Chapter 4
DOVE
His grip tightens on my hand. Viciously. Malevolently.
Purposefully.
And wildness spreads through my veins.
For a few long seconds just a moment ago, part of me wondered if he was going to let me fall. Another part of me questioned why I was even worried about that, since falling was the entire reason for coming up here in the first place.
But then he said two simple words: “hang on.”
Don’t jump.
Don’t end it.
Let me introduce you to the concept of doubt.
And that’s when the house of cards collapsed. For now, at least. It’s not like two words cured me, or “fixed me”, or excised the bad, rotten parts.
Because that doubt is what I feared most about the moments that could come after I stepped off the roof. Not the drop itself. Not feeling my stomach lurching into my throat as gravity yanked me down. Not the brutal, messy stop at the end.
It was the idea that I’d step off that ledge, and I’d get thirty whole feet before I’d have second thoughts about what the actual fuck I had just done, followed by eighty-odd stories of free-fall to the street below to wallow in my mistake.
That’s what he did when he said those two words.
Hang.
On.
He gave me doubt, and suddenly I did not want to fall. Which is what made it terrifying when we locked eyes, seeing each other for who we were, and I saw that venomous glint of fury in his gaze.
I don't blame him.
Seven years ago, he took something from me: a piece of the only true friend I ever had. A large, heart-shaped piece.
And in return, I took her away from him.
From both of us.
From everyone.
So yes, part of me thought he’d let me fall a moment ago. But then he pulled me back to safety.
I swallow uncomfortably, feeling the heat and power in his hand as it grips mine tightly, one finger laced over the delicate tattoo of a ballet slipper on my ring finger and another gently stroking the burn scar on the back of my hand.
His lips curl slightly at the corners with a hint of…well, not a smile. Bane Antonov doesn’t do smiles. But at least he doesn’t look murderous anymore.
For a half second, a flicker of something forbidden and wrong curls inside me.
In that instant, I’m not me, he’s not him, and there is no brutal past between us.
He’s just a stunningly gorgeous man—and dark and broody, but, please, as if that isn’t part of the appeal—looming over me on a dark, secluded roof with the city laid out before us, my hand in his.
…For a long moment, all I can focus on is the sharp line of his cheekbones. The razor edge of his jaw. The thick black of his lashes, and the soft yet masculine curve of his lips…
Fucking hell.
I banish those thoughts, torching that dark little corner of my mind to burn away any last remnants of them, because they're toxic.
We stand like that for I don’t even know how long, my last completely cringe comment of “Nice to meet you, Bane. I’m Dove” still hanging in the air.
Finally, he clears his throat as his hand squeezes mine.
“Nice to meet you, Dove.”
And then he smiles.
He fucking smiles. And time doesn’t go backward. Up does not become down. Black stays black, instead of turning to white.
What is actually happening right now.
Bane exhales and lets his hand drop. I realize I’ve kept mine where it is a moment longer than normal, and quickly bring it down to my side.
I’m being fucking weird. I’m overanalyzing. That happens if I don’t take my meds. And I didn’t tonight, since I didn’t think taking or not taking them would make much of a difference once my brains were splattered over the sidewalk in front of the 34th street Ulta store.
Bane slips a cigarette between his lips.
“I didn’t know you smoked this heavily.”
He pauses, his hand with the lighter barely out of his pocket as his eyes flick to mine. “I don’t.” His brows knit. “Not normally.”
He removes the unlit cigarette from his mouth and sticks it behind his ear. His eyes refocus on me, locking with mine as I try not to shake or say something fucking stupid again.
“Were you really going to?” he finally asks, his voice still dripping that baritone honey.
“Were you?”
“I don’t know.” He looks away before turning back to me. “Maybe. I think so.”
The words form in my mouth before withering and dying on my tongue. But I clear my throat and breathe new life into them.
“Because of her?” I cringe. “I mean…because—”
“I know what you mean.” He nods his head. “Yeah, partly. The rest…”
“I get it,” I say quietly.
