Chapter Nine
Dagger
I’m halfway through plating eggs when the bathroom door finally swings open behind me.
I glance over my shoulder automatically, and immediately regret it.
Blair walks out wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her body and a look on her face that already tells me she’s about to become a fucking problem again.
Water still clings to her skin in faint droplets. Damp hair hangs around her shoulders while sunlight spills through the balcony doors behind her, catching against the sharp lines of her legs peeking beneath the towel.
God damn.
The apartment already smelled too much like her before.
Now it’s worse.
Coffee brews beside me while traffic hums faintly below the building and the TV drones softly in the background. The whole place feels weirdly calm compared to the absolute disaster currently happening inside my head.
Blair stops short when she notices me standing at the stove.
Then her nose wrinkles immediately.
“You cook?”
I snort softly without looking away from the pan.
“You sound offended.”
“A little honestly.” She walks farther into the kitchen slowly, eyeing the food suspiciously. “This really ruins the whole emotionally unavailable drug dealer aesthetic you’ve worked so hard on.”
“Tragic.”
Her eyes drag across the counter.
The coffee, then plates before narrowing.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re making me breakfast.”
“You haven’t eaten real food in days.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, sliding eggs around the pan, “but doesn’t make it any less accurate. I’m gonna guess that’s why you passed out in a foam pit.”
“Yeah well,” she says lightly, climbing onto one of the stools, “I’m sure the cyanide one of your guys sold me outside my motel and whatever chemically aggressive mystery cocktails strangers kept handing me all night probably didn’t help either.”
I go completely still for half a second.
Then slowly look over at her.
“You were taking drinks from random people too?”
Blair blinks once.
“…In my defense, the vibes were excellent.”
I stare at her flatly.
She takes my coffee directly out of my hand.
“One girl had glitter freckles and pink cowboy boots,” she adds. “That’s basically a background check at a rave.”
“You are genuinely exhausting.”
She shrugs, and my jaw tightens harder the more I think about it.
Because all I can picture now is her already high out of her mind accepting random shit from strangers while wandering through a crowd packed full of people I don’t trust.
“And whoever sold you that cyanide is gonna regret it,” I mutter flatly.
Blair’s brows lift immediately.
“Oh no,” she says dryly, clutching my coffee dramatically. “Not the terrifying criminal overlord disciplining his employees for successfully distributing drugs. However will the organization recover?”
I stare at her.
She keeps going anyway.
“Should I hold a memorial service for the poor guy now or after you dramatically threaten him in a dark warehouse somewhere?”
“You think this is funny?”
“I think,” she says casually, “that watching you get all possessive and homicidal over your own product is a little hypocritical, yeah.”
I stare at her flatly across the kitchen island.
She just keeps sipping my coffee like she didn’t nearly scare ten years off my fucking life twelve hours ago.
Her split pink and purple hair hangs damp past her waist in messy waves, darker now from the shower. Freckles scatter across her cheeks and nose beneath the kitchen lights while one of my thick black towels stays wrapped tightly around her body.
And fuck.
The smell of my body wash clinging to her skin does deeply dangerous things to my nervous system.
Like she belongs here.
Like she should smell like my apartment and stand barefoot in my kitchen stealing my coffee while sunlight spills across her skin.
Bad thought.
Very bad fucking thought.
Blair catches me staring too long instantly.
Of course she does.
“There he is,” she murmurs smugly. “Thought maybe your personality died overnight.”
I look back at the stove before my brain starts making catastrophic decisions.
I slide a plate onto the counter in front of her.
She eyes it suspiciously before stabbing a piece of egg with her fork.
Then realization visibly hits her again.
Her eyes narrow immediately while she looks around the apartment like she’s only now remembering she’s still here.
Still trapped.
Still under my supervision.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Still wet,” I say. “Hung them outside. They should dry in a few hours.”
Blair blinks once.
Then slowly lowers the coffee mug she just stole from beside the pot.
“Great,” she mutters. “Love that for me.”
The apartment buzzer goes off before she can keep complaining.
Every muscle in my body locks immediately.
So does hers.
Fear flashes across her face so fast most people would miss it.
I don’t.
Never fucking do with her anymore.
I move toward the security monitor while Blair watches carefully from the stool.
Noir stares back at me downstairs through the grainy camera feed, black duffle bag slung over one shoulder while cigarette smoke curls around him beneath the building awning.
