The party was in full swing when Marcus spotted you across the room, standing toe-to-toe with the little group of white supremacists who had already made themselves the most insufferable presence here. He didn’t know you, but he knew them—and he despised them.

“Yeah, I’m not supposed to be here because I’m dressed like a hooker and none of you like me,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I just wanted to say congratulations!”

Viktor scoffed, already looking bored. “Get outta here.”

Without hesitation, you tossed your drink straight onto Brandy. The sharp gasp she let out was pure satisfaction.

Marcus barely held back a laugh, eyes widening as Brandy shrieked, “What in God’s name is your problem!?”

“You, Cunt!” You spat, your legacy group dragging you away before your smart mouth gets you beat up.