39. Chapter 34 #3
Bas stepped in, closing the space between him and Dominic like a silent threat. His voice, when he spoke, was cold, clipped, cutting straight through the noise of the club.
"You need to shut the fuck up, D."
His tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the kind of quiet that carried weight, the kind that sent a sharp edge of tension slicing through the air.
Dominic’s smirk twitched, his fingers flexing around the bottle in his hand. "Relax, man. I’m just saying—"
Bas tilted his head slightly, his jaw tightening. "No. You’re running your mouth about shit that doesn’t concern you." His grip on Evin’s waist didn’t budge. "And I promise you, D, you don’t want to find out what happens when I stop being patient."
The words landed heavy between them, pressing into the charged space like a warning carved in stone.
Dominic held his stare for a long second, then exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath as he backed off into the crowd.
The second he was gone, Bas turned to Evin, his hand still firm on her waist.
"You good?" His voice was quieter now, rougher.
Evin nodded, though her pulse was still hammering from the confrontation. "Yeah," she breathed, glancing up at him. "Thanks."
He huffed out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "For what? Not le tting that idiot run his mouth?"
"Something like that," she muttered.
"‘Dust,’ huh?" she added, mimicking Dominic’s earlier words.
Bas’s fingers brushed along her chin, tilting her face up toward him. The second she met his ice-cold stare, her breath caught.
"A little dirt never killed anyone," he murmured.
And before she could fire back, he kissed her.
Not tentative. Not soft. It was the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt—claiming, deliberate.
For that moment, there was nothing else. Just him. Just her. Just the heat of his hands, the solid press of his body against hers, the unshakable certainty in the way he held her there.
__________
Sebastian
T he night at the club was exactly what it was supposed to be—loud, reckless, and soaked in the kind of chaos that made everything else disappear.
Bas leaned back against the booth, a drink in his hand, watching the way the night unfolded around him.
The music pulsed through the air, the lights flashed in erratic patterns, and somewhere in the middle of it all, there was her.
She was laughing with Milka, her head tilted back, eyes shining in a way that made something tighten in his chest. She looked…
free. Like, for once, the weight she carried wasn’t pressing down on her.
He liked seeing her like this. He wanted to see her like this—without the darkness that crept into her gaze when she thought no one was looking.
But just as he was about to pull her back to him, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
A glance at the screen.
Cat.
His stomach twisted.
Shit.
His ex-something. Like so many others before her. A past he should’ve buried, but somehow, at this moment, it clawed its way back to the surface.
It had been weeks since he’d last seen her. Maybe even months. He hadn’t kept count, because there was nothing to count. Their thing—if you could even call it that—had always been simple. Convenient. Cat had been there when he needed her, and she knew exactly what it was. No promises. No illusions.
From the outside, it might have looked like more. Like she was his in some way. But that had never been the case.
And yeah, sometimes he had leaned into it.
Sometimes, when Evin had been close enough to see, he’d let the lines blur.
Let Cat linger a little longer, let his hands rest a little lower—just to watch the flicker of something sharp in Evin’s eyes.
He had played the game, fed the tension between them. But it had never been about Cat.
It had always been about Evin.
He swiped the call away.
The screen lit up again.
With a quiet exhale, he pressed the phone to his ear.
"Bas?" Her voice slipped through the speaker, too soft, too damn familiar. "Are you there? I... I know you're probably not alone, but—"
His gaze flicked to Evin. She was still at the bar, completely unaware.
He should’ve hung up. But something inside him held him there.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was habit. Or maybe, deep down, he needed to hear Cat’s voice—to remind himself why this thing with Evin wasn’t like anything before.
"You know, I thought... I thought it was more than that. Between us," she murmured. "But now I hear you’re back with her? B, I—"
Fuck! I thought I made i t clear.
"Cat," he cut in, voice firm. "We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s late. I’m out."
A second of silence.
Then—
Movement behind him.
A presence he didn’t need to turn around to recognize.
But he did.
And the second he met Evin’s gaze, his stomach fucking dropped.
She had heard everything.
Her eyes—cold, unreadable, but still raw in a way that made his throat go tight.
"Really?" she said. Not loud. Not angry. But sharp enough to cut through him.
Bas let the phone drop to his side, his jaw tensing as he held her stare.
"Evin, it’s nothing. She—"
"Let me guess," she interrupted, her voice edged with something that wasn’t quite rage, but damn sure wasn’t calm. "It’s not what it looks like?"
The air between them shifted.
She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin like she was physically stopping herself from saying something she’d regret.
The instinct to brush it off, to deflect—fuck, it was right there.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his hand found her waist, an attempt to pull her closer, to close the space she was trying to put between them.
She stepped back, not much, just enough.
Enough for it to feel like a punch to the ribs.
"Birdie, I’m here," he said, voice lower now. Steady. "With you. You see that, don’t you?"
