Chapter 21
Theo
Now
I wonder how long it will take Holly to clean everything up. She’s typically not a messy killer, but every now and then, her temper gets the better of her, and the calculated neatness of a slit throat is replaced by a brick-smashed skull.
The sharp tang of spilled tequila hangs in the air as I watch her trail my date into the washroom.
Well, she isn’t exactly my date. Neither did I intend for her to die tonight.
That’s not why I asked her to dance. The only woman I want to dance with is Holly.
She’s the only person I want to touch in this lifetime and the next.
But since she refuses to admit that she wants me just as much, this felt like the only way to get a reaction.
I just needed to get under her skin, to make her admit that watching me touch someone else drives her insane.
And if it takes yet another slit throat to bring that truth to the surface, so be it.
Every decision should not be rooted in morality.
Some decisions depend on how one’s self-interest can be affected by the consequences.
The washroom door clicks shut, and I decide to wait it out by the bar. One more drink seems reasonable enough given I’ll be driving later. I order an Old Fashioned for myself and a gin martini with eight olives for Holly — she’ll probably need it after she’s done in there.
The barman returns with my order, and I cover Holly’s drink with a napkin before taking a sip of mine.
I take a seat on a barstool, leaning against the counter with my eyes fixed on the washroom door, watching for any sign: a scream, a shadow, a streak of blood.
Anything to tell me what’s going on behind it.
Nothing.
I glance over at the dance floor where April and Parker are still tangled up in each other’s arms, making out with each other as if no one else exists.
Her lips crushed against his, his hands all over her.
Jesus Christ, it’s like they’re trying to suck the life out of each other.
The only time Parker pulls away from her is to grab a French fry from their shared plate to shove into her mouth before diving right back into their kiss.
Looking away, I pull out my phone. There are no texts from the inferior stalker, nothing from the other weird number either.
Just a few messages from Em — mostly goofy pictures of her in her football gear.
I like every single one before slipping the phone back into my pocket, my focus returning to the door.
What the hell is taking her so long? Should I check on her? It wouldn’t be difficult; the bar is quite crowded, and the air is thick with dim red lighting. Slipping through the door unnoticed would be child’s play. Though, I do hope she’s had the sense to lock it.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. At the thirteenth minute, the doorknob turns, Holly steps out, and for a second, I forget everything because fucking hell, that outfit.
The short green skirt clinging to her hips, the black corset, cinching her waist so perfectly it makes my mouth dry, the green leather jacket, and those boots — those fucking thigh-high, heeled boots.
I want to get her naked underneath me wearing nothing but those boots.
I want to feel the heels of those boots press into my chest, digging into my skin until they draw blood.
Every nerve in my body ignites, my pulse thundering as a singular thought burrows into my brain: mine.
She runs a hand through her blonde waves. Her eyes meet mine across the room. I smile. She smiles back. Something isn’t right. Holly never smiles at me. My suspicions are confirmed precisely a second later, when my “date” walks out the door behind her. Completely alive and positively unharmed.
She’s smiling too, a little shyly. Her hair is slightly tousled, and her lipstick is... smudged. Is she fucking blushing?
She says something to Holly — which, from the way her lips move, looks like a timid “thank you.” Holly moves her, so that her back is facing me, before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with the kind of tenderness that I didn’t even know she was capable of.
It makes my gut twist. And then she kisses her.
It’s not a casual peck on the lips. It’s a raw, hungry, fucking kiss.
Her hand is fisted in the woman’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer, it’s like she’s trying to brand herself on the other woman. She’s kissing her when she should be kissing me.
Is she trying to get back at me for something?
I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t work. I can practically feel the jealousy clawing at me, scorching through my veins, making every inch of me burn with the need to rip them the fuck apart.
When they finally pull apart after an eternity, Holly drags her thumb across the brunette’s lip, a slow motion that makes my teeth grind.
