Page 115 of Tar City

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“So, what’s it gonna be, Riot?”

“I’m gonna stick to my original bet.”

“Oh, ok.”

“But I’m adding something.”

“What?”

“You move in with me.”

“What?” The word comes out small.

He doesn’t smile now. “You heard me.”

I push off the corner, folding my arms. “That’s not a bet. That’s a life decision.”

“I know.”

A chain clinks somewhere above us.

“You don’t even like me,” I blurt out.

He frowns. “That’s not true.”

“You tolerate me, you want to fuck me. You manage me. But you don’t like me. The last time I showed up at your bar, youkicked me out in under five minutes. And now you want me to move in?”

“You’ve already been sleeping at my place.”

“That was because I was hurt,” I snap. “That wasn’t… this.”

“I’m not proposing fucking marriage,” he grunts.

I search his face for the joke. The backpedal. The grin. There’s none.

“You want me under your roof because you want to control me.”

“No,” he says immediately. “I know I can’t.”

“I don’t do safe,” I tell him. “I don’t do rules. I don’t do being handled. I’m free. You said that yourself. Rabbit, remember? Free.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s why I?—”

He stops.

“What?”

“That’s what I want. Those are my terms.”

I laugh once. “You’re insane.”

“You already knew that. And you get off on it. I’m sure if I reach out I’ll find your panties soaked. Your cunt dripping for me.”

To prove his point, he lifts his hand, his fingers snapping in a sharp, confident gesture in the air between us. There’s a faint, almost imperceptible twang from inside my jeans, like a rubber band being pulled to its breaking point and letting go. A stinging sensation on my hips makes me flinch. My eyes go wide. His go wide.

Hanging from his fingers, dangling like a prize, are my black lace panties. The sides are visibly torn, the delicate elastic shredded. We both stare at them for a full second, frozen in shock. Then he laughs, a sound of disbelief and dark amusement. He brings the ruined lace to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Something finally fucking useful from this curse,” he rumbles as he pockets them like a trophy.