Naomi #2
The man to Jaxon’s left is more enigmatic—that must be the other brother he spoke of.
He leans casually against the railing, his back to the crowd.
His hair, dark and slicked back. His blazer is adorned with iridescent skulls that shimmer under the shifting lights.
When he adjusts his blue sleeves, I recognize who he’s supposed to be instantly—the King of the Underworld.
But it’s Jaxon who holds my attention, my eyes constantly finding his. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and for a second, I think he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. My grip tightens on the shot glass in my hand as I huff a sigh.
“I’m not drunk enough for this,” I mutter, but my heart is already racing from the mere sight of him.
Jaxon’s stare doesn’t waver for a moment, a challenge hanging in the air between us. He glares at me as if daring me to take the next shot. And maybe I have had enough, but I don’t care. I’m grown. If I want to get drunk out of my mind, I will.
Glaring right back up at him, I throw the shot back in one swift motion, slamming the glass onto the bar with enough force to almost shatter it. The heat of the tequila burns all the way down, but I ignore it.
Lifting both arms high above my head, I flip him off, holding the gesture long enough to make it count. Then, with a sickly-sweet smile, I lower my hands and dip into a deliberately exaggerated curtsy.
Aisha cackles behind me, her laughter a sharp contrast to the thrumming bass of the music.
My gaze flicks back toward them just in time to see Nyx’s lips curl into a crooked grin.
He leans in, says something to Jaxon—words I can’t make out but feel in the way Jaxon’s jaw tightens—and claps him on the shoulder before walking off.
The other man follows, his tongue darting out to lick the paper of his freshly rolled joint.
I exhale sharply, turning back to the bar, my elbows pressing into the cool surface as I drop my head. My stomach flips, knots tightening and twisting. I squeeze my eyes shut and take two slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.
Why is he everywhere? And why does he get under my skin like this?
“That was fucking brilliant,” Aisha says, her voice filled with mirth as she leans against me.
“Is he still looking?” I ask, my voice low, almost hesitant.
She glances back quickly and shakes her head. “Nope. Pretty sure his friends dragged him off somewhere to give him hell.”
Before I can reply, I hear the soft clink of a glass hitting the bar. My eyes snap open, expecting the familiar golden hue of reposado we’ve been throwing back, but instead, I’m met with something different—neon green, glowing like temptation itself.
I glance at Aisha, my brow arching in question, but she just shrugs and tilts her head toward the bartender.
The woman in front of me leans closer, her dark hair flowing over one shoulder as she shouts over the music.
“From a secret admirer,” she says with a sly smile.
“Says ‘for your audacious performance,’ his words exactly.” Then she turns, the hem of her short peasant skirt swishing as she saunters off.
Aisha snorts, lifting the green shot in her hand and tossing it down the hatch. “Well, shiver me timbers,” she says, peering at me through the bottom of the shot glass like a makeshift telescope. “I guess one of his friends has a sense of humor.”
“With the perpetual stick shoved up his ass, someone’s gotta balance him out,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Aisha grins, tipping her shot back. “Take yours so that we can hit the dance floor.”
I don’t hesitate. Tossing back the neon concoction, I slam the glass down and grab her hand, letting her pull me toward the thrumming mass of bodies.
We lose ourselves in the music, in the heat and ataxia of the crowd.
The beat pounds through my chest, shaking loose all the tension of my day.
My body moves instinctively, hips swaying, arms lifting, head tilted back as I let the rhythm take over.
Sweat clings to my skin—mine, Aisha’s, and probably everyone else’s within arm’s reach—but for once, I don’t care.
Tonight, I just need to let go. To forget the events of the week, the weight of Jaxon’s presence, the way he always seems to appear when I least want him to.
When Xay finally finds us, I’m drenched, breathless, and unbothered. I don’t care what happens next—right now, I just want this moment to last. His arm snakes around my waist, tugging my back against his chest. “Let’s see how you move, Sweetness.”