She says something to her and the woman, who’s practically glowing now, walks over to her friends, while Holly — smug, smug Holly — makes her way to me.
Hips sashaying and chin up high likes she’s already won. She has.
“Ooh, is this for me?” she says, reaching for the napkin-covered martini glass. She takes a sip, her eyes closing as the gin hits her tongue. “Mm...perhaps, you aren’t as useless as I thought.”
“That was quite the show you put on,” I say, unable to hide the twinge of irritation in my voice.
She takes another sip of her drink, and I watch her throat as she swallows the gin. I want to bite her. “You’re gonna have to be much more specific than that, Carter.”
“If you were jealous, all you had to do was come talk to me. There was no need to steal my date.”
Holly smiles over the rim, her expression dripping with smugness and I think I understand now why she finds me so insufferable. “I didn’t steal your date. She came willingly.”
“Is that so?”
Holly nods. “Multiples times, actually.”
My blood burns.
“And as for the jealous part, why would I be jealous? Did you install a secret tracking app on her phone as well?”
“For the last time, it’s not a tracking app. Though, I do have one of those installed on your phone.”
She shoots me a glare.
“I’m kidding.” I’m not.
She settles onto the barstool beside me and her corset top shifts slightly, the snug fabric shifting with the curve of her body.
The movement reveals just a hint of the lace edging of her crimson bra, stark against her skin.
It’s not much — barely anything, really — but it’s enough to make my pulse tick up a notch.
I want to take that bra off her and lick and suck until she’s begging me to go lower.
She brings her glass back to her lips and crosses her legs gracefully, one over the other, making her skirt ride up just enough to reveal the sharp glint of metal strapped against her thigh. Her scalpel.
Fuck.
Maybe I am obsessed with her. How could I not be?
She’s fucking ethereal. I want her to straddle me in this barstool and hold that scalpel against my throat as she bounces on my cock.
I want to cup her tits through her top, pinching and twisting her nipples while she viciously pulls my hair.
I want to bury my face in her cunt. I want to fuck her hard and fast against every surface in this bar, my fingers digging into her hips and her nails digging into my forearms. I want to kiss her.
I want to kiss her until our lips start to bruise.
I want her to pour all her anger down my lungs.
I want her fully exposed to me and I want her to be panting so fucking hard, she can’t even speak. Can’t think.
For a minute, the bar goes quiet, and all I hear is the thud of my pulse in my ears.
She uncrosses her legs and takes another sip of her drink, and all I can see are her lips — soft, pink, and plump.
And how they were on someone else’s mouth less than two minutes ago.
My chest tightens with something sharp and ugly.
My hands twitch, wanting to break something.
Anything. Is this why Holly does what she does?
Is this the kind of anger that pushes someone over the edge and makes them do things they can’t take back?
I grab the underside of her barstool and pull it close to me.
Holly almost chokes on her drink. “Theo, what are you —”
“I don’t like you so far away from me.” I don’t let any part of my body touch hers. Not yet. Not until she begs me for it. And she will.
Her face flushes instantly, a delicate pink creeping up her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her ears.
Her jaw tightens as if sheer willpower can keep her composure intact, but I see it.
I always do. The way her neck turns red, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as her breathing falters.
“Something on your mind, love?” My hand stays tight on the stool just between her legs.
Her lips press together. “Let me go.”
Never. “Admit that you were jealous.”
She scoffs and looks away. “Sure, if you’re okay with me lying.”
I grab her chin and force her face to mine. “It’s not wise to provoke me right now.”
She makes no effort to slap my hand away. Doesn’t even flinch. It’s almost as if she was expecting me to do this. Wanted me to do this. The flush on her cheeks spreads down her neck and she swallows once. “Do you seriously have nothing better to do right now?”
“I could.” I let my finger trace along the line of her jaw. “But tormenting you like this makes me so goddamn hard.”
“Fuck you.”
