SIX
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #28:
Guilt is useless unless you learn from it.
ALISTAIR
The lights hurt my eyes. The raucous cheers make me homicidal. And Celine’s swaying ass as she storms away from me casts everything my thoughtless words have cost me into sharp relief.
Celine opens the door to the storage room, and I follow her inside, inhaling deeply.
If I try hard enough, I can still see us in here all those weeks agowhen my fingers mapped her curves for the first time. Her eyes were locked on mine and glazed with pleasure. Tonight, she looks right through me. Like we were nothing.
“Angel,” I breathe. “Please allow me to apologize.”
“Go for it,” she says, her words crisp.
My heart skips a beat, and I reach for her, only to run into a briskly delivered stiff-arm.
“But... I-I thought,” I sputter, my hope turning to dust even as my throat burns.
“Thought what?” Celine snaps. “That one flimsy apology would erase what you said?”
She gestures to her metallic, shimmery lingerie, then jerks her thumb at the closed door. “Out there, under those lights, on that stage, I work. I like to dance. It makes me feel powerful, and you’ve proven you can’t handle that. You can apologize all you want, Alistair, but unless you can convince me you didn’t mean what you said—and we both know you did—then we’ve got nothing left to talk about.”
I capture her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “No,” I whisper, defeat churning low in my belly. “I didn’t mean a single godsdamned word—I was angry.”
“We have that in common,” she says.
What can I say to make it better?No words are right. I swallow them all—it’s what I should have done last night—and marinate in my misery.
My fingers ache to drag Celine into my arms. I want to make her so wild for me she forgets every stupid thing I’ve ever said. How many orgasms would it take to make her forget?
She stares at me, chin rigid, chest heaving as the bass rattles the closed door. I’ve never felt this far away from her. I won’t win her back tonight, but if she thinks I’m giving up...
“The owner of the Mouth of Hell is willing to meet with you tomorrow before the fight,” I say. “She didn’t reveal any details, but I poked around anyway. You’ll have to fight someone she thinks you can’t beat. If you succeed, you’ll be added to the rotation.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there,” she says.
Celine’s eyes spark with excitement, none of it focused on me. I look past her shoulders, hoping her wings will give me a better idea of what she’s feeling. They aren’t there.
A flicker of hope runs through me. “Where are your wings?” Iask. If she’s hiding them from me, she doesn’t want them to give her away.
The excitement in her eyes dims, and she levels me with a flat stare. “They didn’t go with my outfit.” She spins to leave, and my fingers twitch. With her hand on the doorknob, Celine freezes. “There won’t be any more attempts on your life. If you stay away from me, you’re safe to go on as you were before you got dragged into this mess.”
No! Absolutely fucking not. Stay away from my angel? Only if I’m dead.
I reach for her because I can’t hold off any longer.
My fingers curl around nothing but air; she’s already gone. My mind races as I replay what she said. If Celine thinks I’m no longer in danger... I’ve missed something important.
She wasn’t interested in explaining, but I know a hazel-eyed killer who will.
“He’s her what?” I snarl.
“You heard me, Ali.” Luca tosses me an unimpressed look. “You picked an ideal fucking time to be a stupid, jealous fuck—you know that?”
Heat ripples off the alley pavement even though the sun abandoned the Fringes hours ago. The air is thick with spilled beer and my growing anger.
