Across the warehouse, Ophelia’s now grinding against some tattooed asshole while Bianca cheers her on like Satan’s little assistant.
My vision blurs red instantly.
“She’s trying really hard to piss you off,” Rosie observes.
“It’s working,” I growl.
“You gonna stop her?” she asks as I stare at Ophelia for one long dangerous second before dragging my eyes away deliberately.
“No.” My voice hardens. “If she wants to act single, I’ll treat her like she is.”
The words that leave my mouth taste like poison, because deep down she could sleep beside another man every night for the rest of her life and some sick part of me would still think she belongs to me, and that’s the problem.
Firefly owns pieces of me she doesn’t even realize exists.
Rosie kisses my jaw slowly, taking me out of my thoughts. “Wanna get outta here soon?” she asks.
I should say no. I know I should but then I look back toward the dance floor and catch another guy sliding his hand beneath Ophelia’s shirt while she laughs drunkenly against his shoulder.
Something cold settles inside my chest.
Feral. Calculated. Observant.
Every motherfucker that touched her tonight is going to die. Maybe not right this second, but at some point, they will not breathe another ounce of air, and their blood will be on her hands.
The fucking black widow of Hillcreek Bay strikes again.
“Yeah,” I answer flatly. “Maybe I do.”
By two in the morning, I’m beyond pissed off.
Firefly is officially fucking hammered. Laughing too loud. Touching too many people. Pretending she’s having the time of her life when every glance she sneaks towards me screams otherwise.
And I’m no better.
Rosie’s practically glued to my side while people make comments of how good we look together. I let her sit in my lap. Let her kiss my neck while Firefly watches all of it.
Toxic.
Every bit of this is toxic, but neither of us stops, because hurting each other somehow feels easier than admitting we’re both hopelessly in love, and eventually, I’ve had enough.
“C’mon,” I mutter to Rosie while standing. She grins immediately.
“Your place?” And I nod.
Maybe fucking someone else will finally get Ophelia outta my head for five goddamn minutes.
Spoiler alert—it won’t.
As we head toward the warehouse exit, I hear it.
A moan.
Soft. Breathless.
Familiar enough to stop my heart cold.
Ophelia.
