Chapter 26: Can We Get Much Higher?

‘I’m high as fuck.’

Like, properly, deeply baked in a way I haven’t been since college. The weed in this world hits differently, cleaner somehow, more focused, less paranoia-inducing. Or maybe that’s just the relief of finally feeling safe after weeks of constant fear.

We had unseasoned chicken for dinner... and that’s fine. June apologized for the bland food, explaining that they usually cook with more spices but were trying to be considerate since they didn’t know my preferences.

Now we’re on the living room couch, and I’m smoking a blunt while I have my third beer in my hand.

Connor sits beside me on the massive sectional sofa, his posture more relaxed than I’ve seen it since our reunion. April occupies a cuck chair across from us, legs tucked under her, sipping beer with an expression that’s gradually softened from suspicion to reluctant acceptance as the evening has progressed. Gabby sprawls on the floor, her back against the couch between Connor’s legs, her head occasionally tilting back to rest against his knee. June moves between the kitchen and living room, bringing snacks and drinks, her efficiency never compromised despite the joint she occasionally takes a hit from when it comes her way.

“Dude, do you feel like you’re more of a lightweight in this world?” I ask Connor as I offer him the blunt.

Connor takes the blunt from my outstretched hand, inhaling deeply before responding.

“Dude, big time,” he finally says, his voice strained from holding in the smoke. “Three beers in my old body would’ve been nothing. Now I’m fucking floating.”

April rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Stop pretending you were from another world, both of you,” she says, but there’s less edge to her voice than earlier.

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me with genuine mirth. “Sorry, sorry,” I say, raising my free hand in mock surrender. “Just having fun.”

“You really don’t have to apologize for everything,” June says, settling onto the couch beside Connor. Her hand finds his thigh, resting there with casual possessiveness. “It’s actually kind of endearing but also a little sad.”

“It’s a habit,” I admit, taking another swig of beer. The cold liquid slides down my throat, crisp and refreshing. “I think I’ve been apologizing for existing since I was, like, twelve.”

“That’s deep, man,” Gabby says from her position on the floor, her voice slightly slurred.

We all dissolve into laughter at the profound wisdom of her stoned observation. The laughter feels good, cleansing somehow, washing away the lingering tension of the day.

As we bask in the vibe I hear keys jingling in the lock of the front door. A moment later, a voice calls out from the entryway: “Hello? Anyone home?”

“In here, Mom!” Gabby calls back, her face lighting up. She makes no move to get up from her comfortable position on the floor, though.

Footsteps approach, and then a woman appears in the doorway to the living room. She’s in her mid-fifties, with a curvaceous figure accentuated by a fitted sweater that reveals a bit of cleavage. Her hair is a rich brown, styled in a professional cut that frames a face lined with experience rather than age. Her eyes, the same warm brown as June’s, look tired, reflecting the weight of a long day. She looks exhausted.

‘All the women really are succubi aren’t they?’

The Harper mother’s arrival shifts the energy in the room. She stands in the doorway for a moment, surveying the scene before her, her three daughters and Connor in various states of inebriation, plus me, the stranger on her couch. Her eyes immediately find me.

“Ah, June texted me about you. You’re Adam, right?”

“Yeah,” I reply, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my reddened eyes and the half-empty beer in my hand. “That’s me.”

Instead of taking one of the empty chairs, Candice settles onto the couch directly beside me. Our legs touch as she sinks into the cushions, but there doesn’t seem to be any sexual reason for her seat choice. It’s just where there’s room. The casual physical contact feels strangely normal, as if personal space is a more fluid concept in this world.

“I’m Candice,” she says, slipping off her shoes with a sigh of relief that borders on indecent. She wiggles her toes in their sheer black socks. “God, today has been brutal.”

‘Does Connor fuck all four of these women?’ I think with a little drunken hint of jealousy. ‘I’m so happy his life is basically a hentai.’

Connor hands me the blunt. I take a beeg yoshi hit, feeling the smoke fill my lungs, the familiar burn that precedes the floating sensation I’ve been chasing all evening. As I’m about to exhale, I realize I’m facing directly toward Candice, the matriarch of this strange household, and panic momentarily seizes me. I don’t want to blow smoke in her face within a minute of meeting her.

I swivel my head frantically, looking for somewhere to direct the growing pressure in my lungs. The only clear space is straight ahead, past Candice, toward the table. I lean forward awkwardly, turning my face away from her as I finally release the smoke in a thick, billowing cloud.

