Chapter 16

AVERY – 

The bass thrums low beneath the chatter and clinking glasses, and the lights paint everything in soft pinks and moody purples. People move like they’ve got nowhere to be and nothing to prove. It’s the kind of easy atmosphere I usually crave, but tonight it feels like a costume I forgot how to wear.

I’m on my second drink, something sugary and forgettable, but it’s doing its job of putting a soft, blurry edge on the sharp corners in my mind.

Eli’s already locked onto a tall guy in a sleeveless black tee, tattoos down both arms and a jaw that could cut glass. It’s mutual. They’ve been eye-fucking since we walked in. When he turns to me, his expression a silent question he doesn’t need to ask, I just grin and lift my glass. “Go on. Me and my cocktail are fine here.”

He touches my arm – a brief, warm pressure – before vanishing into the crowd. I know I won’t see him again unless I physically drag him home.

I turn back to the bar, letting the music vibrate through the stool. The sugar from the drink coats my tongue, but it can’t sweeten the bitter thought creeping in: What the hell am I doing here?

I could be home. In bed. Curled up with Juno and my usual playlist and the suffocating, familiar ache of her. At least that pain is honest.

Instead, I’m here, performing. Trying to pretend I’m someone who wants this – the noise, the anonymity, the promise of a stranger’s hands.

Before I can sink any deeper, someone steps into my space.

“Are you alone?” a voice asks – smooth, smoky, but laced with a playful confidence that feels entirely uncomplicated.

I turn to face her.

She’s gorgeous. A spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, lips stained a deep berry red. Her eyes are a startling, bright blue, framed by long, dark lashes. She’s wearing a soft silk tank and leather pants that fit her like a second skin.

I glance over at Eli. He and his new obsession are already tangled in a booth, lost to the world.

I offer a faint, polite smile and nod. “Kinda.”

The woman tilts her head, a warm, open grin spreading across her face. “Good. Can I buy you a drink?”

I hesitate just long enough to feel the weight of the choice.

This is it. This is the off-ramp. This woman is the opposite of Victoria. She’s bright, approachable, and present. She’s not looking at me like she wants to unravel me down to my core. She’s looking at me like she wants to flirt, have a good time, and maybe take me home.

It’s safe. It’s simple. It’s everything I thought I wanted when I walked in here.

So why does the idea of saying yes feel like I’m breaking a promise I never actually made?

***

VICTORIA –

I’ve been driving for nearly an hour, the city lights bleeding into streaks of gold and red. The body is gone by now, collected by my team to be disposed of in a way that ensures he’ll never be more than a cold case, a man who vanished. The job is done. Clean.

It should feel satisfying. A weight lifted, a balance restored.

But the pressure in my chest only tightens.

I don’t head to the club to debrief. Instead, I pull over in a shadowed alley and kill the engine. The sudden silence is a physical presence. I sit there, fingers going cold on the steering wheel, trying to gather my thoughts. Before I can, my hand moves on its own, reaching into my coat for my phone. A tap on the screen, and the map illuminates the dark car.

There it is. Her location.

A single, pulsing blue dot downtown. Not at her apartment. Not safe with Juno.

Of course she’s not. It’s Friday night. She’s young, alive, beautiful. Why would she be anywhere else?

Don’t ask me how I have it – her location. The methods are not for polite conversation. Let’s just say I believe in due diligence. In insurance.

Knowing where she is… it’s a tactical advantage. It has to be. It’s not obsession. It’s precaution. The world is full of men like the one I just put in the ground, men who see a woman alone as an invitation. I’ve made a career of ending their sense of entitlement. So yes, I keep tabs. It’s a perimeter check. A threat assessment.

That’s all.

My thumb traces the screen. She’s close. Five blocks from where I’m parked. The dot is stationary at a venue my database identifies as a popular lesbian bar. I can imagine it — deafening bass, sticky floors, the press of bodies, the kind of cheap, colorful drinks she probably likes. I can picture her there, a glass in her hand, a smile on her face meant for someone else. A stranger who doesn’t know the first thing about the woman they’re trying to charm.

The image is a sharp, unwelcome twist beneath my ribs.

I swallow hard, the motion feeling forced. My jaw clenches until it aches.

