But something inside me pulled me here. A quiet, aching thing I’d shoved down for too long.
That’s when I sawhim.He was a fire in the middle of it all. Burning too hot, too wild. Untamed. Unapologetic. A black star with a gravity all his own.
And me? I stood at the edge of that event horizon andleaned closer.I should’ve left. But I stepped inside instead.
Heat hit first, then the noise, followed by the smell—cheap alcohol, cologne, cigarette smoke, and a hundred years of desperation ground into the floorboards.
No one noticed me. Not at first. Not until I made it to the bar, brushing past bodies that reeked of Friday night delusions and the thrill of forgetting.
I ordered a scotch. Neat. The bartender didn’t blink—just poured, slid the glass my way.
That was when he looked at me. I felt his gaze like a punch to the chest. And I was incapable of looking away.
Up close, he was worse. Better. Devastating. He moved like sex and danger had a lovechild and then taught it how to swagger. Tattoos. Black curls. A mouth made for trouble. He wore his sins like armor, and I… I wanted to touch them.
He dragged a cigarette to his lips, lit it with the kind of leisure that should’ve been illegal. And smirked at me.
“Didn’t peg you for a Hollow kind of guy,” he said, smoke curling lazily between us.
His voice was gravel and velvet. And I hated how my body reacted to it. I swallowed my discomfort with a sip of scotch. “And I didn’t peg you for someone who made an entrance by setting the place on fire.”
His grin widened. “Stick around. I’ve got more matches.”
My traitorous heart stuttered. My mouth moved before I could stop it. “You’re new.”
His expression shifted, subtle. Eyes narrowing like I’d thrown cold water on him. “Wow. So much for flying under the radar.”
“I’m not here to judge,” I said quickly.
“Then what are you here for?” he taunted, the tip of his tongue teasing across his teeth. My dick twitched at the sexual move that came as easily as breathing to him. “Slumming it? Looking for blackmail material?
Good question. I didn’t really know what to say, anything but the truth. “Observation. Curiosity.” I let my gaze drop to his drink, then back to those storm-colored eyes. “Maybe a little damage control.”
He raised his glass in a mock salute, bitter amusement dancing on his lips. “You’re too late. The damage is already done.”
That hit harder than it should have. The echo of his words reverberated through my bones. I looked away for a beat, collecting myself. Because being near him made the mask I hid behind slip. And I couldn’t afford that—not here, not ever.
“You might want to pace yourself,” I said finally, softer this time. “Brookhaven Ridge has long memories.”
He laughed. It was sharp, real, and something I’d never heard at one of my parents’ galas.
“Good,” he said. “Let them remember me for something real.”
There was something under that—something bruised but still breathing. Something alive. I couldn’t look away from it—from him. I set my drink down. Straightened. My coat was still draped over one shoulder, even now. A reflex. A shield.
“I’ll see you around,” I offered all I could while starving myself of oxygen in his presence. “Try not to burn this place down before Monday.”
“Can’t promise that,” he murmured, cigarette between his lips.
I turned and walked away before I did something stupid. Like stay. Like lean in. Like want. I didn’t look back, because if I had, I might not have left. But I felt his eyes on me like a brand that would be forever etched into my skin.
The door swung shut behind me, cutting off the music, the laughter, the heat of him. I staggered to the railing, clutching it like a lifeline.
The night air was cold and sharp, like punishment. I sucked it down too fast, chest rising and falling like I’d just run a mile. My hand braced against the solid wood, palm scraping the rough, splintered edge. But it was the only thing grounding me. Because everything else was spinning.
He was all I saw—his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way helookedat me like I was a game he already knew how to win. Ipressed a hand to my sternum, fingers digging into my chest like I could physically hold it all in. The want. The shame. The need.
You can’t want this.
