Chapter Nine #2
“Absolutely. Because I’m taking you on a date today.”
Her lashes fluttered. “A what?”
“A date. D-A-T-E. You, me, something fun, and zero talk of murder or government conspiracies, unless it turns you on, in which case, I am so ready.”
Odette snorted, burying her face into her blanket to muffle her giggle. “You’re such a menace.”
“I’m your menace,” I beamed, then smacked her ass lightly over the blanket. “Now up, up, up. Put on something comfy. Maybe that cute matching set I like, the one that makes me lose brain cells and forget how to do math.”
She rolled her eyes, but the color blooming in her cheeks gave her away. “You don’t have brain cells.”
“Exactly,” I said, already rising to my feet and stretching like a satisfied cat. “And I’d like to sacrifice the few I do have to the altar of your thighs. Now scoot. I’ve got a surprise planned, and if we’re late, I’m blaming it on your distracting face.”
She sat up slowly, sheets falling down to reveal the oversized tee she wore, one of mine, of course. This one said, “Emotionally unstable but still hot.”
She caught me staring.
“What?” she asked, glancing down at the shirt.
“Never take it off,” I whispered reverently. “Or do. Dramatically. While music plays.”
Her laugh was real this time. Bright. Loud. Alive. And if I could bottle the sound, I’d keep it in my pocket like a relic. She stood, shaking out her hair and stretching, and I could already tell this date was going to ruin me.
“Five minutes,” she said over her shoulder, walking toward her dresser.
“Take ten,” I called after her. “I need to sit here and pray for strength, not to lick your legs.”
I think she was still laughing when the bathroom door closed.
***
I watched her from the corner of my eye as we pulled into the lot, her nose practically pressed to the window like she was seeing some kind of divine vision instead of a glowing sign that said LEVEL UP.
Neon flickered over her skin—pink, green, blue—painting her like some cosmic dream I’d hallucinated into reality.
“Oh my god,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You brought me to an arcade?”
Correction: she whispered it like a prayer, like I’d just unveiled the gates of Valhalla and she was waiting for the Valkyries to hand her a joystick. I grinned, chest swelling. “Not just an arcade. The arcade. They’ve got retro pinball, air hockey, virtual sword fights, duck prizes—”
“Duck prizes?” she squeaked, turning to me so fast her seatbelt protested.
“Tiny rubber ducks dressed like historical figures,” I confirmed solemnly.
Her mouth dropped open in this perfect, pink little “oh,” and that’s when I knew: I’d peaked. Nothing I did after this would top her face in that moment.
“I love you,” she said, then blinked, going stiff. “I mean…I love this. This is so cute. Not you. I mean. Not not you, I just… we just met.. I mean fuck.”
I made a strangled sound, somewhere between a bark of laughter and a groan, my whole body thrumming like a tuning fork. “Too late, Omega,” I said, throwing the SUV in park. “I’m taking it. First, ‘I love you.’ Mine now. No backsies.”
She covered her face with her hands. “Haze!”
“Baby, you’re lucky I don’t get it tattooed across my chest.”
Inside, she was a damn force of nature. One minute she was dragging me to the claw machine and screaming when she won a duck in a Napoleon costume, the next she was feeding me glowing orange slush from her cup and giggling when I choked on the sour candy stuck inside it.
“Worth it,” I croaked, pounding my chest.
“You are a menace,” she said fondly, eyes gleaming. “A ridiculous, beautiful menace.”
I actually preened. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Say it softer.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Say it in French.”
“I don’t speak French.”
“I’ll teach you.”
She shoved me. I nearly fell into a table of beer pong bros, and I swear one of them saluted her like she was their new god.
We played air hockey. She cheated. I cheated more. She threatened to bite me when I distracted her by blowing kisses across the table.
“You keep that up and I’m gonna carry you out of here like a prize,” I warned.
“Win me a duck first,” she said, winking.
I nearly blacked out from joy.
Later, when we sat on a neon-striped couch in the corner of the prize room, she leaned her head on my shoulder, cheeks flushed, fingers tangled in the string of prize tickets she refused to cash in just yet.
“This was the best date I’ve ever been on,” she murmured. “Like… actually. Ever.”
I didn’t say anything for a second because I was trying not to combust like a faulty firework.
Instead, I took her hand. Kissed her knuckles. Then whispered against her skin, “Good. Because I’ve got at least twenty more planned. And I haven’t even started trying yet.”
She looked up at me, eyes shining. “Yeah?”
I nodded, nose brushing hers. “Yeah, sunshine. And next time we will... commit a crime!”
She giggled, pulled me into a kiss that tasted like sugar and victory, and I knew one thing for sure. If this was what being hers felt like? I was never coming back down.
Micha
September 30th
5:37 P.M
“Sunshine?”
My voice was quiet, but it could still be heard over the faint sounds of her music. Her work area was carried by the scent of dust, sweat, and something sweet that clung to every beam and corner of this place. Her scent. Faint blueberry pancakes, threaded with something warm and grounding.
