Nicco - Season 2

9. Mira and Candy

ARIA

Everything feels so utterly fucked between Nicco and me. We might as well be strangers. Except a stranger wouldn't despise me. This intense shift in Nicco is utterly jarring.

Until this very moment, I failed to realize how much he used to touch me. Nothing overt. Just small gestures of affection and connection. A brush of his hand along the small of my back. A light squeeze on the thigh. I feel these losses in my bones.

With anxious steps, I struggle to keep up with his longer strides. In all the times we've walked together, I hadn't noticed, either, how he always slowed his gait to match mine. Nicco never made me feel left behind.

Now—I don't exist in his world. I have no right to grieve, though.

Chasing after him, my heels tap quickly against the marble floors. Every nerve feels fraught and tense. I've become a jumble of fraying threads stretched so tight that they might snap.

Oliver Chastain, the CEO of Danmore Banks, guides us through a maze of hotel corridors to his own private elevator. After entering the shaft, we rise to the very top of the building. When the sliding doors chime open, the three of us walk straight into Oliver's penthouse suite.

A blast of loud music hits me in the face, and my jaw drops at the pure, unfiltered chaos that greets us.

I know for a fact this particular suite runs about three grand a night, and, right now, it's being absolutely decimated by Oliver's guests. My gaze sweeps the room. Creams accented with golds and bronzes fill the entire space. Every wall and each piece of furniture is colored in this palette. A massive glass lighting sculpture dangles from the domed ceiling. Yet, I barely notice the grandeur of it all. I'm too fixated on the suspicious-looking dark crimson liquid that's splattered across the ceiling.

The worst part?

It still looks wet and fresh.

God, I really hope that's not real blood. My head snaps away. Alcohol is being poured left and right. Everyone seems high on something. I stare in awe at the dozens of gorgeous women who are sucking dicks and fucking cocks like it's a goddamn sport. I've been to some wild parties back in college. I've sucked and fucked my fair share of penises as well. But I've never attended a straight-up orgy.

Some of the girls here tonight appear to be professionals. High-end escorts. Porn stars. But I recognize some of the other faces. Well-known actresses. Well-known supermodels. Just then, an equally well-known politician pops open an expensive bottle of champagne and sprays it over a pornstar's bare tits and a model's ass. They cackle as though he's a fucking comedian while €10,000 worth of bubbly cascades down their bodies.

Wincing, I look away. I feel like my brain is melting. My heart is still in shambles. I don't have to emotional bandwidth to process the chaos around me. Dazed and overwhelmed, my eyes fall helplessly on another couple across the room. A woman is riding on a man's back like he's a My Little Pony. A leather riding crop sit in her hand, and—I shit you not—the faceless fucker is wearing a goddamn unicorn's head on his head, complete with pink glitter and rainbow sparkles. He throws his head back and releases a very distinctive neighing sound.

To each their own, I suppose.

There's even a long, silky horse tail swinging from his ass, and, at this point, I have no words to describe the deranged circus around me. Hysteria creeps in. I kind of want to laugh, but no sound comes out.

Nicco turns to me and smirks. "Welcome to hell. What do you think, principessa?"

I answer faintly, "Everyone here seems pretty bent in the head."