Aisha presses herself to his back, fully unaware of the panic roiling in my gut. Claustrophobia starts to gnaw away at me, the liquor buzzing in my veins pushing me to move, to get some space. I pull myself out of his grasp. Aisha doesn’t notice when I slip away, wandering off to find the bathroom.
I stumble into a women’s room bathed in blue neon light, every surface covered in black. A group of girls chatters in the corner, taking photos in the silver-gilded mirror.
“Your dress is so freaking cute!” a slurred voice chirps from behind me while I wash my hands, trailing the water up my arms to cool off.
I turn to see a girl with wild red curls and freckles, dressed to look like one of the princesses. She sways unsteadily, clutching the wall for balance.
“Aw, thanks, babes,” I purr, the tequila I’ve been pounding all night starting to take effect. “You look amazing too!”
I dry my hands and stumble out of the bathroom, pressing against the cool wall to steady myself. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, my balance wavering with each step.
“You know,” a low, gravelly voice rumbles from the shadows, all the way at the end of the hall, freezing me mid-step. “You really shouldn’t drink things strangers give you.”
I squint, trying to make out the figure cloaked in darkness—my heart stutters. Before I can respond, the bathroom door bursts open, startling me. The redhead and her friends stumble out, their laughter slicing through the tension. When I look back again, the figure is gone.
I seize the chance, falling into step with the girls as they sway back toward the dance floor. But as I pass an intersecting corridor, something instinctive—a whisper in my blood—makes me glance down its length.
Big mistake.
I don’t even have a chance to scream before rough hands yank me into the darkness.
I thrash against the iron grip, my muffled cries swallowed by the music. My body fights like hell, kicking, twisting, desperate to escape. Panic claws up my throat, squeezing until I can’t breathe.
“Stop! Naomi, quit—it’s me,” the shadow hisses, spinning me around.
Jaxon’s face comes into view, his features painted by the skylight. His gaze is a storm, beautiful and infuriating all at once.
The fight drains out of me like water slipping through my fingers.
I pant, my chest heaving, as the adrenaline shakes have me going limp.
My vision is still not fully intact, but I am free from his grasp.
I press one hand to my chest and the other against the wall next to me as I try to catch my breath.
“Captain,” I slur, forcing a lazy smile. “You’re looking aggravatingly fuckable tonight.”
The smile that spreads across his face is overwhelming, though the concern in his eyes is even more so.
Not pity, no, but actual worry crinkles his brow.
My stomach clenches as his eyes sparkle with that dangerous mix of cocky and concern, and the stray lock of hair falling into his eyes. Yeah, that’s the killing blow.
What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even like this man, but my traitorous body has other plans. My pulse pounds in places it shouldn’t. My pussy practically hums its approval.
I stumble back a step, desperate to put space between us.
“I guess drunk women really do tell no tales,” he murmurs, his lips curving into that signature infuriating grin.
And just like that, the reminder of why I can’t stand him snaps into place, my glare sharpening. But then his expression softens, his voice dropping into something quieter, something sincere.
“Come here.”
I don’t resist when he pulls me into his arms again. My body betrays me completely, and I melt into his hold as if I were meant to be there.
He cups my cheek, his hand warm and steady. “How do you feel?”
His concern catches me off guard. I blink up at him, my brow furrowing. “What?”
“Your body,” he clarifies, his voice calm but commanding. “How does it feel?”
Closing my eyes, I let myself check in—scanning for anything out of the ordinary. “Um… My head feels funny, and I’m a little nauseous. But that’s probably just the liquor talking,” I murmur.
When I meet his gaze again, his weariness settles deeper. My legs wobble, and I sag further into his grip.
“Whoa, look at me, Naomi,” he urges, his tone sharp now. “Look at me.”
I try, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. His features blur, the edges of him bleeding into the shadows.
The beam of his phone’s flashlight cuts through the haze, flicking back and forth across my vision. His grip tightens around me, holding me upright as my body starts to go slack.
And darkness claims me.