Candice laughs, the sound warm and rich. “Don’t worry, kid. This is an easy-going house,” she says, waving away my concern with a casual flick of her wrist. She holds her hand out expectantly. “Mind if I?”

I hand her the blunt, surprised when she takes it without hesitation. This woman who radiates maternal authority, who clearly commands respect from her daughters, takes a hit with the practiced ease of someone who’s been doing this for decades. She inhales deeply, holding the smoke for an impressive count before releasing it in a controlled stream toward the ceiling.

“Sometimes you need to unwind.” She says as she hands the blunt back to me.

She leans back in her seat and stretches, arms extending above her head, her spine arching slightly against the cushions. The movement pulls her sweater taut across her chest, emphasizing the generous curve of her cleavage. I can’t help but notice how attractive she is, not in the intimidating, dangerous way Caterina was, but in a warm, approachable, mommy way.

I quickly take a sip of my beer as I look away, not wanting to be caught staring. The beer bottle is emptied, the last drops sliding down my throat as I tip it back.

Connor leans in close, his lips nearly touching my ear as he whispers, “I’ve never done anything with her if you want to try.” His voice is so low I can barely hear him despite our proximity. “She’s single, you know.”

Heat rushes to my face, the blush spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. The weed makes it impossible to hide my reaction, my face betraying every emotion as it flits across my consciousness.

“I’m not sure tonight’s the night for me,” I whisper back.

Connor nods, accepting my answer without issue. “Yeah, dude, no pressure,” he says, leaning back into his spot where June immediately curls against him. “Just letting you know the lay of the land.”

I put down my finished beer, the glass bottle making a dull thud as it meets the wooden coffee table.

June notices immediately. “Do you want another?” she asks, already half-rising from her spot beside Connor.

“I can get it,” I say, my words coming out slower than I intended.

“No, no,” June insists, waving me back down with a gentle but firm hand gesture. “You’re our guest.”

As she disappears into the kitchen, I sink deeper into the cushions, feeling the soft fabric embrace me like a cloud. The couch seems to be swallowing me whole, and I’m completely fine with it. My limbs feel heavy and weightless at the same time, a paradox my stoned brain finds endlessly fascinating.

“Man,” I murmur to no one in particular, “I wish every day could be like this.”

Candice turns to look at me, her head tilting slightly as she takes in my glazed expression. Her concern breaks through the haze of my high.

“You girls aren’t getting him this fucked up on purpose, right?” she asks, her tone carrying a note of genuine worry beneath its casual exterior.

April scoffs from her armchair, the sound sharp and dismissive. “Like I’d risk losing Connor over anything,” she says, her eyes darting to Connor with naked possessiveness before returning to her mother. “We’re not idiots.”

“Same,” Gabby chimes in from her place on the floor. She looks up at Connor with adoration that would be comical if it weren’t so genuine. “He’s way too important.”

June returns with my beer, the bottle sweating with condensation that leaves a cool trail on my fingers as she passes it to me. She settles back beside Connor, nestling into his side with practiced ease.

“We wouldn’t do that,” she assures her mother, laughing softly as she turns to press her lips against Connor’s jaw. The kiss lingers, becoming something more intimate as Connor turns to meet her mouth with his.

Candice watches them for a moment, a mixture of resignation and fondness playing across her features. She turns back to me, tapping my knee lightly with her fingertips.

“I raised good, loyal daughters,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of pride despite the unusual situation.

I stare at her, the weed making my thoughts stronger and more feral. My eyes begin to burn outwardly.

“The bugs in my skin don’t know what you mean by that,” I say with absolute conviction, my voice deadly serious as I lock eyes with Candice.

The room falls silent for a beat, everyone frozen in various positions of relaxation as my bizarre statement hangs in the air. Then Connor erupts into laughter, sputtering and coughing as June pats his back.

“Don’t listen to him,” Connor wheezes between gasps for air, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “He was the self-proclaimed hentai king back in the day.”

I’m unbothered by this betrayal, merely nodding sagely as if Connor has revealed some profound truth about the universe rather than my embarrassing past obsession.

April snorts, her earlier suspicion momentarily forgotten as she doubles over in her armchair. “The hentai king?” she repeats, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “Like, with the tentacles and shit?”

“It was more moth girls. for me.” I justify.