Enough.

The screen goes black, taking her little blue light with it, and shove the phone back into my pocket.

The engine snarls to life as I turn the key, a sound more real than the thoughts in my head. I pull into the traffic, my grip firm on the wheel, and drive away from the club, from my duties, from the life that makes sense, toward the only thing that feels like control.

***

AVERY –

I said yes.

To the drink. To the easy smile. To the promise of a night that wasn’t spent staring at my ceiling, haunted.

She sits next to me now, her thigh a warm, persistent line against mine. Her name is Chloe. She talks with her hands, her gestures fluid and expressive, her fingers occasionally brushing my forearm as she laughs. It’s a casual, testing touch, seeing how close she can get before I flinch.

But I don’t flinch. I just let the contact linger, a strange, foreign warmth seeping through the fabric of my sleeve.

I laugh when she laughs, the sound feeling hollow in my own ears. I sip the new drink she bought me—something stronger, less sweet—and try to keep my gaze from drifting toward the entrance, from searching for a silhouette that will never appear.

She’s undeniably attractive. The freckles are a constellation across her nose, her smile is wide and unburdened, and her confidence feels effortless. It’s the exact kind of simple, uncomplicated attention I told myself I needed.

And I want it to work. I want to be distracted. I want to feel something other than this gnawing emptiness.

“I never do this,” I admit, my voice low, almost lost under the thrum of the bass. “Go out like this. Talk to women I don’t know. I’m… I’m not even sure I know how to flirt. I can never tell if someone’s just being nice or if they actually want… more.”

Chloe smiles, a patient, knowing curve of her lips. She leans in a little closer, her voice a warm murmur near my ear. “I could make it very clear for you, if you want.”

I blink, my heart giving a single, hard thud. “What–?”

But the question dies on my lips as she closes the final inch between us.

Her mouth is on mine. Soft. Assured. There is no hesitation, no request for permission. It’s a statement.

I freeze for a single, suspended second, my entire body going rigid with surprise. Then, a switch flips. A desperate, lonely part of me takes over, and I kiss her back. Her lips are soft, her perfume a mix of something cool and floral. Her hand comes up to cradle my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheekbone as if we’ve done this a hundred times, as if my surrender was always the expected outcome.

She’s not Victoria. Her touch doesn’t brand me, doesn’t threaten to unravel my very DNA. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe safe is what I need.

When she pulls back, her eyes are dark and pleased. She doesn’t release my hand. “Come with me,” she says, her breath a warm caress against my skin. “I know a place where we can be alone.”

The meaning is unmistakable. The invitation, clear.

Every instinct for self-preservation screams no. I should go home. I should sit with the ache. I should be stronger than this.

But I’m not.

I hesitate for just one fractured breath, my mind a silent scream of conflict. Then, I nod.

A slow, deliberate dip of my chin. A decision made.

She smiles, a flash of victory, and laces her fingers through mine and I let her lead me, my hand in hers, out of the bar and into the waiting, anonymous night.

***

VICTORIA –

I pull the car over a block down from the club, telling myself I’m just verifying her location. Making sure the blue dot on my screen matches reality. It’s a security precaution, nothing more. I just need to see that she’s safe, and then I can leave. This tightness in my chest will ease, and I can go back to my night.

But then I see her.

She’s walking out of the club, and she’s not alone. Her hand is clasped firmly in the hand of a brunette woman. The woman is pretty, smiling easily, saying something that makes Avery laugh —that soft, breathless laugh I remember too well. They look comfortable together. They look like a pair.

They turn and slip into the dark alley next to the building, and my stomach clenches into a hard, cold knot.

Seriously, Victoria?

I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white. My heart is hammering against my ribs, and a hot, sharp feeling is crawling up my neck. This isn’t me. I don’t do this. I don’t sit in my car and feel… whatever this is. Jealousy? Is that what this hot, sick feeling is? I don’t get jealous. That’s never been a thing I do. Possession? Sure. Control? Always. But jealousy? I don’t even know what that feels like.

But the thought of that woman’s hands on her, of someone else kissing her, of Avery making that same soft, pleading sound for someone else she made because of me just days ago — it makes me feel physically ill. It makes me angry in a way that is raw and immediate and completely irrational.

