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He arched a manicured brow but didn't pry further. "What can I get you?"
"Double whiskey, neat."
I downed the first glass in one long pull, embracing the burn. By the third, some of the tension in my shoulders began to uncoil. I should've been fucking terrified after that encounter. And some distant part of me was. But the rest of me was...intrigued. Which was fifty shades of disturbing.
Who the hell was he? Mr. Tall, Dark and Criminal had some serious explaining to do once he showed up to collect on my drunken invitation. The smart thing would be to revoke my permission and lock him out for good. But when had I ever taken the smart path?
No, I wanted answers. Wanted to look into the eyes of the man who'd consumed my thoughts and turned my fantasies inside out. I had to know if the fire that blazed between us when he had me at his mercy could burn when we stood on equal ground, untethered.
The possibility left me dizzy with anger and a dangerous, addictive curiosity. I had to know where this would lead, even as a voice that sounded suspiciously like self-preservation screamed at me to run far and fast.
Instead, I lifted my glass in a mocking toast to the shadow that had marked me and drank until the doubts drowned in Tennessee whiskey and questionable choices. Tonight was beyond salvaging. All that was left now was to ride out this storm and brace myself for the wreckage to come.
As the last drop of whiskey slid down my throat, the bar's atmosphere shifted. The laughter and clinking glasses were replaced by a palpable tension that hung heavy in the room. Something was about to happen, something big.
Panic clung to the air like cigarette smoke, thick and suffocating. And then it hit me—the chaos, a discordant symphony of shouts and stampeding feet.
"Dammit," I muttered, pushing through the human current that surged toward the exit. My heart slammed against my ribs, an urgent drumbeat propelling me forward. "Aria!"
Every instinct screamed at me to bolt, to follow the terrified herd out into the relative safety of the Chicago night. But not without Aria. Not without the one person who'd stuck by me through all my crap.
"Move!" I barked, elbowing past a guy whose face was drained of color, his eyes wide with fear. Where the hell was she?
I careened around a toppled bar stool, my gaze scanning the dimly lit chaos for a hint of curly blue hair. The bar blurred into a nightmarish scene—overturned glasses, a lone high heel discarded on the floor, the stench of alcohol and sweat mingling with something sharper, more acrid.
"Fuck this," I growled under my breath, feeling the familiar terror trying to claw its way up my throat. I wouldn't let it win. Not tonight.
The women's bathroom door loomed ahead, its pink neon sign flickering like a beacon in the smoky darkness. I barreled through, my heart lodged somewhere between hope and dread.
"Please be okay, please be—" The words died in my throat, strangled by the horror that unfolded before my eyes.
"Holy shit...." The curse was a whisper, a feeble attempt to give voice to the unspeakable scene laid out in the harsh fluorescent light.
I staggered closer, my feet betraying me with their insistence on moving toward the grotesque mess before me. There she was, Aria, once vibrant and brimming with life—now just... not. My brain couldn't process it fast enough; it was like trying to read a book while someone shredded the pages.
"Justice is Blind" – the words were etched into her once-flawless dark skin, a sick fucking mockery of a tattoo. Aria, who'd never hurt a soul, now a canvas for some psycho's twisted art show. If this was justice, then I was the goddamn Queen of England.
Time seemed to distort, stretching the seconds into lifetimes as I stood rooted to the spot. It wasn't supposed to end like this—not for Aria. Not for the girl who laughed too loud and loved too hard, who'd been my anchor in a sea of fucked-up desires and darker cravings.
"Shit, shit, shit..." The curse was a whisper at first, crescendoing into a mantra that pounded in my skull with each thunderous beat of my heart. I felt my insides churn, the acrid taste of bile rising in my throat. This was fear in its purest form, the kind that grips you by the balls—or ovaries—and doesn't let go.
Aria, my confidant, the girl who could turn any frown upside down, was gone. And in her place? A message carved into her flesh. My mind raced, thoughts darting like cockroaches when the lights flick on. Was this because of me? Because of my fucked-up stalker and the dark, perverse dance we were tangled in?
"Who does this?" I screamed at the top of my lungs, the anger flaring up, licking at my insides. "Who the fuck thinks they can play God?"
But there were no answers, only the ghostly silence of the bathroom and the thudding of my pulse echoing in my ears. I wanted to scream, to tear the place apart, but my body had other plans. It betrayed me, strength draining away as if someone had pulled the plug on my will to stand.
And then, the room tilted—a funhouse effect minus the fun—as reality became a distant concept. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, my eyelids suddenly too heavy, the weight of the horror pressing down on me until I couldn’t bear it any more.
I crumpled to the floor, the cold tile against my cheek a stark contrast to the heat flooding my body. The last thing I registered was the distant sound of chaos beyond the door, muffled like we were underwater.
Then nothing.
Blackness swallowed me whole, a fitting end to a chapter that should have been penned in blood rather than ink. And to be honest, I hoped that I’d never wake up.
Chapter 17
Celeste
