.

"Or maybe," I say, rolling my head up to look at him coyly. "I just drive you insane."

His lips part, but his retort is stolen by surprise.

"Now, come on," I say brightly, slipping out from under his arm and dancing away. "You're not a dog so it's not considered socially appropriate to drool."

A second passes before Chase responds, but I finally hear his noise of amusement. He removes his hand from the car window and strolls over to me with a neutral expression. "My bad. I must have been confused by the bitch in my presence."

"Very funny."

"I know."

I turn my attention to our surroundings: an inconspicuous industrial road lined with intimidating grey fencing and fir trees. I lost all sense of direction about halfway through our journey, but it appears that we're in the middle of nowhere. With Chase involved, that's cause for unease.

"Well, this bitch wants to know why we're here."

Chase brushes past me. "Come on. It's just around the next corner."

I follow him obligingly, unsuspectingly.

I never thought that my mood could change so starkly in the space of thirty seconds, but any happiness bleeds out of my parted lips the second we reach the street corner. In it's place, a cold rush of anxiety that plummets through my chest into my stomach like an anchor. The Admiral bar stands ahead of us on the right, it's parking lot thrumming with lively chatter and the vibration of engines that reverberate through the soles of my sneakers as we approach.

I know this place. The old bar on the far side of town, where the housing dies off into junkyards and small run-down business parks.

This is where you find the kids your parents warned you about.

The greying building itself seems almost lopsided, sinking into the grey concrete below it as if longing to disappear. The parking lot, small and lined with bushes, is littered with joints and old beer cans. Two men are sitting on the picnic bench nearest to us, staring as we approach. Their gazes are narrowed and meaner than the motorbikes behind them, and I find myself stumbling on my feet.

"Chase, what are we doing here?"

"You said you wanted to be bad," Chase says. "This is where bad comes to drink."

Before I can protest, he's tugging me by the wrist into the parking lot; into the exotic and terrifying world that he's so easily accustomed to. The air is thick and sour with the scent of diesel, and it's hard to hear anything over the growling engines and rap music. I can see though. And every single bit of what I can see terrifies me, from the joints to black car bonnets with exposed engines.

I want to go home.

"Don't be scared," Chase says quietly, running his thumb over my wrist. "You'll see."

Despite the wisps of anxiety curling around my chest, I flatten my features into nonchalance. My best chances of leaving this place are unscathed are if I act like I fit in.

Trust him, Erika.

Chase leads me to a stop in front of a guy in a tight black hoodie, bending over the bonnet of a neon green drag car. I can't see his face, but his tanned forearms are exposed from his rolled sleeves, patterned with bright tattoos and smudges of oil.

"Seth," Chase greets. "This is Erika. Erika, Seth Bautista."

At the sudden peal of Chase's voice, Seth jumps and hits his head against the underside of the car bonnet. He curses loudly. Then, in one fluid movement, he twists around to face us and stretches to his full towering height, wiping his forehead clean with an oily rag. His features are unmistakable. I've seen those raven curls, those pecan coloured eyes, before.

This is the guy that watched me from the street corner, when I gave Chase a ride.

"You scared the shit out of me," Seth mutters, flicking the snake bite piercing in the corner of his mouth. After a lingering glare at Chase, his eyes finally move to mine and the irritation melts away from his forehead. He surveys me appraisingly, but there's no trace of recognition in his expression. In fact, there's no trace of emotion whatsoever.

"Ah," Seth says calmly. "So, you're gorgeous. Well, I have to say, that makes sense."

Before I can cover them, my cheeks warm. Usually I'm quite good at restricting that inner giggly girl, but this man is something else. Seth is tall and clearly older, with a stocky physique and overtly handsome, angular features. As if sensing my curiosity, a crooked smile blooms on his lips.

"I'm Seth. Filipino, if you were wondering, which you clearly are."

Before I can respond with something mildly dignified, Chase shoves Seth's arm. He's only an inch or two shorter than Seth and standing beside them both is making me feel small. "Yeah, yeah, Bautista charm. Can we skip past the flirting stage, now?"

"Who's flirting?" Seth asks, leaning back against the car bonnet and stretching the oil rag between his hands easily. His grin is wicked. "I'm courting a lady, Sir."

"The lady has a name," I chime. "And it's Erika, not gorgeous."

Seth turns those cinder-dark eyes back to me. "Shame. The nickname seemed so fitting."

Oh, he's good.

"Just wait," Chase says, leaning back against the bleak, grey wall of The Admiral building and crossing his ankles casually. "You'll find she's more Beast than Beauty."

The shot has been fired.

My eyebrows shoot up and I turn to Chase with malice hidden in my sweet smile. "Then you're like Gaston, Squidge, because I'd quite happily throw you to your death."

Chase stares back at me challengingly, with that vexingly impassive expression. His eyes don't leave mine for a second, even while he addresses Seth. "See what I mean?"

"I see alright." Seth chuckles. "Good. You need someone who can keep you on your toes."

