Page 93 of Trigger Happy Ending

Of course he wants me to drink more. Men like Alex want their women totally bombed and unable to make sound decisions. Easier to control that way.

“No, thank you,” I reply, voice smooth. "I'm one and done."

He laughs, and says, "No, you're not."

He signals to the bartender for two more drinks.

Alex's eyes travel down the line of my body, undressing me with his beady eyes. It's invasive, but I let him. It’s the role after all, but my stomach fucking turns. The last guy who looked at me like this? I smashed his face into the bar and broke his nose. God, that was fun.

"You look better without that blonde wig." Alex offers.

I tilt my head and raise a brow, like I give a shit what he thinks.

"You look more … " His eyes track slowly down my body, lingering where the split in my dress bares my thigh. He takes a sip of his drink without looking away. “What’s the word in English?” His mouth parts and his tongue darts out, running along his bottom lip. “Raunchy.”

Bile crawls up my throat.

"But," he murmurs, rough fingers now brushing down my bare arm, "you already know that, don't you?"

The touch is light, but there’s nothing gentle about it. Men like Alex do this. They start small. A hand on your leg, or arm. Women will let it go, because heaven forbid we tell a man to get their fucking hands of us. But the problem of letting these small, micro-movements slide? It becomes more predatory over time. A graze of a breast. A hand on your ass. They push, inch by inch, til they get what they want.

And, unfortunately for me, I need to let it all slide and sit pretty. Remain in complete character, even though rage coils deep within the pit of stomach.

"So," Alex slurs, hand now skimming my waist. "I have a question for you. "

He leans in close, and that god-awful cologne hits me full force, hitting the back of my throat. His chapped lips graze my ear.

“You ever been fucked by a real man?”

Jesus Christ. Forward much?

The demon inside me shrieks at the audacity. My mind lights up in violence thinking of all the ways I could hurt him. I could glass him. Smash the cocktail glass against his temple, then bury the stem in his throat before he even knows what's happening.

“Hey,” Alex snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You listening to me?”

“Hm?” I offer, taking a sip of my cocktail.

His mouth tightens into a thin line, unimpressed he has to repeat himself. “I asked if you’ve ever been fucked by a real man?”

“She has,” a deep voice answers from behind. “And she still is.”

I swallow a smile as Alex’s eyes lift over my shoulder. Irritation is instant and rolls off him like an ocean wave.

I spin my body around to see my favorite face in the world.

Soren. Lukas. God. Lucifer. Doesn’t matter, in all iterations, in all versions, he’s to die for. Especially in an all-black suit with leather accents and violence in his eyes.

“Angel.”

“Lukas.”

Alex doesn’t move, choosing to talk over me. “We’re talking.”

“No,” Soren replies, stepping closer. “You’re done.”

The air tightens around us. Have you ever seen footage of the Appalachian forest, right before a skinwalker appears? The forest goes deathly still. They say the animals flee because they sense the predators. No birds, no insects, not one sound. Just utter stillness. And then all hell breaks loose.

Well, this moment is kinda like that.