Her stare didn’t waver.
But the way her jaw locked, the way her lips pressed together—
Yeah. She wasn’t buying it.
"You’re here, huh?" she murmured. "Funny, ‘cause it feels like you’re only half here."
The words hit harder than he expected.
She crossed her arms again, closing herself off. "Seems like you’ve got more important things to handle."
Bas clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to say something—anything—to stop this from spiraling.
But what the fuck was he supposed to say?
That Cat meant nothing? That she didn’t cross his mind until she called? That Evin was the only thing that had ever really mattered?
It wouldn’t be enough.
Because she had history with guys like him. And he had a history of screwing things up.
And right now?
She was looking at him like she was just waiting for him to prove her right.
"What happened with Cat… it means nothing." His voice was rough, and he stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body. "She is part of my past. We had fun for a while, but that’s not who I am anymore."
He lifted both hands slightly, as if to emphasize that he had nothing to hide. But his fingers twitched—restless, betraying the turmoil raging inside him.
For a moment, there was nothing but the music. The bass swallowed their words, the flashing lights cast shadows across their faces, making this conversation feel like a scene in a movie.
Evin shook her head slightly, a mix of disappointment and understanding shimmering in her eyes. Her fingers toyed with the necklace around her neck—a small, almost imperceptible sign that she was trying to steady herself, trying to sort through the emotions tumbling inside her.
"You know, Sebastian," she started, her voice firm and clear, though her gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm done being just an option for you. Either you’re all in, or you’re not in at all."
She lifted her head again, locking eyes with him. They were hard now, but her hands hung limply by her sides, her entire body radiating exhaustion from this never-ending battle.
Every single word landed like a punch, and something inside him stirre d—a flicker of pride for her, tangled with the sharp sting of panic.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh, one that revealed more of his insecurities than he cared to admit. "You’re more than just an option, Evin. You must know that by now." His voice dropped as he admitted the next truth. "But… I don’t know if I’m everything you’re looking for."
Her eyes stayed cold, but her voice softened. "Maybe you should figure that out before you promise me anything."
She let go of his hand—slowly, deliberately—making sure he understood exactly what that meant. Then, as she turned, she pressed her lips together, a telltale sign that she was barely holding it together.
Bas felt the emptiness in his chest like a painful echo as he watched her walk away.
“No matter what happens—I always come back to you. Can’t you see that?”, he said.
His hands dropped uselessly to his sides, but his jaw clenched, his gaze locked onto her as if he could physically hold her back just by looking.
Every step she took widened the gap between them.
And then—A sharp, burning sensation surged through him. A gut-wrenching certainty that if he let her go now, that distance would only keep growing.
No. No second-guessing, no wasted moments.
He moved before he even realized it.
Her confused eyes flicked over his face, searching, and he felt the words ignite inside him, scorching through his chest like wildfire.
In one swift motion, he grabbed her, pulled her back—firm, unyielding. A single moment of clarity in the chaos.
And without giving her a chance to protest, he hooked an arm around her waist, lifted her clean off the ground, and threw her over his shoulder.
"Bas! Are you out of your damn mind?" Her voice rang out, laced with indignation, but there was a glint in her eyes—one she couldn’t quite hide.
"Looks like it."
A wide, reckless grin stretched across his face as he carried her straight out of the club. He could feel the stares, hear the murmurs, but none of it matter ed.
A wild rush coursed through him.
Because for the first time in a long time, none of the noise—the doubts, the fears, the past—mattered.
Only this.
Only her.
And maybe, just maybe, this was the moment they’d finally stop running.
As they passed the bouncers, one of them shot Bas a knowing grin. A very untypical Bas move, his look seemed to say. And maybe he was right.
But it felt right.
This time, it wasn’t about pride. It wasn’t about ego.
This time, it was panic.
A deep, clawing panic that if he let her go, if he hesitated for even a second too long, she’d slip through his fingers—that they’d end up on entirely different paths, too far apart to ever find their way back.
The cold night air hit his skin, sharp and bracing, but his grip on her remained firm, unyielding, even as she kept cursing him out. He could hear it in her voice—the slight tremble beneath her irritation, that one flustered laugh he knew too damn well.
And when he finally set her down beside his car, he held her gaze.
Long. Steady.
His pulse was still hammering, adrenaline roaring through his veins, but his eyes? His eyes were calm. Focused.
"What the hell was that?" she whispered, and he caught the hesitation in her expression—the flicker of something close to fear, as if she was bracing herself for his answer.
"We needed to get out of there." His voice came out hard, exactly the way he intended. But underneath, woven into every syllable, was something unmistakable.
A vulnerability that was hers alone.
They had to talk.
There were too many words left unspoken, too many things hanging betwee n them like a blade waiting to drop. And Bas knew—if they didn’t clear this once and for all, whatever this was between them would never have a real place in their lives.
"Evin—get in the car!"