He exhales, his gaze finding mine. “We’ve gone too long without talking,” he growls. “About her, I mean.”
I smile weakly. “I agree.”
He nods. “Look, what if…” His brow knits. “What if we tried a little harder? I have to go do a thing right now. But—”
“You made plans?”
I quietly curse myself.
He smirks. “Plans I was hoping I’d have an ironclad way of getting out of. But…” He shrugs. “Here we are.” He sighs. “Tomorrow night… What if we talked?”
My brows arch. “You mean we meet again and convince each other why we shouldn’t kill ourselves? I think I’ve read this book.”
He rolls his eyes. “Congrats. Join the other several million people who’ve read Nick Hornby.” Bane shakes his head. “I was thinking more that we could talk about her. About what we do now, and how we exist in this city without her.”
“I think I’d like that,” I say quietly. Relief floods through me when he smiles.
“So, we'll meet up here again?”
I nod. “Same time?”
“Yeah. But if you’re running late…” He cocks one brow. “Watch out for falling objects.”
I grimace. “That’s…dark.”
“Says the girl with her shoes on the edge of the 83rd floor of the Empire State Building.”
The next night, I'm back.
Wearing a skirt, for fuck’s sake. I’m even wearing freaking lipstick—a soft rose color that smells a little like cinnamon which I happen to love.
I’ve spent the last several hours convincing myself I didn’t dress up for Bane. I’m just dressed a little nicer than last night, because why not? We’re here to celebrate and mourn someone we both loved, and Lark deserves it.
That’s who I dressed up for.
Not her moody, grumpy, somewhat terrifying fiancé from seven years ago.
I pace the roof near the ledge, glancing at the lights of the city, then down to where my nails are picking at my cuticles. The wrenching sound of metal rips my attention from my bloodied fingertips to the trap door as Bane climbs out of it.
He’s all in black, as usual. But I can’t help but smile a little to myself when I see that he’s exchanged his standard black t-shirt for a black button-up.
He turns, and when his gaze lands on me, a spark lights in his eyes. His lips curl—a little dangerously, a little sensually.
…That toxic wickedness coils and slithers in my core again. And I let it.
Bane slowly walks toward me, where I’ve stopped near the wall. He moves closer, then closer still. I step back, but he’s still coming nearer.
He’s almost right on top of me.
My pulse thuds in my chest. My throat works. Warning bells begin to blare in my head, but I’m not sure how to respond to them, even when my back suddenly hits the wall, stopping any possible retreat.
I don’t like men this close to me. Even him. Maybe especially him.
“Bane,” I blurt. “What are you—”
“You look just like her, you know.”
Bane takes another step toward where I’m boxed into the corner.
“So much like her,” he murmurs.
I swallow again. “I—”
He closes the remaining distance between us, his chest to mine.
“Bane,” I choke, beginning to tremble, my stomach twisting. “Please don’t—”
I shudder as he presses me to the wall, his hands planted on either side of my head, utterly caging me in.
Everything slows down. Even the wind whistling up the side of the building next to me, and the twinkle of lights, and the dull hum of the traffic below.
My hands land flat on his chest, trying to push him away. But suddenly, without warning, the world stops turning.
Or at least, mine does.
Because suddenly, Bane is kissing me.
Savagely. Malevolently. Consumingly.
I feel fire. I smell smoke. I hear screaming and alarm bells caterwauling in my head.
I see lights flashing.
Then another. And another.
That wasn’t in my head. That’s real.
With every ounce of my strength, I shove him away, wrenching my mouth from his just as his tongue teases over my lips. I pull back with a choked sound…
And freeze when I come face to face with the guy taking pictures not ten feet away, and a second guy with a video camera right next to him.
What the fuck—
My entire world narrows to the cold, brutal sensation of Bane’s fingers laced around my throat as he pins me hard to the wall, pure venom in his eyes.
He leans in close, and his lips brush my ear.
“Should have fucking jumped, little bird.”