Be Mine

Chapter Ten

Frankie

“Hey, baby,” Taylor greets me at the door, already dressed for the night in a cropped tee and shredded jeans with fishnets underneath. The outfit accentuates all of her curves and the top makes her tits look fantastic. Her dark hair is down in loose curls, those baby blues pop with her smoky eyeshadow, and her lips a bold crimson. If she didn’t love being a baker so much, she could be a makeup artist or stylist. Her looks are always flawless.

“Hey, are you ok?” she asks as she grabs my bag for me, letting me in out of the cold. I’m sure I look like hell. Smeared makeup. My hair haphazardly thrown into a messy bun. And still in my uniform.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod as I shed my coat, hang it on the coat rack, then rid myself of my shoes. “You look hot as fuck, by the way.”

“Thanks, doll. I’m hoping to get me some tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve been dicked down, I think my hymen grew back.” She smiles wickedly.

“Oh my fucking God.” I laugh. But I’m in the same boat. It’s been ages since I’ve been with something that isn’t battery operated.

She puts my bag on the bench in the entryway and guides me towards the kitchen.

Taylor lives in a townhouse across town from me. It’s a nice, quaint, two-bedroom with a small patio out back. Thanks to an inheritance from her grandmother, she was able to purchase it herself. She’s decorated it beautifully with modern furniture and appliances. Her home is spotless and pristine, a stark contrast to the chaotic nature of my apartment.

She has a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the counter waiting for us, obviously eager to get this party started.

“What a fucking day, right?” she says as she pulls a lemon from the fridge and a saltshaker from the cupboard.

Oh has it ever.

“It’s been wild. I can’t even wrap my head around it.” I slide onto the bar stool opposite her.

“Right? How the fuck do you get stuck in the baler? Do you think it was accidental?” she asks as she cuts the lemon into wedges.

I’ve been wrestling with this since our shift ended. I can’t see how he just ‘slipped’ in there. “Honestly, no. There’s no way he could have managed to fall in there while it was on. And he couldn’t have started it while inside.”

“I thought that, too. There is no way he did this to himself. You think another employee had it out for him?”

I blow out a breath. “I mean, who knows with Luke? But most of us are used to his antics by now. I can’t think of anyone who would want to deliberately harm him.”

“Unless he was hooking up with someone then did them dirty. He’s a total player.”

“You think a woman did this?”

“Hey, women can be strong, too. You know what they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” She winks at me while filling the shot glasses to the brim with the amber liquid. We both simultaneously lick our hands before she sprinkles some salt on them.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” She clinks her glass with mine, we lick the salt from our hands, down the tequila, then cram the lemons in our mouths, wincing from the burn of the alcohol and acidity of the lemon.

“Ewww. This shit is seriously nasty.” I nearly gag.

“Sure is, but Jose knows how to get you drunk, fast.”

She isn’t wrong, I already feel a slight buzz, though that could be from the lack of food today. I know drinking on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster, but I’ve no fucks left to give.

“Let’s get you ready.” Taylor walks around the island, grabbing my hand and leading me to her stairs. “Did you bring anything club worthy?”

“Shit. No. I basically have leggings and band tees.”

“We can work with that.”

The line for Threshold goes down the street and around the block. There are three bands playing tonight, but the headliner is a local band that has had a couple of solid hits that are relatively popular. Taylor and I are huddled together, trying to keep warm in the frigid February temperatures. It doesn’t help that both of us decided to leave our jackets behind to skip the coat check.

I’m practically jogging in place to try to keep my extremities from going numb. Any warmth we had from Jose has most definitely worn off by now.

I’m in one of my band tees that we tied just below my breasts, showcasing the upside-down bat tattoo that goes down my sternum, the wingspan stretching across my ribs. We paired that with my leggings and platform combat boots that give my short stature an extra four inches of height. My hair is pulled into a sleek, high ponytail with my bangs skimming my brows, my amber eyes embellished with a sharp cat eye, and wispy, faux lashes.