“Mm, please do.” I press my thumb against her lower lip. “Say it, Holly.” My own heart is fucking hammering in my chest. I don’t know how much more of her stubbornness I can take. “Tell me you were jealous.”
She’s breathing a bit heavier now, her chest rising and falling faster like she’s struggling to stay calm.
Struggling to pretend that heat isn’t crawling all over her skin.
That I don’t have her exactly where I want her.
Exactly where she wants to be. “I don’t like being told what to do,” she says, her tongue flicking out to wet her lip and my thumb in the process.
The tiny movement is enough to nearly snap my control in half.
I yank her seat closer and wrap my fingers around her throat in one swift motion. “Let’s get one thing straight, Holly. When I tell you to do something, it isn’t because I expect you to listen.” I lean in next to her ear. “It’s because I know defying me turns you on.”
Her breath stutters, and I swear I feel her pulse hammering under my fingers. “Theo.”
“Fuck, yes, baby, say my name.” My forehead falls against hers and I tighten my grip just enough to feel her pulse jump beneath my fingers.
Her eyes close, lashes brushing her flushed cheeks, and a tiny frown forms between her brows.
She’s fighting herself, trying so hard not to let go.
She’s fucking struggling to hold herself back.
Whether it’s from stabbing me or kissing me is still something I can’t quite figure out. But I’ll take either option.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.
I smile against her skin. “Oh, I don’t think I’m doing nearly enough.” My hand moves to the back of her neck, threading through her hair.
Each small shift of her body under my touch makes everything in me burn. The slightest shiver that runs through her, the way her skin tingles with anticipation. It’s fucking maddening. It’s driving me insane. I want to consume every inch of her. I want to lose myself in her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers, her body leaning entirely into my touch now.
“Stop me then.”
“Someone’s going to see.” Her nose brushes against the edge of mine and I’m pretty sure my heart explodes in my chest.
“Let them.” I brush my lips along her jaw, feeling her body tremble under my touch.
She lets out a soft moan. An actual fucking moan — almost imperceptible, but it does something to me. It twists my insides. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Ashley!”
Holly pulls away so fast I don’t even have a chance to react. The brunette from earlier appears next to us, her lipstick still smudged.
“Ready to go?” Her eyes land on me, wide and flustered. “Oh, um. Hi.”
I don't even bother to acknowledge her, afraid that I might set her on fire with my glare for fucking interrupting our moment. No, my attention is solely glued to Holly who’s too busy scooting her stool away as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.
Her face is still flushed. Her hair’s a bit of a mess.
Her chest rises and falls in quick breaths, her eyes darting nervously, avoiding mine.
She clears her throat and forces a nonchalant expression as she sets the half-drunk martini down with a quiet clink on the bar. “Y-yes, um, we’re leaving.”
I push myself up too. “Took you long enough —”
Her eyes finally snap to mine, cold and unreadable now. She’s got that detached, impassive look that I’m quite familiar with by now. She’s pretending again. “I wasn’t talking to you,” she retorts sharply, then points between herself and the brunette. “We are leaving.”
Over my dead fucking body. “May I ask where to?”
“My place.”
The brunette smiles at Holly, looking like she’s ready to melt into the floor.
Which I get. If Holly kissed me the way she’d kissed her, then invited me over to her place, I’d be plucking my heart out of my chest to fold into an origami flower for her.
This other woman is obviously stronger than me. And equally undeserving.
I grab the sleeve of her jacket, tugging her toward me. Don’t, I mouth.
Her eyebrow arches. Jealous? She jerks her arm back, breaking free, and just when she’s about to walk out towards the door, her phone buzzes twice.
So does mine.
Frowning, we both pull out our phones, unlocking them at the same time. Two messages for Holly sent less than fifteen seconds ago.
UNKNOWN: 594 Arcadia Rd, Brooklyn, NY 11214.
UNKNOWN: Come alone this time or I’ll ensure the cops do a better job putting you behind bars.