Eight
Kat
Deliver Us from Evil – Bullet For My Valentine
“But tonight, it belonged to you.”
Those six words replay in my head, like a projector stuck on repeat at the movie theater. My entire body locked up when they left his mouth, but I couldn’t tell whether it was a form of primal fear… or primal need. And honestly, I know which scenario I’m more afraid of.
He’d leaned in so close, his tobacco and cedar scent overwhelming my senses like a flash mob.
The sensation of his warm breath against my cheek sent shockwaves that pooled low in my belly—shockwaves that still haven’t left.
The most alarming part of it all was how much I wanted to follow him as he walked away. Like a well-trained puppy.
When I came to Bridgeport, I vowed never to let another person have that level of control over my mind, and it’s alarming how easily he’s wormed his way in.
My hand strays to my throat, the familiar texture of the chain soothing my nerves—if only slightly.
If I’m honest, I haven’t felt calm in days…
weeks, even. I’ve worked fucking hard for my life here.
No one is going to take that away from me, especially not a breathtakingly beautiful man in a suit.
A breathy groan leaves my throat, and I clench my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache building there.
I down my fifth Jack and Coke, the warm buzz building, my head beginning to feel lighter.
I can’t let him in. I can’t let the control I’ve worked so damn hard to grasp be given to someone else.
I have to stay away. How I’m going to do that when he’s technically my fucking boss now, I don’t know.
But that’s a problem for another day—tonight I need to focus on enjoying the small victory of not getting booed off stage.
The crowd seemed to love us. The energy as we stepped off stage didn’t fade—we were bombarded with high-fives and “great job.” I walked through the crowd with my head held the highest it’s been in years, despite a few hands reaching out to try to clap me on the shoulder or pull me for a selfie.
Those made me recoil, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with that.
Thankfully, Harper was right there, diverting attention away from me.
I signal to the bartender for another drink.
It’s not Finn. It’s another guy—just as young, but I think he’s new.
I’m pretty sure at least one of my drinks tasted like brandy instead of whiskey.
As I wait for my mystery drink, I glance over to Harper, who’s draped around Nathan as he whispers something in her ear.
She throws her head back and giggles playfully.
Luca left not long after our set ended. Ryland is over in the corner, talking to a group of girls, drumsticks twirling in his fingers.
I shake my head and stifle a laugh into the back of my hand as my drink arrives.
I don’t mind being by myself, I think I fucking needed it.
Depending on who you ask, the stage can feel like the best place in the world or completely smothering.
I’m definitely on the side of smothering.
So it’s nice to take a few minutes for myself.
I take a long sip of the sweet, woody poison, and I scan the thinning crowd.
It’s almost midnight—last calls will be soon.
As my eyes roam across the room, I’m drawn to a pair of eyes looking at me over his drink.
His sandy blonde hair meticulously styled, not a hair out of place.
He definitely wasn’t in the pit during our set.
He’s wearing a Megadeth shirt with that fresh, newly bought shine on the print still clear.
He catches me looking back and makes his way over.
Shit.
I avert my eyes through instinct. My heartbeat increases as I flip my necklace between my fingers. I should have left after my second drink. Fuck Ryland for talking me into staying.
“Hey,” he says as he comes to stand in front of me. “I’m Kirk.”
He has his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, which look brand new.
Across the room, he looked younger. But up close, he’s much older than I first thought.
Across the room, he looked about twenty-one.
He’s maybe thirty-five, if not older. His lips are curled into a smirk.
It doesn’t look effortless, like Elias’s does.
It definitely looks like he studied videos of hot men and practiced this look in front of a mirror.
I press my lips to the back of my hand to keep from laughing in his face.
Oh right. He introduced himself.
I open my mouth to speak, but pause as I look at his face.
His eyes are darker now and roam over every part of my exposed skin.
He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, which I can now see are slightly yellowing.
He has a five o’clock shadow, but it’s in patches over his jaw and cheeks, not full like Elias’s… Fuck. Get it together, Kat.
He steps closer to me, his thighs now inches from my knees.
Ah. This is going to be one of those conversations.
“I’m Kat,” I reply.
He’s tall enough—maybe an inch or so taller than I am.
