Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
BELLATRIX
Itwirled the tip of the blade around my finger until it broke through the first layer of skin.
Not enough to be dangerous but enough that I could watch the bright-red blood pool to the surface.
Then I raised my hand to my mouth, sucking it clean at the same time I tossed the knife across the room.
It embedded in the drywall a half an inch from where it landed the last time.
About an inch from where it landed the time before that…
I counted each of the holes I’d made over the last hour and grinned. Twenty in total. Hope the fucker was good at patchwork or he could kiss his deposit goodbye.
With an annoyed huff, I pushed myself off the bed, crossed the room, and yanked my knife free.
A cloud of white dust coming with it. I swatted at the air and then stepped closer to the window, peering down at the crowd of smokers below.
All huddled together to stave off the chill while breathing the same toxic air.
The bar was busy tonight. People coming and going.
Walking in and then stumbling back out a few drinks later.
Most of them making it home, some of them not so lucky.
I could already hear the sirens in the distance, no different from any other night.
Someone was always taking a one-way trip to hell in this city.
I just wasn’t the one sending them there this time.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—I was surprised the asshole didn’t try to take it from me.
I wouldn’t have let him, and even if he did, I had a spare taped under the bed.
Had Gabby sneak in and hide it there before we arrived.
She didn’t like the idea of climbing through the fire escape but she liked the idea of having no way to contact me even less.
I pulled out my phone and skimmed the message.
G:
Anything yet? Or too busy getting dicked down?
I swiped the notification to the left and cleared the screen. Letting her think I hadn’t read it yet. She would know me well enough to know I had. But she couldn’t prove it.
When I was done skimming the rest of my inbox, I tucked my phone back into my pocket, leaving the spare under the bed for safe keeping, and snatched my leather jacket off the chair as I made a beeline for the door.
I half-expected it to be locked. He could say I wasn’t forced to be here all he wanted but we both knew the truth. I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t need something.
Except I had been here before for no other reason than I was curious.
More like obsessed.
No, curious. I shook the thought from my head, pulled the door open, and clicked it closed behind me.
By the time I made it downstairs to the bar, the pink bubblegum smoke was two fingers thick, the music thrumming against the walls, and everyone talking so loud you couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. It was just muffled noise.
I pushed past the large guy in a plaid shirt and beanie cap currently leaning over the closest high-top table with a vape in his mouth and shouldered through the two girls grinding against each other while he watched.
I didn’t stop until I made it over to the bar, where I grabbed an empty stool and plopped myself down on top of it.
“What can I get ya?” The man behind the counter smiled as he tossed a damp coaster between us. I was pretty sure he didn’t remember me or he wouldn’t be smiling like that.
“A Diet Coke with lime,” I yelled back over the music.
He nodded once and turned towards the glasses piled behind him in a neat stack, and I lifted a curious brow.
Most bars—especially local holes-in-the-wall, especially local Irish holes-in-the-wall—gave me shit for ordering an AA cocktail.
Including the man in front of me the first night I’d slunk in here.
He set the glass on the coaster a few seconds later with another grin. This one tighter. Forced. Maybe he did remember me after all. Or more than likely, he remembered who I’d left with.
I raised the drink to my mouth and cursed into the rim.
I didn’t like special treatment, particularly the kind I hadn’t earned myself.
A fact that had me spinning the top of the stool around, crossing my legs, and leaning my back against the lip of the counter.
Since the bartender was clearly not going to be any fun tonight, I had to find someone else to pick a fight with.
I scanned the interior of the room until my eyes fell on some prick in the corner. A different prick but still a prick. I undid the first button of my shirt and raised my glass in his direction. He smirked and did the same with his beer, which was near empty by the looks of it.
“Send him a refill on me,” I said over a shoulder. I could feel the bartender standing behind me. Hovering.
“Who?” he asked.
“Him.” I jutted my chin towards my new friend, who was spreading his legs out under the table, making room for the cock I was sure he didn’t have.
How did I know? Guys with small cocks just had this certain look about them. Overcompensating was too vague a word to describe it. More like they carried themselves… smaller. That and the outline of their tighty-whities in their too-tight pants usually gave them away.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss,” the bartender whispered from behind me. I had to lean my head back farther to hear him.
“Yeah, and why’s that?” I asked. When he didn’t answer me, I peered over a shoulder again.
The bartender didn’t look up. Instead, he continued wiping down the same glass that was clean thirty seconds ago. “No reason. Ain’t none of my business.” He shrugged.
“You’re right. It’s not.” I nodded. “Now how about that drink?”