Chapter Two #2
The apartment’s dim, still dark from blackout curtains covering most of the windows, city light bleeding softly across concrete floors and black walls. Music equipment sits near the living room, helmets and tools scattered around the kitchen island beside half-empty liquor bottles.
Blair turns slowly in a circle.
“Wow,” she mutters. “Very serial killer chic in here.”
I toss my keys onto the counter.
“You want coffee or are you still surviving exclusively on substances and bad decisions?”
She points at me immediately. “That attitude right there? Exactly why your little side drug hustle Yelp reviews would suck.”
“I don’t think drug dealers get Yelp reviews.”
“They should. Consumers deserve full transparency regardless of the type of business.”
I move toward the kitchen while she continues snooping through my apartment like a nosy little raccoon.
The room eventually settles into silence for a second.
Not awkward, just heavy.
The kind that hangs thick between people with too much unfinished shit sitting underneath every conversation.
When I look back at her, she’s standing near the counter now, arms folded loosely across her chest while she watches me through smudged makeup and swollen lips like she’s trying to figure out whether I’m gonna kiss her or kick her out.
Probably both.
Dangerous fucking thought.
“You can’t stay,” I say flatly.
The amusement slips off her face instantly.
“Wow,” she says dryly. “You always invite girls over just to emotionally evict them?”
“Blair.”
“No seriously, this is deeply confusing customer service. First the manhandling, now the rejection? Pick a personality trait.”
“I didn’t mean here in my apartment. I meant Severance Point. You’re not safe here.”
That changes the air immediately.
“There it is,” she mutters.
I drag a hand down my face slowly.
“Dante’s still out there.”
“And?”
“And if he finds out you’re back, he’ll want you dead. You fucking know that.”
The words land hard enough to finally knock some of the attitude out of her.
Not all of it.
Never all of it.
But enough that she looks away for a second instead of firing something back immediately.
Then, quieter—
“So that’s it?” she asks. “You drag me back to your apartment just to tell me to leave again?”
“Better by apartment than the shit hole you woke up in don't you think?”
And what if I refuse?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “Hmm? You can’t just force me out of the city, Dagger. Neither of you can.”
I step closer slowly.
“You really wanna test that theory?”
A grin pulls at her mouth immediately.
There she is.
That reckless little spark that always shows up right before she does something fucking dangerous.
“What’re you gonna do about it?” she asks softly, backing into the counter one step at a time without even realizing she’s doing it. “Throw me over your shoulder again? Lock me in here? Ground me?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh my god,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I came back because I wanted to. You don’t own me.”
My jaw tightens.
“No?”
“No,” she says immediately. “And you definitely don’t get to tell me where I can go after disappearing for weeks like some emotionally constipated vigilante biker boyfriend.”
“I already told you I wasn’t your boyfriend.”
“Right, right,” she says dryly. “Because that’d be too emotionally mature for you.”
I keep moving closer.
She keeps talking anyway.
Brave and stupid. My favorite fucking combination.
“You can glare all you want,” she continues, voice softer now but somehow even more provoking because she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “Still doesn’t change the fact you can’t make me leave.”
“Blair.”
“No seriously, what’s the plan here?” she asks, lifting her chin. “You and Noir gonna put me on a leash? GPS tracker maybe? Little shock collar every time I go somewhere you two have decided I shouldn’t be?”
“You think this shit is funny?”
“I mean, kinda, but mostly I just think you’re really fucking hot when you’re angry.”
That one nearly snaps something in me.
Because she says it while looking directly at my mouth. Like its a fucking challenge.
Because she’s standing there in my kitchen still smelling like smoke, sweat and bad decisions while pushing every fucking button I have just to see what happens when I finally lose control.
“You don’t know when to fucking stop,” I mutter.
“No,” she says softly. “But neither do you.”
That does it.
I grab her by the throat and slam her back against the counter hard enough to make her breath catch.
Not fear.
Never fear.
Her pupils blow wide instantly instead.
Fuck.
“There he is,” she breathes, lips parting slightly.
My hand tightens just enough to feel her pulse hammering beneath my palm.
“You keep running that mouth,” I say lowly, stepping between her thighs, “and eventually I’m gonna stop being nice to you.”
A quiet laugh slips out of her.
“Nice?” she echoes. “Dagger, you dragged me in here caveman-style thirty seconds ago.”
“You liked it.”
“Maybe.”
Cocky little fucking addict.
I kiss her before she can say anything else.
Hard.
Messy.
The kind of kiss that feels more like an argument than affection.
She kisses me back instantly, fingers tangling into my shirt while I pin her harder against the counter, swallowing every smartass little sound she makes against my mouth.
Months.
Months of staying away from her.
Of watching her from a distance while pretending I wasn’t fucking addicted.
And now she’s here again, mouthing off in my apartment like she belongs here, like she knows exactly what she does to me.
Maybe she fucking does.
My grip shifts from her throat to her jaw, forcing her head back slightly while I kiss down her neck hard enough to leave marks.
“You should’ve stayed gone,” I mutter against her skin.
“Yeah?” she breathes, fingers tightening in my shirt. “You keep saying that while touching me like this. Kinda mixed messaging.”
I bite down lightly beneath her ear.
She laughs softly through the breath it knocks out of her.
God.
Everything about her feels addictive.
The attitude. The chaos. The way she pushes until I break and then looks proud of herself for it afterward.
“You’re trouble,” I mutter.
“You say that like it’s new information.”
My hand slides up her thigh, dragging her closer against me while her head tips back against the cabinets behind her.
And somewhere beneath the tension, the heat, and all the unresolved shit twisting between us, one ugly truth settles hard in my chest.
I keep giving her hell for relapsing while doing the exact same fucking thing myself.
Because the second Blair walked back into my life, I fell right back into her like I never even tried to quit.