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“What way? With truth?”
“They might not be stuck-up like your family, and they might have modest means because Father sends all his wealth back to India, but they’re good people. Kind and generous people. They’re so much better than you’re turning out to be.” I crossed my arms, hugging myself. The liquor I’d thrown back burned in my belly, making me nauseous. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you. You’re a nasty, spoiled brat who—”
“I’m nasty?!” He threw his hands up. “You’re the bitch here, not me. You’re the one who broke up with me on my motherfucking birthday!”
Ordinarily, I would take the high road and leave.
Tonight, I wanted to get dirty. “I gave you a blowjob before I did. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
He loomed over me so fast, so threateningly, a tiny tendril of fear unravelled. “You call that a blowjob? A half-hearted lick and—”
“You came. Don’t pretend it didn’t feel good—”
“I’m horny. You’ve been denying me for weeks. Of course I came. But don’t think it was because of your ‘skills’ because it most certainly wasn’t. You want the truth, Illness—”
“I told you not to call me that—”
“You haven’t been able to please me in bed for months. Sticking my cock in any part of you has become a chore. Even a blow-up doll would be able to pleasure me better.”
“Good grief, Sam.” My cheeks blazed, and my heart—that was well and truly over him—panged with shame.
He watched me as if he wanted to wring my neck in front of hundreds of people—as if he genuinely hated me.
“Look.” I sighed, doing my best to cling to my courage instead of giving in to the prickles of worry. “I’m sorry, okay? It was my fault this went so sour. My fault—”
“Of course, it’s your bloody fault. I hope you end up realising just how much this is your fault.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you deserve a whole world of pain for what you’ve done to me. You’ve made me the laughingstock of this club, dragged me all the way to France to dump me, and most likely expect me to walk you back to the hotel, watch you pack your bags, and then escort you back home.”
“I don’t expect any—”
“Well, I’m not doing it, got it?” His voice raised with rage. “I’m done. You’re not welcome back at the hotel. Go to the train station and sleep there for all I care. Get back to England on your own. I never want to see you again.”
“We share a flat back in Brixton, you idiot. I have to get my things.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll toss your rock collection into the garden. The snails can have ’em. And your clothes…well, I’m sure your perfect family can buy you—”
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Sam. I want my stuff. I can’t afford to replace everything.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you—”
Something white flew between us and slammed heavily against the bar, knocking over the rest of the forgotten shots, splashing liquor over my slinky top.
I cringed away, blinking to the side to see who dared throw—
I froze.
Him.
The demigod from before.
The man who sent lightning bolts of warning through my blood. I didn’t know if I should scream for help or beg for mercy.
His skin was darker up close—or was that because the lights had been turned down? Either way, his harsh bone structure and stunning eyes spoke of a blended heritage. Like me. His broody grey gaze locked piercingly on mine.
The club vanished. The deafening music paused.