Gabby joins in, rolling onto her side on the floor, her body shaking with mirth. “Oh my god, that explains so much about you,” she manages between giggles, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.

Candice looks between her daughters and Connor, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s hen tie?” she asks, pronouncing each syllable with careful deliberation, completely butchering the word. “Is that some kind of food?”

This innocent question sends the room into another round of hysterics. Connor is practically convulsing now, clutching his stomach as if in pain from the force of his laughter. June has her face buried in a throw pillow, her shoulders shaking silently.

My stoned brain registers the absolute chaos I’ve caused, and I can’t help but join in, laughing until my sides ache.

As our laughter finally begins to subside, Gabby suddenly sits up straight, her eyes wide with inspiration. “Guys!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together with childlike excitement. “Let’s do shots!”

Before anyone can respond, she’s already scrambling to her feet, wobbling slightly as she finds her balance. “I’ll get the tequila,” she announces, pointing dramatically toward the kitchen like a general leading troops into battle.

The sound of cabinet doors opening and closing echoes from the kitchen, followed by the distinctive clink of glass against glass. Gabby returns moments later, triumphantly bearing a bottle of tequila in one hand and a stack of shot glasses in the other.

“Found ’em!” she declares, setting everything down on the coffee table with a flourish that nearly sends the glasses tumbling to the floor. She steadies them just in time.

Candice watches her daughter’s antics with amused tolerance, then turns back to me, her expression curious. “So, what exactly is hentai? No one actually answered me.”

The room falls quiet again, all eyes turning to me. The weed has obliterated my filter, so I don’t even consider deflecting.

“It’s like comic books from Japan,” I explain with the earnest sincerity of the deeply intoxicated, “about people fucking.”

Candice’s eyebrows shoot up, her cheeks coloring slightly at my blunt description. “Oh,” she says, blinking rapidly. “Uh, like porn?”

“Yeah,” I nod emphatically, pleased that she’s grasped the concept so quickly.

She laughs, the sound warm and rich, not judgmental in the slightest. “You didn’t strike me as the type of guy to like porn,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she studies my face with newfound curiosity.

“That is insane,” I respond without hesitation, my voice rising with indignation.

Gabby is pouring tequila with the intense concentration of a bomb technician defusing an explosive. Her tongue pokes out slightly between her lips as she fills each glass to the exact same level, occasionally pausing to check her work with one eye closed for better depth perception.

“Perfect,” she declares, setting the bottle down with a decisive thunk. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on me with sudden intensity. “Adam gets first pick since he’s the guest.”

I lean forward, studying the identical shot glasses as if they might contain different liquids despite having watched Gabby pour them all from the same bottle. The weed has me convinced this is a serious decision requiring careful consideration.

“This one,” I finally announce, selecting a glass from the middle of the lineup. I lift it carefully, admiring how the amber liquid catches the light. “It’s speaking to me.”

Everyone else grabs one, Candice’s arm brushing against my chest as she pulls back. I hold up my glass triumphantly. “To Moth girl Hentai!” I declare with gusto.

“To Tentacles!” Connor yells, raising his shot high.

We down them in unison, the tequila burning a fiery path down my throat and settling warmly in my stomach. The room erupts into cheers, Gabby immediately reaching for the bottle to refill our glasses.

“Round two!” she crows, her enthusiasm undampened by the alcohol or impending hangovers.

“Oh fuck we’re really going for it tonight, aren’t we,” I ask with feigned fear.

Candice looks at me with concern. “It’s okay to stop if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“No, I’m just so happy, is all.”

*****

I’m so fucking high right now. And drunk. So drunk. The room keeps tilting at weird angles, and I’m pretty sure gravity is working differently on different parts of my body. My head feels like it’s floating six inches above my neck while my ass is somehow melting into the couch cushions.

The Harper family living room has transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. The lamp in the corner is pulsing with a soft golden glow that seems to breathe in time with my heartbeat. Someone put on music at some point, something with a deep bass that I can feel vibrating through the floorboards and up into my bones.

My head lolls to the left, and through the haze of tequila and weed smoke, I see a scene that my brain takes several long seconds to process.

Connor is sinking deeper into the cushions, his head thrown back against the couch, eyes half-closed in pleasure. April and June are on either side of him, taking turns capturing his mouth in deep, passionate kisses. June’s hand is tangled in his hair, while April’s fingers trace patterns on his chest, slowly working their way down his torso. Meanwhile, Gabby kneels on the floor between his legs, her fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, clumsy with intoxication but determined in her mission.