We slowly shuffle forward as the bouncers go through the motions of checking IDs before letting people in. By the time we’re at the front of the line, I could cry in gratitude when the bouncer unhooks the stanchion rope and nods us past.

Threshold is a moody venue with black walls, purple lighting, plush velvet seating, and bar-height tables. It’s known for supporting local rock and heavy metal bands, and right now it’s packed, shoulder to shoulder with people.

Taylor and I hold hands as we push our way through the crowd towards the bar. A feature menu above in neon pink highlights their specials for the night, each with a campy Valentine’s themed name.

“What are you in the mood for?” Taylor asks over the booming sound and screeching vocals coming from the stage.

I contemplate the options. “I’ll have the vampires kiss.”

“And shots!” She nudges me with her shoulder.

All the bartenders are female, dressed in red leather attire that leaves little to the imagination with black angel wings, a darker play on Cupid.

We sidle up to the bar, leaning against the top when a beautiful blonde comes over to take our order.

“Two vampire’s kisses and two shots of love potion,” I tell her. She gives me a wink before hollering, “Coming right up.”

The whole club is practically vibrating from the music. Laser lights circle the floor and stage in purples and pinks. “Here you are, ladies. The man at the end of the bar covered it for you.” The bartender slides our drinks and shots toward us. Taylor and I both look at the end of the bar at the same time to a man easily in his late fifties, tipping his chin at us. “I’m not that desperate to get laid,” Taylor says, and I bite back a laugh. But still, we offer him a smile, holding our shots up in a toast before shooting them back.

Walking away from the bar, we make our way through the crowd, drinks in hand. There’s a carefully controlled mosh pit at the center near the stage, but we try to keep to the outer edges. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way as a teen: mosh pits and short girls don’t mix.

The headlining band, Death Strike, is on stage and the crowd is going wild. We caught the tail end of the second band’s set, and they were killer, too, but this one? There’s a sea of devil’s horns in the air as everyone head bangs uninhibitedly.

The song finishes up with some heavy vocals and a prolonged drum solo. The crowd erupts in whistles and cheers.

“Where’s all my ladies tonight?” the lead singer screams out into the crowd. Every woman in the house screeches, holding their hands up in the air. “I hope all of you men are treating these women right and buying their fucking drinks.” More screams and hell yeahs . “This next song is dedicated to all you sexy bitches, it’s called Voodoo .” The club goes nuts as the guitar intro starts and the singer growls into the mic.

Taylor and I scream and sing along as he sings about a woman who possesses some kind of voodoo, having men bow at her feet.

I’m sipping my third vampire’s kiss cocktail of the night, waiting for Taylor to get back from the bar with more shots. But it’s a madhouse and I probably should have just accompanied her instead of waiting here by myself. The solitude is making me feel itchy, like every pair of eyes that look my way could be the person sending me creepy stuff, and the alcohol isn’t helping to lessen the anxiety.

I set the half-emptied cup on a table and turn to make my way to the bar when Taylor rushes up to me, flushed and obviously excited.

“Where have you—"

That’s when I notice two tall, very attractive men behind her, both of their hands laden down with drinks.

“Frankie, this is Forest and Emmett. They wanted to join us for some drinks.” She gives me that look, the one that girls exchange that says please go along with this ‘cause I really fucking like one of these guys .

“Hey,” I say, turning to both of them and smiling.

It isn’t hard to see Forest is the one Taylor has staked her claim on. Her eyes are practically screaming fuck me every time they land on him. Guess that leaves Emmett for me?

“So, you’re a Death Strike fan?” he asks as he rests his elbows on the table, leaning in closer to me. He’s definitely easy on the eyes. Tall and broad with golden locks that glimmer just right when the light hits it. He has it pulled into one of those sexy man buns, and with a beard that matches, he’s got the bad boy Viking vibes going on that would usually bring me to my knees.

“Yeah, they’re good.” I nod, sipping my fresh drink. “You?”