He clinks his glass against mine, and I fight hard to contain an eye-roll.
Can he just fuck off already? I don’t really have Harper’s penchant for kicking guys to the curb yet—I guess I haven’t had enough practice. Maybe Kirk is a good first contender.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, eyes searching mine for a response.
“No, thank you,” I reply, shaking my half-full Jack and Coke in the air.
“Oh, come on,” he replies, nudging my arm.
“No, I’m going home after this one.”
His smirk drops for a split second before coming back. “Alright,” he says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “You were great up there, by the way. Randy Rhoads would be proud.”
“Thank you,” I say as I tap my nails on my glass and look anywhere but his face.
“Where did you learn to play so well?”
“I taught myself. That and cello.”
Kirk raises his eyebrows and gives an impressed nod. It’s always mediocre men who look at women like they’re a phenomenon if they have a hobby that doesn’t involve a man.
“That’s impressive. I suppose there’s not much space in metal music for cello,” he says. Not a question, but a statement that has me visibly rolling my eyes this time. This guy is one wrong word away from asking me to be his goth mommy, I’m fucking sure of it.
“There is if you’re creative enough. Plenty of bands do pretty well for themselves,” I say, to which he shrugs his shoulders before moving to take a sip of his drink. The clumsy movement knocks my phone off the bar, causing it to clatter to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” he says frantically as I bend down to pick it up, checking it over.
“No cracks, it’s okay,” I tell him as I press the power button, the screen lighting up, showing it still works. He seems pleased with that. “No harm done,” I add as I take a sip of my drink.
“I like a girl who knows her music,” he says as his hand comes to rest on my thigh.
I push it off.
“Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he asks as he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch makes shivers run down my spine in the worst way.
I turn away and take another sip. Fuck, this is strong. Was it always this strong? Or am I just that much of a lightweight these days that four is now my limit?
The last call rings out, the bell cutting through the thick air around me.
“I should get going,” I say.
“Let me walk you to your cab. It’s the least I can do for almost breaking your phone.” He laughs as his hand lands on the small of my back.
I nod slowly as I finish my drink. My head suddenly feels too heavy for my neck as I grab my purse. His hand snakes around my waist, helping me off the seat.
How much did I drink? I thought it was four? Maybe it was six?
“Kat!” I hear from behind me. It’s Harper.
Fuck, I forgot about Harper.
“Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?” She laughs as she reaches me.
I throw my arms around her neck and pull her tight. Half holding onto her for balance, half out of adoration for her. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot.”
She pulls back and looks at me, then at Kirk behind me. She scans him up and down like she’s cataloging him for a ‘wanted’ poster. Knowing Harper, she absolutely is.
“Are you okay? You’re kinda slurring right now?” she whispers into my ear, not taking her eyes off Kirk.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had one too many drinks. I’m just going to get a cab home.”
She looks at me, and I can see the internal battle raging in her mind. “I’ll take you home,” she insists, and I can tell there’s no room for discussion.
She turns around to grab her purse, and Nathan is there, his hand moving to her lower back.
Where the fuck did he come from?
“I’m just going to take Kat home, babe,” she says before giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“I can make sure she gets home okay,” Kirk chimes in from behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. His voice sounds strangely far away, even though he’s right there.
“No, I’ll take her,” Harper says firmly, glaring daggers at Kirk as she takes her purse from under Nathan’s arm.
“Honestly, it’s okay. I’ll be fine on my own,” I protest, surprised by how clear my voice comes out, despite the dizziness rolling around in my head right now.
Harper considers my argument and opens her mouth to speak, but Nathan cuts her off.
“Babe, come on, let her go. She’s fine, see?” He gestures towards me.
Harper looks at me and bites her lip, uncertainty flitting over her features before she takes both of my hands in hers. “Are you sure?” she asks, searching my eyes for the actual answer, no doubt.
“Yes,” I say with emphasis. “I’m going to go home, take a shower, and go to bed so I can be awake for work in the morning.”
She still searches my face, clearly in doubt about my decision—or my capability to make decisions.
“Go,” I say, shooing her away. “Go spend the night with Nathan. I’ll be fine.”