This catches my attention. I quickly break my stare-down with Chase to sign, package and deliver a beaming smile at Seth. "Like how Megamind needs Metro Man as his nemesis, or else he gets bored of doing evil things. I've always thought Chase has a big head."

"Something like that." Seth says with a wry smile.

Suddenly the rumble of engines around us rises to a roaring crescendo, and I'm reminded starkly of my surroundings outside of our little bubble. The anxiety in my chest fizzles up my throat as I look at the drag cars scattered through the parking lot: sleek, metal beasts with the vibrant colours of danger. The drivers inside them inside them are no less intimidating, ripping their engines fiercely to the delighted cheers of the people surrounding them.

"Don't worry, we don't bite," Chase says smoothly. "Well...not hard."

My response is irritatingly breathy, betraying my nerves. "Shut up."

"It's been great to meet you, Erika," Seth says, standing up from the green drag car and looping the oil cloth over his shoulder carelessly. "I hope you come around again. Is it okay if I steal Chase from you for a moment? We have something to talk about."

He looks at Chase, his gaze lingering potently. Chase nods.

They're going to leave me alone.

"Sure," I say, as confidently as I can manage. I don't allow my gaze to stray to my surroundings, to the men and women who look like they could devour me whole. I keep my chin, lifted and my expression steady despite the cold feeling seeping over me like mist.

Chase glances at me. "I'll only be two minutes. Stay here."

Then, I watch as my only safety blanket in this daunting place, disappears into the crowd with his older friend and I am left utterly and chillingly alone.

*~*~*

He lied.

Two minutes became ten. Ten became fifteen. Now it's been eighteen minutes since he left, and I'm still leaning against this brick wall, scrolling through Twitter to avoid social contact.

My face is warm with anger, and thus far I've pictured one hundred and three different ways to punish Chase for abandoning me here, with no way to get home or anyone to stick by. I don't need a big strong man to protect me, no shame to those who do, but anyone to talk to would be better than standing here so isolated and vulnerable. He brought me here and it was his responsibility to stick by my side; he shouldn't have left me like this.

I hope I can slap him before karma does.

The sky is beginning to spit with rain. Brilliant.

I slip my phone into my back pocket and I'm just pulling my hood up over my head, when I notice the whispering from my right. Under the car noise and the rush of wind, there's the tell-tale shuffling of people in the bushes. I inch forwards and crane my neck to peer around the corner. Ahead of me, tucked into a small gap in the bushes, are two males standing closely together.

The one facing towards me only takes a second to detect me, peering at him. He stiffens and ducks away quickly, but I have time enough to register the five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He's older. Noticing the reaction of his friend, the other guy twists to look over his shoulder. I see a flash of dark hair and a familiar expression of annoyance under the grey hood.

No.

"Kai," I recognise, my eyes widening. I try to swallow but all the liquid in my mouth seems to have disappeared. "What are you doing here?"

Kai's expression twists with irritation, and suddenly, he's darting away towards the road. His older friend follows closely at his heels. The smack of their shoe soles on the sidewalk jolts me awake, and with a burst of adrenaline, my voice raises into one of authority.

"Kai!" I call angrily. "Stop!"

Trying to chase them is fruitless. They're already sprinting at this point. I watch the dark figures grow smaller and smaller, standing hopelessly at the edge of crowded parking lot.

I lick my lips to return the moisture. A sinking pit of dread churns in my stomach as the bitter wind swipes them dry again. All I can think is that I'm going to have to be the one to break the news to Miko. I'm going to have to be the one that stresses her when I tell her that her brother has been doing something shady with an older guy, at The Admiral bar. I exhale sharply. Why is he doing this?

I'm about to return to my private spot at the side of the bar when a girl blocks my path.

Her hair is vibrant orange, piled on top of her head haphazardly. The hollowness of her cheeks is instantly apparent, and there's a darkness under her gaunt eyes that has nothing to do with the smudged kohl eyeliner. Despite being thinner and smaller than me in every conceivable way, she seems viciously intimidating. I meet her gaze with feigned self-assurance, side-step and attempt to walk past her back into the parking lot.

Her tiny hand shoots out and slams into my shoulder with surprising force, making me stumble back into the craggy bushes at my left.

"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" She hisses, following my movement and pushing me further back into the branches with a skinny arm to my neck. The sharp twigs snag on the cotton of my top and pierce into the skin of neck, stinging. Before I can react to the pressure on my throat, her small hand is digging into the front pockets of my jeans. "Such pretty, pretty hair. Did you bring Daddy's credit card with you, pretty girl?"

"Get off me," I snarl, pushing her back with all my strength.

I have the satisfaction of watching her fall back a few steps. Even with her arm removed from my throat, I can still feel the aching pressure and my hand instinctively flies up to protect it. In the lightly drizzling rain, I can see the sparks of fury in her eyes. Her lips pull back from her teeth in a primal, terrifying way and she lunges forwards for me again.