Odette looked up from the hunk of marble she was preparing. The sun coming through the garage door windows lit up her hair in molten streaks of orange and gold, and the pale smudge of dust on her cheek made her even more unreal. Like she’d stepped out of a dream made of fire and stone.
Her face brightened when she saw me, like I was something she had been waiting on.
She wore an old T-shirt knotted at the waist and a pair of black leggings covered in chalky handprints.
Her steel-toe boots looked like they’d seen the inside of a battlefield and somehow still made her legs look like art.
She set the chisel down and wiped her palms on a rag, stepping away from the block like she hadn’t just been elbow-deep in creation.
Across the room, Henry shifted from where he stood beside a workbench. The man was a sentinel, silent, immovable, and sharp-eyed. He wore dark jeans, a weathered leather jacket over a gray shirt that clung to the muscle across his chest, and he didn’t bother to hide the blade clipped to his belt.
He gave me a long look, then nodded once in that way of his.
I returned the nod and stepped further in, keeping my voice even and calm.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?”
Odette blinked, a flush blooming across her cheeks, before she smiled, shy and excited all at once. She set the rag down beside the marble with surprising care, then turned back to me, fingers curling slightly at her sides like she was trying not to bounce.
“Of course,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “What did you have in mind?”
I let a small smile tug at my mouth. My heart beat a little harder at the way she looked at me, like she was giving me the benefit of the doubt, and the rest of the world could go to hell.
“I figured I’d let you smash a few things.”
She tilted her head, intrigued.
“There’s a rage room in the city,” I said. “They give you a baseball bat and let you destroy glass, plates, mannequins, office furniture… whatever you want.”
Odette’s eyes lit up like sunrise over broken glass.
“I get to hit stuff with a bat?”
“You get to obliterate stuff with a bat. Or any other weapon you want short of a gun.”
She grinned, practically glowing. “Micha, that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Behind her, Henry let out a rare snort. “That’s my girl.”
I gave him a look. “She’ll be home in one piece.”
He crossed his arms. “If not, I’m breaking you in the rage room.”
Odette laughed, walking toward me with that swing in her hips she didn’t realize she had. “Let me change real quick.”
I stepped aside to let her pass, and as she disappeared up the stairs to her apartment, I looked around her studio again.
Her sculptures lined the walls—half-finished women in various stages of rising or breaking.
Power in their posture, agony in the curves of their mouths.
It was raw and beautiful. She was raw and beautiful.
“Be gentle with her,” Henry said quietly, once we were alone.
I looked him in the eye, my voice low and certain. “Always.”
Odette’s footsteps echoed on the stairs, and I turned just as she appeared—cleaner now, hair in a messy bun, a soft tank tucked into jeans, and her beat-up boots.
She came right up to me, her eyes bright. “Let’s go break shit.”
I offered my arm. “My kind of woman.”
***
The building didn’t look like much—gray cement, heavy doors, minimal signage—but I could already feel the faint thrum of anticipation from her as we stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of paint, rubber, and the ghost of things that had been broken beyond repair.
Perfect.
The attendant was a bored-looking beta with a clipboard and neon pink eyebrows who didn’t blink twice when I asked for the premium room.’
Once we were suited up in those weird biohazard-looking suits and safety glasses, we stepped into the room. The door slammed behind us with a metallic thud that echoed into the vast space.
The room was full of destruction waiting to happen. Ceramic plates are stacked like a buffet, mannequins are positioned in stiff rows, and glass bottles are lined up on a shelf like obedient soldiers. There was a baseball bat in the corner and a crowbar on the table.
Odette crossed the room slowly, the bat swinging from her hand as she walked. She ran her fingers across the head of one of the mannequins, her mouth tightening.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said gently. “But I’m here if you want to.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, the air stretching thin around her.
Then, softly: “When I was in that basement… I remember the sound my chains made when I moved. It echoed like this room does. I thought I was going to die there. Not just from them. From being helpless. From only having my mind as company.”
She turned, her eyes burning gold and haunted. “I am my own.” She raised the bat and brought it down.
The first hit shattered the mannequin’s head clean off. Plastic pieces flew. The second broke its torso. The third was pure fury, unchained and beautiful. She didn’t stop. Not when the shelves toppled. Not when glass exploded like rainfall. Not when her breath turned ragged and her chest heaved.
I stood back. Let her scream without words.
Let her break things until her muscles trembled. My chest felt tight watching her break down and build herself back up. This was what I understood. The shadows in her eyes are familiar. I wanted to be the one to chase them away.
When she finally dropped the bat and slumped to her knees, breath hitching, fingers twitching from adrenaline, I was there. Silent. Solid. I sank to the floor with her, cupped her face in my hands, and rested my forehead against hers.
“You are your own,” I whispered. “I am so proud of you.”
Her tears finally came hot and silent.
And I held her through every one.