She’s not yours. You left. You told her you didn’t know how to stay. You don’t get to feel this way.

The logic is sound, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t stop the fire in my veins.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn off the car and get out. The cool night air does nothing to calm the heat under my skin. My footsteps are quiet on the pavement, my movements controlled, but inside, I am a storm. I am walking toward that alley, and I have no plan, no strategy. I just know I can’t sit here and do nothing. I can’t let this happen.

***

AVERY –

Her hands are warm as they move over me, one sliding up my back beneath my shirt, the other tangling in my hair. Her mouth is soft and tastes like the sweet cocktail we were just drinking. She kisses me with a hungry confidence, like she knows exactly what she’s doing and expects me to follow her lead.

We’re pressed against the cool brick wall of the alley, hidden in the shadows. The only light comes from a flickering streetlamp and the colored pulse of the club’s sign. The music is a dull throb through the walls, a soundtrack to this reckless decision.

I am letting this happen. I’m kissing her back, letting her tongue slide against mine, feeling her teeth gently tug on my lower lip. It’s been so long since someone touched me with this kind of straightforward desire. It feels good. It’s simple. It’s exactly the kind of uncomplicated connection I thought I needed to shake the memory of passed weeks.

And for a moment, it works. I lose myself in the sensation, in the warmth of another person.

Until a voice cuts through the night, calm and sharp as broken glass.

“Enjoying yourself?”

My entire body goes rigid. A cold shock runs from my scalp down to my feet. I freeze, my lips still parted, the other woman’s mouth still on my neck.

But I am already turning my head, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it feels like it might break.

Victoria.

She stands just a few feet away, a perfect, still silhouette in her dark coat. She isn’t yelling. She isn’t even moving. She doesn’t have to. Her presence alone commands the entire alley.

Her face is a mask of cool control, but her eyes… her eyes are blazing. They are fixed solely on me, and in them, I see a quiet, devastating fire.

I stumble back a step, breaking the contact. Chloe blinks, confused by the sudden shift. She looks from my horrified face to Victoria’s imposing figure.

“Friend of yours?” she asks, a hint of a smirk in her voice, trying to play it cool.

I can’t answer. My throat is too tight. All I can do is stare at Victoria.

Victoria doesn’t acknowledge the other woman. She doesn’t even glance in her direction. Her entire focus is on me, her eyes pin me in place. They are dark and unblinking, and completely unreadable, yet they feel like they’re burning a hole straight through my chest.

She’s wearing that perfectly tailored black coat, the one that tells she doesn’t belong in this grimy alley, with its smell of stale beer and wet pavement, lit by the cheap, pulsing neon from the club. She looks like she stepped out of another world and just happened to land here by accident. But I know better. Nothing about Victoria is ever accidental. Every move is calculated.

She’s here for a reason.

The girl beside me — Chloe — shifts her weight. I can feel her gaze darting between Victoria and me, and I can sense the moment she understands the dynamic. Her hand, which was resting warmly on my arm, slips away. The loss of contact leaves a cold patch on my skin.

“Do you… want me to go?” she asks, her voice low, a little hesitant.

I don’t answer right away. My mind is a war. Part of me screams to say no, to hold onto this simple, pretty distraction. To let Chloe pull me back into the club, to let her warm hands and easy smile erase the intense, complicated woman standing a few feet away. I could pretend, for a few more hours, that I wasn’t completely and utterly ruined for anyone else.

But I can’t. The pull toward Victoria is a physical force, a gravity I can’t fight. Lying to Chloe would be cruel, and lying to myself is impossible.

I finally nod, my eyes still locked on Victoria. “Yeah,” I say softly, the word feeling like a surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Chloe offers a small, tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s disappointed, maybe a little embarrassed.

“No worries,” she says, taking a full step back. “For what it’s worth…” She glances one last time at Victoria, a look of pure, unnerved assessment. “She’s terrifying.”

And then she turns and walks quickly back toward the club’s entrance, leaving me alone in the dim alley.

Now it’s just us.

Me, with my heart pounding against my ribs.

And her, a statue of silent intensity.

