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“Hey,” Slash said when I pushed his drink toward him as I started to turn away, his hand grabbing my wrist, stopping me from moving. “Nyx, come the fuck on,” he said in a low voice that only the two of us could hear.
“Come the fuck on… what?” I asked, feigning ignorance as I yanked my hand away from him, glancing around the room, making sure no one had seen him touching me, that no one was making conclusions about it.
When he said nothing, just gave me a look that was a mix of concerned, frustrated, and resigned, I turned and walked away.
“Chet, I’m getting some air,” I called, getting a distracted wave from him as he texted furiously on his phone.
I slammed my hand into the door to the side alley with more force than was necessary, moving out into the fresh air, taking a deep breath, hoping to ease the frazzled ends of my nerves.
I heard footsteps and felt fear grip my system, a snaking sensation that constricted around my stomach and throat in unison, squeezing out all my air, some part of me sure that some random Bulgarian crime leader was there to demand all of his heroin back right that moment.
But when my gaze went to the end of the alley, I saw a shadowy figure that, despite the bad visibility thanks to the busted streetlight, was achingly familiar.
“I came out here to be alone,” I called to him.
“Too fucking bad,” he shot back, staring down the alley toward me.
I knew what I was supposed to do.
Turn and head back into the bar.
But I couldn’t seem to force my feet to move. I couldn’t even find an ounce of motivation to make me want to walk away.
“Talk to me,” Slash demanded as he stalked down the alley toward me. A big, shadowed, intimidating figure with a voice that would make most women cower.
The thing was, I knew Slash was just about the last man in the world I had to worry about hurting me. Even if he was angry.
“No.”
“Nyx, what the fuck? You look like you haven’t slept in a fucking week. You’re jumping at every loud noise. The fuck is going on?”
“What? I’m not allowed to be a little off my game? Have a touch of insomnia?” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“It’s deeper than that.”
“How the hell would you know? You don’t know me,” I told him, jerking my chin up as he moved to stand in front of me, towering over me.
“Yeah, I do.”
“What? Because we’ve fucked a few times, you’re now an expert? Got a PhD in me now?”
“That bitchy shield you like to throw up, it isn’t fucking fooling me.”
“Really? That seemed like your best move here? Calling me a bitch?”
“Didn’t call you a bitch.”
“Just… go, Slash. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“You need to fucking talk to someone before you implode,” he shot back.
“Why do you even care?” I snapped. “If I implode, explode, what do you care? We just fuck. That’s it. And we haven’t even done that since you—“
Whoa.
No.
Nope.
