Aeri’s got bigger balls than Mark, and I can’t lie about what that does to me.
It’s got my attention now.
Mark’s already on borrowed time. He just doesn’t know how short it is yet. I’ll deal with him before the night’s over. There’s no version of this where he walks away clean.
But first, I’m finding her.
I don’t like that it’s the priority. I don’t like that it’s pulling louder than it should. I don’t like that Mark gets to keep breathing a little longer because of it.
Doesn’t matter.
I’ll find her. Then I’ll come back and finish what he fucking started.
Because there’s something else coiled tight in my chest right now, something hot and restless that I can already tell killing won’t fix fast enough. A pressure that needs somewhere to go, somewhere sharp, close and real, and I know exactly where it’s headed.
I slip back into the crowd, mask on, heart-eyes glowing, letting the bass swallow me again. People shove past, laughing and grinding against each other. I scan for red, for Kross’s mask. For the girl who stood her ground and didn’t fucking blink.
I need to find her before this spills the wrong way. Before I do something I can’t walk back from. Because if I don’t get this out of my system soon. This edge, this pull, this need to put my hands on something instead of a throat—I’m going to make a mess, and I don’t make messes.
Not when there’s a better option.
I move deeper into the chaos, already hunting, and locked the fuck in.
Mark can wait.
Right now, I needher.
Our little valentine.
5
AERI
Fantastic.
Just absolutely fucking fantastic.
Because nothing really tops a girls’ night meant to erase your cheating, trash-fire ex like him showing up and deciding he still gets opinions on my body, my choices, and my existence, while my nervous system is still buzzing from almost getting stabbed by a masked psycho whoalmostkissed me instead.
Close enough that I felt his breath, and my body forgot a normal person would be scared and instead it did something really fucking inconvenient about it.
I shove through the crowd hard enough to earn a few annoyed looks I don’t bother acknowledging. My shoulders are tight, jaw locked, skin buzzing like my nerves haven’t caught up with the fact that I’m technically safe and no longer pinned against brick with a blade at my throat.
Mark’s voice keeps echoing anyway—not the specifics, just the entitlement. The absolute fucking nerve of him showing up tonight and acting offended that I was drawing male attention, like he didn’t spend our “committed relationship” sticking hisdick in anything that smiled back at him. Like loyalty was something he expected from me while he treated monogamy like a joke he never bothered to learn the punchline to.
He really stood there, running his mouth after all that, looking at me likeIwas the problem for being wanted.
The audacity is almost impressive. I say almost, because let's be honest, nothing about Mark is “impressive.”
I cut between two guys dancing like they’re having their own personal fucking dance off. One of them, a tall guy with dark hair, LED glasses and a neon fishnet muscle shirt, opens his mouth to complain, clocks my expression, and immediately decides against it.
Smart choice dude because tonight, I am not the fucking one.
My hands are shaking, but not in a fragile way. It’s the kind of aftershock you get when your body dumped everything it had into survival mode and hasn’t figured out what to do now that you’re upright, breathing, and still standing.
I tell myself it was just adrenaline.
Just a rush. A chemical spike from whatever cocktail is currently marinating my brain. A stress response that went sideways because, surprise, almost getting murdered by a masked psycho—Kross, I think the other one said his name was—isn’t exactly a normal weekend experience. Apparently when you mix danger, drugs, and a guy in a mask, with abs that look like they were carved by the gods themselves, and who looks at you like he’s deciding whether to kill you or kiss you, your body gets, well, confused?