I don’t close the distance. I just look at her, trying to find a crack in her composure, but there is none.

“You followed me,” I say. It’s not a question. It’s the only logical conclusion, and the truth of it hangs, heavy and unsettling, in the air between us.

Victoria doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t deny it. She just gives a single, slow nod, her gaze never leaving mine. The confirmation sends another shiver through me.

“You were with someone,” she says, her voice flat.

“So?” I challenge, a spark of defiance flaring. Who is she to comment on who I’m with?

“So I didn’t like it.”

The words land deep in my stomach, a low, resonant thud. They aren’t spoken with cruelty or a raised voice. They aren’t even possessive in a dramatic way. They are just starkly, brutally honest. And that honesty makes it a thousand times worse, because it makes it real. It means she feels something.

“Why?” I ask, my own voice barely a whisper.

Her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly, a tiny flicker of tension. It’s like she’s chewing on a hundred different replies, a torrent of words she will never allow herself to speak.

Then, she gives me one.

“Because she’s not me.”

God.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. That shouldn’t undo me the way it does. It’s arrogant. It’s possessive. It’s everything I should hate.

But it’s also the most raw, truthful thing anyone has ever said to me. And it undoes me completely.

I take a breath, but it’s shaky and uneven. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d come,” she replies, her honesty disarming me further.

“And yet…” I gesture weakly at the space between us.

“And yet,” she echoes, her voice low.

We’re standing only a foot apart now. The air is thick, charged with everything unsaid. It’s so loud in the silence.

She just watches me, her intense gaze holding me captive.

She’s waiting. For me to break. For me to speak. For me to decide.

And for the first time, I realize the decision is, and has always been, mine.

***

VICTORIA –

She just stands there, looking stunned. And so beautiful it makes my chest ache. There’s a lost look in her eyes, a confusion that makes me want to shake her and hold her at the same time. But I don’t move. I just watch her, waiting. Because that’s all I can do now.

I’m waiting to see if she’ll take a step toward me. Waiting to see if I’ve already ruined this beyond repair by walking away. I shouldn’t be here. I should have kept driving. I should have stayed behind the walls I’ve spent my whole life building, reminding myself that people are temporary and she was never mine to keep.

But I’m here. And the words that come out of my mouth next surprise us both.

“Come home with me.”

It’s quieter than I intended, the words barely more than a whisper. They feel like a confession, like a prayer I didn’t know I had in me.

Avery blinks, her expression shifting from shock to pure disbelief. She looks at me like I’ve just spoken in a language she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she understands perfectly, and that’s what frightens her. She tilts her head slightly, her voice soft when she speaks.

“What?”

“I want you to come home with me,” I repeat, clearer this time, letting the weight of the invitation hang between us.

There’s a long pause. Then she lets out a soft, disbelieving breath that’s almost a laugh. She sniffs, and I can see her fighting back emotion, her eyes glistening in the dim alley light. She shakes her head slowly.

“And why would I do that?” she asks, her voice quiet but edged with something sharper. Something hurt.

I don’t answer immediately. The truth is too raw, too dangerous. It might shatter the fragile tension between us, or worse, it might break something in me that I can’t afford to lose.

So I just hold her gaze, letting the silence speak for me. Then I take a step closer. The air between us crackles with electricity, just like it always does when we’re near each other.

Finally, I say the only thing that matters.

“I promise I won’t disappear again.”

Her lips part slightly, and I hear the sharp intake of her breath. That’s it. That’s the heart of it. It was never about the sex, or the control, or the dangerous life I lead. It’s about the aftermath. The silence I leave behind. The way I make her feel like she’s just another moment in my life, easily forgotten when I walk away.

But tonight, I don’t want to run. Not from her. Not from whatever this is becoming.

That’s why I asked. That’s why she matters.

I’ve never brought anyone home before. Not once. The club is one thing — it’s my territory, my rules, my armor. But my apartment? That’s different. That’s my sanctuary. My quiet space. The place where my real life happens, behind all the walls I show the world.

It’s the safest place I know.

And I want her in it.

I watch her, giving her space to think, to breathe, to decide. Because this time, I won’t force her. I won’t command or control. This has to be her choice.

But God, I hope she says yes.