"Felicity!" A voice snaps.

Suddenly the demon in front of me is being yanked away by her carrot-coloured hair, yowling in pain. A tall dark-skinned girl stands behind Felicity with a fistful of orange. She's easily taller than me, with beautiful black braids falling to her exposed hips.

"Scram," she snarls into Felicity's pale ear, releasing her grip on the hair. Felicity shoots her a glare that could ignite her in flames before scrambling away, orange tendrils escaping down her neck from a loosened messy bun.

"Jesus," I say stupidly, rubbing my throat.

"I prefer the name Zola," my rescuer says bluntly, crossing her arms across her chest and surveying me with pursed lips. "Now, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Erika," I reply quickly, my hand falling. "The owner of the ass you just saved."

Zola wrinkles her nose and the emerald green piercing in her left nostril wiggles. "Fel is a pest, not a threat. Just give her a firm kick and she'll run off with her tail between her legs."

"I'll remember that next time."

"I've never seen you around here before."

I smirk. "Poor you."

Zola finally smiles. Before I can see it for long, however, she ducks down under her braids to collect a shiny black motorcycle helmet from the ground that I hadn't noticed during the chaos. Tucking it into the curve of her hip, under her arm, she finally meets my gaze again with a wiped blank expression. "So, Erika. Do you need help finding your mommy?"

"Mommy's at home," I say simply. "But if you know Chase Thatcher, that would be useful."

Her eyebrows curve in surprise. "Oh, you're with Chase."

"Not like that."

"Fair enough." She scans me appraisingly, before jutting her chin to the side. "Come on, he's probably fighting over there. Men here like to beat each other up for kicks. Makes them feel mighty."

"I would like to beat him up for kicks," I mutter darkly.

Zola leads me back through the parking lot and along the side of the crumbling Admiral bar, to a patch of grass at the back. The rhythmic pulse of chanting reaches my ears, and when we're finally close enough, I distinguish the word. Fight, fight, fight. A group of guys are standing in a loose circle around two burly fighters. Situated on the right-hand side of the formation is Chase freaking Thatcher, watching the men scramble with a bruised cheekbone, split lip and a stupid grin.

"Give him hell," Zola says with a smirk. Even in the rain, she's stunningly fierce.

"Hell will look like a luxury spa when I'm done with him."

I amble towards Chase casually, as if I have all the time in the world. My face, despite my anger, is the picture of sweetness. When Chase finally notices my approach, the infuriating smile he was wearing quickly slides away, and he reaches a hand up to rub the back of his hair apprehensively.

"Erika-"

"Shh," I say, stopping in front of him and placing a finger over his split lip patronisingly. I wait until my presence has been noticed by the surrounding men, and they look over with interest. Then, cooing sweetly, I say: "Silly Chase! Your Mommy sent me to come and collect you. She needs you home for dinner now. It's meatballs tonight, remember? Your favourite."

The effect is immediate. Chase's cheeks instantly flush with embarrassment, and the guys beside me begin to grin and nudge the others.

"It's bedtime soon," I chastise. "We need to go. Say goodbye to your friends now."

Chase stares down at me in disbelief. His friends are beginning to laugh.

"Didn't you hear her?" A bearded man says gruffly. "Mommy needs you home, Thatcher. Time to cram your face with meatballs."

My angelic smile widens.

Chase glares at me for a heated second, before latching onto my bicep and tugging me away from the circle. Behind us, the group of men tease and coo for a few seconds, before erupting into raucous laughter. Zola winks at me as Chase pulls me past her.

As soon as we're in the relatively quiet spot beside the bar wall, Chase rips his hand away from me and pushes me roughly against the bricks. His eyes are narrowed with anger.

"What the hell was that about?"

"I wonder."

"Erika!"

"What?"

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you here," Chase snaps, running a hand through his hair raggedly. "You just made me look like a complete and utter idiot!"

The humour dissolves from my expression. In its place, undiluted, liquid rage.

"That's because you are an idiot!" I snap, jabbing a finger into his chest harshly. "You are an idiot for bringing me somewhere like this in the first place. You are an idiot for leaving me here, completely alone. You are an asshole for having no intention to come back. For getting into stupid fights and busting your lip while I almost got mugged on the street."

Chase blinks, shell-shocked. My final jab to his chest is a weak, flailing fist.

"Don't you dare tell me that I've made you look like an idiot," I spit. "Because we both know that the real idiot here is me, for being crazy enough to believe that I could trust you."

Chase's gaze instantly softens. He outstretches a hand to catch my fist and opens his mouth.

"No." I interrupt, before he can try to explain himself. "I guess we figured out who's really delusional, after all. Just take me home."

And this time, he doesn't try to protest.

A/N: Hiii is everybody enjoying this book so far? I'd love to hear your honest feedback if there's anything I'm doing wrong, or anything you'd like me to add! I'm getting a bit nervy and self-doubty :( 

P.s. Pretty sure Zola is the hottest character I've ever created

Cherry x