Of course he’s here.
I buzz him in without saying anything.
Blair watches me curiously from the stool while absently picking apart a piece of bacon.
Her eyes narrow slightly when she notices the shift in my mood.
The tension.
The irritation already settling into my shoulders before the person even gets upstairs.
Oh great.
Now she’s interested.
That mischievous little look immediately creeps across her face while she slowly turns on the stool to face the apartment door more fully.
Like she’s settling in for entertainment.
The door swings open a minute later.
Noir walks inside looking exhausted enough that even Blair’s expression flickers briefly.
Pale hair messy. Dark clothes wrinkled. Rings flashing beneath morning sunlight while shadows sit heavy beneath his eyes.
He looks like he hasn’t slept at all.
Honestly?
Neither have I.
His eyes immediately land on Blair sitting at the kitchen island wearing my clothes.
Something flashes across his face instantly.
Relief.
Then jealousy.
Then something darker underneath both.
Possessive.
Fucking annoying.
Blair notices too because she notices everything.
Slowly, her brows lift while she looks between both of us.
Then the corner of her mouth twitches.
“Oh,” she says lightly. “That’s an interesting vibe.”
Noir ignores her completely while dropping the duffle bag beside the couch.
I eye it immediately.
“What’s that?”
“My stuff.”
“…Why?”
Noir finally looks at me.
“If she’s staying here,” he says flatly, “I’m staying here too.”
My jaw tightens immediately.
“You serious?”
“You already let her sneak out once.”
Blair perks up instantly at that, clearly delighted she’s suddenly become the center of conflict again.
“Oh my god,” she says around a sip of coffee. “Are we fighting over custody of the mentally unstable girl already? Because I feel like we skipped several emotionally damaging steps.”
Noir ignores her completely, eyes still locked on me.
“I’m not taking chances with her safety.”
Something ugly twists low in my chest at that.
Because underneath the accusation is the truth.
He’s right.
I should’ve known she’d run the second she woke up.
Blair’s amusement slowly starts fading the longer neither of us laugh.
Her eyes flick between us once.
Twice.
Then toward the duffle bag sitting beside the couch.
And I literally watch the exact moment it clicks.
Not just Noir staying here.
Not just us hovering.
The way neither of us has mentioned taking her back to the motel.
The way I keep standing between her and the apartment door without even realizing it.
Her posture slowly straightens on the stool.
“…Wait.”
Neither me nor Noir answer immediately.
Bad move.
Blair’s eyes narrow instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she coughs out, pointing between us. “Did I accidentally join a really dysfunctional throuple hostage situation while blacked out?”
Silence.
Tiny.
But loud enough to completely change the atmosphere of the apartment.
Her expression shifts immediately after.
The sarcasm starts cracking around the edges.
“Oh my god,” she says slower now. “You’re serious.”
“You’re not going back to that motel,” I say flatly.
“The fuck I’m not.”
“Dante’s people know you’re back.”
“And?”
“And that means you don’t stay alone right now.”
Blair actually laughs.
Sharp.
Disbelieving.
“No. Absolutely not.” She slides off the stool immediately. “You two don’t just get to decide that for me.”
“We’re trying to keep you safe,” Noir says calmly.
Blair shakes her head.
“You know what? Nope. I’m going back to my motel, showering again because this conversation is stressing me out, and pretending this weird possessive hostage energy never happened.”
She moves toward the hallway.
Toward the apartment door.
And without even thinking about it, I step directly into her path.
Blair stops short immediately.
Her eyes slowly lift toward mine.
And for the first time since she woke up?
She looks genuinely pissed off.
“Move.”
“No,” me and Noir say simultaneously.
That only makes her grin wider, but there’s less humor in it now.
“Cute. Suddenly you’re both on the same team.”
Noir moves farther into the apartment while pulling his phone out.
“No movement from Dante’s crews yet.”
Yet.
That word settles heavily through the room.
Blair notices immediately.
Her jaw tightens before she tries brushing past me anyway.
“Okay well, unfortunately for both of you, I’m not doing this weird protective hostage bullshit today.”
I step sideways automatically, blocking her again.
“Blair.”
“No.” She points aggressively at my chest. “You do not get to suddenly develop control issues because some creepy mob crypt keeper might maybe possibly know I’m back.”
“You don’t understand how this works.”
“And you don’t understand personal boundaries apparently.”
She tries stepping around me again.