The bass thumped through the sweaty air of Club Inferno, a dive barely fit for the underage chaos of an 11th-grade graduation party. Neon lights flickered over a sea of writhing bodies, the stench of cheap vodka and spilled beer clinging to every surface. Vlad Morev, a lanky 17-year-old with a mop of unruly dark hair, hovered near the bar, his eyes locked on Polina Smirnova like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing. And to him, she was.
Polina stood at the center of a small crowd, her crimson crop top hugging her curves, her ripped jeans slung low on her hips. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder as she threw her head back in laughter, a shot glass in one hand, the other gesturing wildly. She was a storm in human form—untouchable, unpredictable, and utterly in control. Vlad had been trailing her all night, a lovesick shadow, nursing the same warm beer for an hour just to have an excuse to stay close.
“Vlad, you gonna stare all night or actually say something?” Polina’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and teasing, as she caught his gaze. Her lips curled into a smirk, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief. She sauntered over, hips swaying with purpose, and leaned against the bar beside him, close enough that he could smell the vodka on her breath and the faint floral of her perfume.
“I—I’m just… enjoying the view,” Vlad stammered, his face heating up as he tried to match her energy. He took a swig of his beer, grimacing at the taste, and immediately regretted it.
Polina arched a brow, her smirk widening. “Oh, sweetheart, if you’re gonna play, at least bring some game. That line’s as stale as your drink.” She plucked the bottle from his hand, took a sip, and wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting. You’re hopeless, you know that?”
He grinned despite himself, heart racing at her attention. “Hopeless, maybe. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” she shot back, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Question is, what’re you gonna do about it, puppy? Keep panting after me, or make a real move?”
Vlad swallowed hard, his buzzed brain scrambling for a response. Tonight was the night—he’d decided that hours ago, somewhere between his third shot and the moment he saw Polina grind against some random guy on the dance floor. Jealousy had burned through him like wildfire, and he wasn’t about to let another chance slip. “How ‘bout we get outta here?” he blurted, bolder than he felt. “My place. Just you and me.”
Polina’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the din. “Oh, Vlad, you’re adorable. And how exactly do you plan to pull that off? You gonna carry me on your back? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you can’t even afford a cab.”
His face fell as he patted his pockets, realizing she was right. His wallet was empty, save for a crumpled receipt and a stick of gum. “I… I’ll figure it out,” he mumbled, but the confidence was draining fast.
She tilted her head, studying him like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. “Figure it out, huh? I’ll believe that when I see it. Go on, then. Impress me.”
Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the room for a lifeline. His gaze landed on Maxim Surganov, the tall, wiry bad boy leaning against a wall near the back, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Max’s glasses glinted under the strobe lights, giving him an air of intellectual menace, and the rumors about his drug deals and wild parties only added to his aura. Vlad hated him—everyone did, in that grudging, fascinated way—but he was out of options.
“Stay here,” Vlad muttered to Polina, who just rolled her eyes and waved him off with a flick of her wrist.
He approached Max with all the grace of a stumbling drunk, clearing his throat. “Hey, man. I, uh, need a favor. Can you spot me some cash for a cab?”
Max exhaled a plume of smoke, his smirk slow and predatory as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Cash? For you, Morev? Nah, I don’t think so. I’m not a charity.” He took a drag, eyeing Vlad up and down. “But I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a ride instead. Got a taxi waiting outside. Bring your little crush along. Let’s make it a party.”
Vlad’s stomach twisted, but he had no better plan. “Fine. Just… don’t be a dick about it.”
Max chuckled, low and dark. “No promises.”
Minutes later, the three of them piled into the backseat of a grimy taxi, the air thick with tension and the stale scent of cigarette smoke. Vlad was shoved to the far edge, his shoulder pressed against the window, while Max sprawled in the middle, his arm slung possessively around Polina. She was wasted, her head lolling against Max’s chest, her laughter slurred as she muttered something about the night being “fucking epic.”
“Comfortable over there, Vlad?” Max drawled, his tone dripping with mockery as he tightened his grip on Polina. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. You just enjoy the scenery.”
Vlad’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists in his lap. He wanted to punch Max, to drag Polina away, but he was paralyzed by the sight of her nestled against the other guy, her hand lazily tracing circles on Max’s thigh. It was torture—and worse, it stirred something dark and confusing in him, a mix of rage and a sick kind of thrill.
Polina lifted her head slightly, her bleary eyes meeting Vlad’s. “What’s wrong, puppy?” she slurred, her voice mocking even through the haze of alcohol. “You look like you’re gonna cry. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“I’m not,” Vlad lied, his voice tight. “Just… making sure you’re okay.”
She snorted, nestling closer to Max. “Oh, I’m more than okay. Max knows how to show a girl a good time. Don’t you, babe?”
Max grinned, his hand sliding down to Polina’s hip. “Always, darling. Unlike some people, I don’t just stare and stutter.”
Vlad turned his head to the window, his reflection pale and pathetic in the glass. The city lights blurred past as the taxi pulled up to his street, the driver grunting for him to get out. He fumbled with the door, his mind a mess of humiliation and unspoken longing, and stumbled onto the curb without a word. He didn’t even look back as the cab pulled away, Polina’s drunken giggle echoing in his ears, Max’s smug smirk burned into his memory.
They were headed to Max’s place, no doubt, leaving Vlad alone with nothing but the cold night air and the bitter taste of his own inadequacy. As he trudged toward his house, dark fantasies swirled in his mind—images of Polina, of power, of revenge. Tonight had slipped through his fingers, but he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
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