Chapter 6
SIX
Twenty-four Hours Later
Crymson
The pounding of my skull isn’t the first thing that wakes me.
It’s the cold. It’s freezing in here. Did Van leave the front door open again?
The room I wake in isn’t Van’s though. I—I don’t know whose it is, actually. Which is fine. I’m alive. I’m safe. That’s a sincere upgrade to where I was yesterday.
Cool air wafts over me, sending shivers up my arms. The bedroom is shrouded in total darkness.
Not even a crack of light hints at my surroundings.
The sheets are clean, and the comforter is luxurious beneath my fingertips though.
I relax into those soft blankets. My eyes close for a single moment, and I try to think back to last night.
I remember flirting with the bouncer at the Neon God’s Club.
The blurry lights flash behind my lids, and I distinctly remember a man’s face.
Shadows clung to the sharp cut of his cheekbones and jawline.
Blonde hair, so light it was nearly white, skimmed his serious brow.
He was so confident. So sexy. He walked the room like he owned it and everyone in it.
He had me in the palm of his hand in a matter of seconds.
He appeared from nowhere. But I was glad he appeared. I was so damn happy to see him, for some reason.
Despite my terrible choice in my ex, I’m good at reading people. The man was harmless. Completely harmless.
“She awakes,” a smooth voice bathed in warmth and whiskey says from the darkness. His voice alone spirals another shiver across my body.
I smile at the memory of how he kissed me. It was slow. Like he had all the time on Earth to waste just tasting me.
He was a good kisser.
I wonder if he was a good fuc?—
“Did we, ah...” I leave the open-ended question hanging in the air for the hauntingly beautiful voice to answer.
He doesn’t snuggle against me. He doesn’t pull my body to his. He leaves the space between us. I just have no idea how much space that is.
Shit, I hope I didn’t puke on him. He had nice shoes. Expensive shoes. If I’m in his bed, I’d say his shoes were safe from any vomit.
I hope.
“Did we what?” he asks, and I hear the soft, deliberate press of footsteps circling the bed frame.
A breath of coy laughter slips from my lips, and I sit up among the pile of fluffy, soft blankets. When I do, cold metal brushes along my chest... and wrists... and neck.
“What...” my fingers slide down the long length of an unseen chain that links from my neck to my hands to the bed. With each link of chain, my heartbeat pounds harder and harder..
Oh no. I’m not good at reading people... this man is the furthest thing from harmless.