An hour later, we arrive at Americana. Apparently, Velle knows people here, so he gets us a table in the back with little effort. There’s bottle service, but I’m sticking to water, despite the tiny voice inside urging me to self-sabotage. Fortunately for my sobriety, it’s not the loudest voice I’m currently using the loud music to drown out.
I consider ordering a Coke, but even the act of asking the cocktail waitress with the flirty eyes for it exhausts me. Joy’s friend, who I’m willing to bet works for The Ivory in some regard, shows up, and the next thing I know, pills are being popped, mass amounts of powder being vacuumed up nostrils, shots on shots on shots being ripped. It doesn’t take long for my coworkers to reach shit-cocked level, knocking things over, laughing and causing a ruckus, as they do. Inviting sexy strangers to join our private party.
Joy is on Jasper’s lap while he talks to someone I don’t know and she pours booze into Peters’s cup, sloshing it everywhere. Lucas is sniffing lines. Hancock is flirting with some girl while aguy, who I think is her husband, grinds into his ass like they’re making a body sandwich. And Velle is slumped back, looking bored and pissed and faded.
I’m guessing because Rook is nowhere to be found.
And as usual, I’m just sitting back, watching it all unfold. Up in my head, and hating it.
Sober, but still actively using.
Pulling out my phone, I go back to obsessively scouring Google. Reading anything and everything I can find about what happened today. Even the sources that hadn’t initially confirmed whether Dash was killed at the bank are now saying he was.
So I guess that’s it. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Dascha Reznikov is officially deceased.
Fitting, since he’s been haunting me for a while; a ghost I never knew.
I wonder about his family…Will they be devastated?
Does he even have any family?
They’re never mentioned in any of the news stories. Maybe he’s been on his own most of his life…Like me.
This setting, the distraction I’ve chosen… It’s not working.
I’m not distracted from shit.AllI can think about is my conversation with The Ivory earlier.
He didn’t say it outright, but I read between the lines.
Dascha Reznikov is coming to Alabaster Pen.
We’ll be sharing fucking oxygen, and I’m goddamn fuckingpanicking.
What am I going to do??
I can’t be around him… How can I??
A grainy black-and-whitepictureof him turned me feral. Whoknowswhat would happen if I were in the same room with him…
I shouldn’t feel soaffectedby the idea of being near him. He’s a killer.
He’s… dangerous.
Scrolling articles on my phone, I find the picture that started it all: Dash’s mugshot.
Biting my lip, I take it in, studying the symmetrical lines of his perfect face. He doesn’tlookscary… But the idea of coming face to face with him scares thebejesusout of me.
What would I do with someone like that…? A violent, cold-blooded murderer…
A stunning, sexy,deliciousmorsel of temptation.
God, I bet his body tastes like candy, and his voice sounds like a sweet melody when he’s rasping and purring and whining about howgoodit feels when I…
“Ugh,stop,” I grunt under my breath.
At that ravenous animal inside me that just won’tshut up.
“Hey,” Peters slurs by my ear, and I flinch. “So you sure… about that Daska kid?”
