“No.” His voice is pure steel. “This is self-control.”
I scoff, too loud. “You touch me like that and then cut me off? You’ve got some nerve.”
His mouth curves into a smirk that promises things I’m not ready to admit I want. He steps close enough for the heat to spark again, for my breath to catch. “Did you really think I was going to fuck you tonight?”
My laugh is jagged, defensive. “It wasn’t on the agenda—untilthat.” I motion toward the island like it proves my point.
He leans in, voice dropping to a dark whisper that coils low in my belly. “Don’t worry, Angel. I’ll fuck you again.” His eyes glint with wicked certainty. “But not until I know exactly who you are.”
The air between us thickens, charged and cruel, before he turns and heads for the elevator—leaving me flushed, furious, and not sure which one of us just walked away the victor.
I wake tangledin hotel sheets that smell faintly of bleach and leftover frustration.
The night before plays on a loop I can’t silence—his mouth crushing into mine, his hands gripping my thighs, the heat between us rising to a merciless boil…only for him to walk away as if it hadn’t cracked something wide open. He fed me. Spoke in half-truths. Kissed me until my own name slipped from my mind. And then left me aching, angry, and unsatisfied in every way that matters.
The ride back had been silent. No judgment about the hotel he dropped me off at, no pointed comments about the fact that it wasn’t the kind of place he’d ever set foot in. He simply pulled to the curb, opened my door, and gave me one word:Goodnight.Then he leaned against the car, arms crossed, watching until I disappeared inside.
I hadn’t even tried to resist the fire inside me once I got to my room. I crawled beneath the sheets, my hand sliding between my thighs with the desperation of someone parched, searching for relief. I chased it with the ghost of his mouth, the growl of his voice, the memory of Detroit. He saidnolast night, but my body had burned anyway.
Now, morning light filters through the heavy curtains. I sit up, legs heavy, and press my feet into the carpet as if it mightanchor me. It doesn’t. The ache still lingers, pulsing, a reminder of everything he denied me.
I drag a breath into my lungs and shove my hair out of my face. Work tonight will demand a mask I don’t feel ready to wear. But before that, I need to see Declan.
I push to my feet, bare skin prickling against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. I twist the shower knob, wait for steam to cloud the mirror, and then step beneath the spray. Hot water pours down my shoulders, across my back, but it does nothing to rinse away the sensation of him.
The cab ride feels endless,each red light stretching into eternity. By the time the hospital comes into view, my stomach knots so tight I can barely breathe.
Hospitals are quieter in the morning. Not calm, but subdued. The kind of hush that presses against your skin and crawls up the back of your neck. Like the walls are waiting. Holding their breath. And I swear they know before anyone else when something breaks.
I slip past the front desk without a word. The nurse sees me, nods once, lets me pass. She remembers me from yesterday—whispering goodbyes to someone who wasn’t ready to go. I told her I’d be back early. She promised to look the other way.
But I only make it halfway down the ICU hallway before I feel it.
The air is wrong. Too still. Too heavy. A type of quiet that follows the end of something permanent.
And then I see Kelly. Slumped on the floor just outside room 718, her shoulders shaking, her hands covering her face. Her body rocks with each sob, like she’s trying to fold in on herself. Her hair’s a mess and yesterday’s mascara runs in thin, messy trails down her cheeks.
My pulse stumbles.
I already know. I don’t need her to say it. The absence pouring out of that room says everything.
Still, I walk to her on legs that don’t feel like mine. I kneel carefully, and reach out with a shaking hand.
She lifts her face at the movement, and the look in her eyes steals whatever was left of my breath.
“He’s gone,” she says. Her voice cracks in the middle. “Zara…he’s gone.”
Something inside me caves.
The rest of the world fades. My ears buzz, my chest hollows out, and it feels like the ground’s giving out beneath me.
I wrap my arms around her and hold on, as much for her as for myself. She breaks against me, sobbing into my shoulder, hands fisting my shirt like she’s drowning. I still can’t cry. It’s too soon. Too sudden.
He was my shield. The only softness I ever knew inside the brutal world we were born into. And now, he’s just…gone.
When Kelly’s phone rings, she pulls away and shakily answers, her voice breaking as she talks to her parents. I tell her I’ll stay with him for a minute.
But when I step into the room, the bed is already empty.