“For Christ’s sake, girls!” Candice’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain, exasperation tinged with resignation. “We have company!”

I blink slowly, turning to find Candice still beside me on the couch, looking at her daughters with what can only be described as motherly disapproval mixed with the tired acceptance of someone who’s seen this scene play out many times before.

“Take it to one of your rooms,” she continues, waving her hand dismissively at them. “This poor boy doesn’t need to see all this.”

“Is this what they’re like every night?” I ask, surprised.

Candice sighs deeply, taking another sip from her glass before nodding. “Yup. Every. Single. Night.”

I’ll go to bed first, “I say, intending to saunter my way to sleep.

Connor’s head snaps up, his eyes widening. “Wait, wait. Uhhh...” He pauses, his expression shifting from cool to something more calculated. He leans down, whispering something into Gabby’s ear that I can’t quite catch over the music.

Gabby pulls back slightly, her curly hair falling across her flushed face. “Is that what you want?” she asks him, her voice carrying a note of curiosity rather than judgment.

Connor nods a slow, deliberate movement that seems to take more concentration than it should.

“Sure, I’d be fine with that,” Gabby replies, her lips curving into a mischievous smile that transforms her entire face.

Connor clears his drunken throat and turns to me, his words coming out in an awkward stutter. “If you want, we could maybe, uhh...” He trails off, looking suddenly unsure of himself, a rarity for the Connor I know.

Gabby rolls her eyes at his hesitation. “He’s asking if you want to double-team me with him,” she announces bluntly, cutting through Connor’s awkwardness with characteristic directness.

I feel my jaw drop, surprise washing over me in a warm wave that has nothing to do with the alcohol or weed. Beside me, Candice lets out an audible gasp but says nothing else, her eyes darting between me and her youngest daughter.

“Just like, you know,” Connor continues, finding his voice again, “it might be fun. Just two best friends sharing a girl...” He shrugs, trying to appear casual despite the obvious tension in his shoulders.

I really consider it. The room seems to hold its breath as I weigh my options, my alcohol-soaked brain processing the proposition with agonizing slowness. I’m rock-hard in my jeans, a fact I’m painfully aware of, but something holds me back. Images of Caterina flash through my mind, her crimson eyes, her dangerous smile, the way she made me feel both terrified and alive.

‘If she found out, she’d flay them all.’

“I’m sorry, man,” I finally say, shaking my head slowly. “I don’t think I’m in a good head space for that. The whole Cat thing, you know?”

Gabby sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the floor with theatrical disappointment. “Shucks, there goes my best chance to be locked up like a Chinese finger trap,” she laments, staring at the ceiling as if it’s personally betrayed her.

Connor looks at me, his blue eyes softening with understanding.

“Hey dude, I completely get it,” he says, his voice gentle and sincere despite his drunken state. He reaches across the space between us to clasp my shoulder, his fingers squeezing with reassurance. “No pressure at all. I just thought...” He trails off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here, man. Safe.”

The genuine concern in his voice cuts through my intoxicated haze, reminding me of all the times Connor has had my back over the years.

I smile, feeling a wave of affection for my best friend. “Go have fun, man,” I tell him, making a shooing motion with my hand. “I want you to be happy too.”

Connor’s face breaks into a grin that lights up his entire face. “Thanks, man,” he says, already being tugged to his feet by an impatient April.

June and April each take one of Connor’s arms, guiding him toward the bedrooms with practiced coordination despite their own inebriated state. Gabby follows close behind, her fingers already working at the buttons of her own shirt, her disappointment apparently forgotten in the anticipation of what’s to come.

As they disappear down the hall, giggles and whispered instructions floating down behind them, I sigh deeply and plant my hands on my knees, preparing for the monumental task of standing upright.

“Well, I should head to bed too,” I announce to no one in particular, my voice slurring slightly around the edges.

I push myself up from the couch, my legs wobbling beneath me like a newborn colt’s. The room tilts alarmingly, the floor seeming to rise up to meet me as I stumble forward. My shin connects with the edge of the coffee table, and I pitch forward.

“Whoa there!” Candice exclaims, her reflexes surprisingly quick as she lunges forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me back down to the couch with surprising strength. I land heavily beside her, the cushions bouncing beneath our combined weight. “You’re in no state to walk right now. Hold on.”

