His lips part. Jeremy is this big mafia prince who doesn’t hesitate before inflicting pain, but he’s looking at me as if I’m the Mad Hatter. “What girls are you thinking about killing, Niko?”
“Anyone who gets in the fucking way of what I want.” My gaze flies back to the crowd, but he’s not there.
The spot beside the blonde is now empty as she drinks from a can of beer and joins the excessive cheers.
Where the fucking fuck did that asshole go now?
You know what? It’s fine.
It’s better I don’t see him when I’m this way.
I’m fucking fine.
Maybe if I rip a page from Bran’s denial book and tell myself a lie for long enough, I’ll be able to believe it.
Once the fight resumes, I’m back at Kill’s throat. I beat him the fuck up and he takes it with taunting smirks and provoking words as if he wants to drain my energy—and get himself killed.
By the time the fight finishes with the absolute destruction of my cousin, the crowd is going wild. My name echoes and reverberates, but the thrill doesn’t touch my skin.
Nothing fucking does.
I storm to the locker room, my shoulders tense and my throat dry. Every swallow feels as if I’m slowly cutting at my insides, curling and twisting them into a huge pool of fucked-up red.
Whenever my mind goes into overdrive, violence is usually enough to root me back in place. Not this time.
This time, I want out of my fucking head.
My fist slams into the locker, leaving a huge dent in the metal, and I breathe harshly, my exhales rebounding around me like animalistic growls.
A light catches my attention in the corner and I pick up my phone to find a string of texts from none other than my lotus flower. My heart beats faster, harder, tugging at the strings that are keeping it in place.
The first text arrived soon after I left the locker room for the match.
Bran
I heard you’re going to fight tonight. Can you not?
Okay, listen. I didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s just that I didn’t know what to say. It’s weird to ask a guy to fuck me.
I don’t mean you’re weird. Really, I don’t. Though you are. But that’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not weird for your sexuality. I apologize if it came out that way. I just meant that it feels weird to me. I’m not used to this.
I’ll come to your place tonight. If you want. Just don’t fight, please.
He stopped texting after that and probably got his ass here.
His next texts appeared just now.
Bran
So you did fight and you looked like you were enjoying yourself. Should I take that as a no?
You know what? I’m going to your place. You’re the one who said this was a date.
Ah, fuck.
Fuck it.
Fuck. Me.
I know I should be pushing him away. I really, really should. But he’s so fucking irresistible.
Looks like my lotus flower will meet the crazy Nikolai.
God save his soul.
Or, more accurately, his body.