“Fuck, yeah. I grew up with the lead singer. We went to school together.”

“No way? So do you guys hang out?” I ask.

“Yeah, when they’re not touring I try to pop by his house or him at mine.”

“No date for the night?” he inquires. I thought that was obvious, but I think he’s prodding to see where this night could lead.

“Nope, flying solo,” I pop the ‘p’, my gaze drifting over to Taylor and Forest who are a hair’s breadth away from locking lips.

“Me too. I thought this night was gonna be a bust, but it looks like it’s shaping up.” He smirks, his green eyes cascading down my body, hovering for a beat too long on my breasts. Then without an ounce of subtlety, he shuffles closer to me so our bodies are aligned from shoulder to hip. I take a step to the left to try to put some space between us without coming off as rude or disinterested. I am not about to burst this guy’s bubble just yet and tell him he’s going home to his hand tonight.

“Oh yeah?” I quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. Maybe it’s meant to be seductive. Maybe it’s one of his signature moves, but all it does is make me internally cringe.

“We should finish these drinks and get out of here,” Forest says loud enough for the entire table to hear, but the words are mostly meant for Taylor.

“We could go back to my house. Have some drinks there, hang out for a while. What do you think, Frankie?” I do not want to go back to her house with this guy. But I also don’t want to ruin her night. I give a half-hearted shrug, seeking solace at the bottom of my cup.

Emmett must take my noncommittal response as a green light, because he swings his arm around my shoulders, tucking me tightly against him. He whispers in my ear how hot he thinks I am. How much he wants his lips on mine. And maybe any other day I’d be on board. I’d want to lose myself in a guy like him. But for some strange reason, every time I look at him, something feels off.

I almost sigh in relief when I feel my phone vibrating in my purse, but it’s close to midnight, and there’s no reason anyone should be calling me right now. Shrugging Emmett’s arm off, I struggle to pull it from my bag. Private Number flashes across the screen.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” I apologize to him, before turning in search of a quiet spot to answer it. Swiping, I accept the call.

“Hello?” I say, pushing my way through people to the back of the bar, past the bathrooms, towards what I assume is a storage cupboard.

“Miss Clarke? It’s Officer Barde. We met at your apartment this morning.”

“Hi, yes, I remember. Is everything ok?” I press a finger against the opposite ear so I can hear him better.

“We need to speak to you at the branch as soon as possible.”

“Sorry, what? Why?”

“Frankie, this is extremely important. The heart that was found at your apartment? It’s a human heart. We have reason to believe you’re in danger.”

My pulse spikes. The room spins.

Human heart.

You’re in danger.

“Frankie?” Officer Barde hollers through the phone, but every sound feels so distant, just out of reach. His voice. The booming music. The incessant chatter. It’s all muffled. Like I’m underwater or in a dream.

“Frankie, can you hear me?”

I want to tell him yes, I hear you , but my tongue feels too thick. The words too much to pronounce. I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders in a secure hold. I think they’re saying something, too, but God I feel so detached from my body right now.

My hand drops, the phone falling away from my ear, hanging loosely at my side.

The warm palm snakes around the base of my neck, and I can just tell it’s not Emmett. And for some strange reason, I lean into the solid body, letting his heat envelop me. His scent is clean and crisp, like linens out to dry on the line, but there’s a hint of leather adding an element of danger.

My heart tumbles in my chest because it knows who this person is. I feel it deep in my marrow. It’s my secret admirer. The man who has taunted and terrorized me all day, and now he’s here to claim me.

His hot breath dances across my face, the gentle brush of his lips against my cheek, coasting along my jaw until he reaches my ear. My skin prickles as he whispers, “I’ve sat around and watched others have their turn for long enough.”

A searing pain explodes in my neck and my knees buckle beneath me. I think I moan or cry out, but I can’t be sure. Sagging against the body holding me firmly to them, my head tilts up, and the last thing I see is blue.