Her hand remains on my arm, warm and steady, an anchor in the spinning room. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but everything remains slightly blurred at the edges, reality smearing like watercolors.

The tequila and weed have formed an unholy alliance in my bloodstream, making simple tasks like sitting upright require intense concentration. I find myself leaning slightly toward Candice, drawn by the stability she offers in my swaying world.

The room seems to shift and contract around us, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow that makes Candice’s skin look impossibly smooth. My eyes drift to her face, taking in the gentle creases at the corners of her eyes, the slight upward tilt of her nose, the fullness of her lips painted a soft pink that catches the light when she speaks.

“I really shouldn’t, Candice,” I hear myself say, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m refusing. My voice sounds distant and foreign like it’s coming from someone else entirely.

She laughs, the sound warm and rich with notes of honey and smoke, her head tilting back slightly to expose the elegant line of her throat.

“I’m not trying anything, kid,” she says with a flirty laugh that sends a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the room. “Just making sure you don’t crack your head open on my coffee table. What kind of host would I be then?”

“Good,” I say, hardly masking my disappointment.

‘No, this is for the best.’ I see through the horny in my drunken haze. ‘Cat really would end the family if she ever found out if I slept with Candice.’

*****

[Maddy’s POV]

I walk out of the elevator into Caterina’s penthouse and freeze in the doorway, stunned by the devastation before me. The immaculate space that normally radiates controlled power has been transformed into a war zone. Shattered crystal glitters across the marble floors like diamond dust. The antique Italian vase that once stood in the entryway lies in pieces, water, and crushed roses spreading in a dark stain across the white carpet.

And in the center of this hurricane stands Caterina, her golden hair wild around her face, her white suit jacket discarded, her silk blouse half-untucked and splattered with what looks like red wine. She’s gripping the edge of an overturned coffee table, her knuckles white with tension.

“Boss?” I say, my voice unnaturally calm, even to my own ears. Years of practice have taught me how to maintain composure when Caterina loses hers. “What’s going on?”

She whirls toward me, and I nearly take a step back. Her crimson eyes are wide, pupils dilated with a fury that borders on madness. There’s a wildness to her I’ve rarely seen, not even during the bloodiest takeovers or most brutal interrogations.

“ADAM IS GONE!” she screams, her voice raw as if she’s been shouting for hours. She hurls a crystal tumbler against the wall where it explodes into glittering fragments. “HE’S FUCKING GONE, MADDY!”

I feel mortified, my stomach dropping to my feet as the implications sink in. Adam, the soft-spoken man who somehow managed to capture Caterina’s obsessive attention, has vanished. The man she’s been possessively guarding for weeks. The man who witnessed Camila’s punishment yesterday.

‘This is bad. Very, very bad.’

“When did you notice?” I ask, slipping fully into crisis management mode as I pick my way through the debris toward her.

“An hour ago,” she snarls, pacing like a caged predator. Her heel crunches on broken glass, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I came home early to surprise him. Thought he might still be upset about yesterday.” Her laugh is sharp and humorless. “Turns out he was more than upset. He was fucking planning his escape!”

She kicks at a fallen lamp, sending it skidding across the floor to crash against the baseboard.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I GAVE HIM ANY FUCKING FREEDOM. I JUST WANTED HIM TO LOVE ME. I AM GOING TO FUCKING RUIN HIM WHEN I FIND HIM.” Her fury knows no bounds as she screams.

‘Fuck.’

“I’ll check the security cameras,” I offer, already reaching for my tablet.

Caterina shakes her head, eyes flashing dangerously. “Lara is already on that.” She stalks toward me, movements jerky with barely contained violence. “She’s checking every camera in the building, street feeds, everything. If he’s on video, she’ll find him.”

She hands me his phone, the sleek device cool against my palm. “Go through this. Find something. I’m too angry to process this shit right now.”

I nod, tucking the phone into my pocket as Caterina stalks toward her bedroom, her shoulders rigid with tension. She pauses at the doorway, not turning around.

“And call someone to clean up this fucking mess,” she orders, her voice hollow despite the venom in her words.

The bedroom door slams behind her with enough force to rattle the remaining intact artwork on the walls. Through the thick wood, I hear a guttural scream of rage, followed by the sound of something heavy being thrown. Another crash. More breaking glass.

“Adam is fucked.” I whisper to myself.

Candice: