Page 2 of Explosive Prejudice

Looking right and left, there was only one door in the short hall. It was excessively big. The type of doors that reached the ceiling. Stepping closer, I saw it was open. Oh, fuck. Was that some sort of an invitation? Dion did mention she was kinky. Was she one of those perverts who enjoyed being surprised by an intruder? If I’d known, I would have asked for more money.

Already tired from this shit, I huffed some air and stepped inside, cursing Dion’s ass. Greedy son of a bitch.

The large room was dim, lit only by the reflections of the diamonds adorning the chandeliers. Opening the doors leading to the bedroom, I’d expected to find her waiting on the bed, with her hands tied behind her back or something, only it stood empty. The sheets were smooth and tucked under the mattress, unused, which confused me. When I crossed the space into the room, I saw no one. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Checking there next, I found it was also empty. Stepping farther in, I found white powder spread over the black marble with a golden credit card beside it. Okay… so she has a thing for coke.

I left the drugs behind and went back to the main room. Was she playing hide-and-seek? Wasn’t she too old for childish games? Annoyed with this nonsense, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and was ready to text Dion to tell him I was calling this off when I reread the last text he sent me—the one with all the details.

The Blue and Red Sunset Hotel.

Floor 39.

The royalty suite.

“Oh, fuck.” I was in the wrong fucking room and floor. Great. Just great. Pocketing my phone, I was ready to get the hell out of there. The last thing I needed was for the rich asshole who paid for this place to return and find me in his room. I was about to start walking when a cold breeze hit my skin, so I turned to see the terrace doors were open. Something made me stop in my tracks and focus beyond those glass doors. Squinting, I tried to see past the silky white curtain that danced with the wind and looked straight out into the dark night.

And then I saw it. A figure of a man standing over the edge of the balcony.

Facing his back, all I could see was his golden hair swaying in the air and the way his hands hardly held on to the rail. Whoever this man was, he was about to jump. I had no doubt. Without thinking twice, I ran toward him as quietly as possible. As soon as I reached him, I wrapped my hands around his chest and pulled him back with all the force in my body. The intensity made us crash to the floor, with him on top of me.

Still processing what just happened, I held still with him in my arms. I’d expected the stranger to say something or, more likely, fight me, but he didn’t. In fact, he just lay there in my hold and cried. He cried so hard even I felt his pain, and that was saying something. Clueless as to how this stranger’s pain simmered my insides, my arms hugged his trembling body tighter. I had no idea who this person was other than a man I had just stopped from jumping to his death, but his guttural crying shredded my stone heart like nothing had for years.

There was so much agony and suffering to his voice.

Agony, I recognized, and suffering, I knew.

Still holding on to him, I glanced at his blond shreds of hair tangled around his shoulders. Twisting him in my arms, he buried his face in my chest, so I focused on his body. Despite being clothed, I could tell he was smaller than me, with long, elegant muscles that suited an athlete. His tan skin, peeking from underneath his open shirt, was covered with painful bruises that adorned him like jewelry. Perfection would be the word to describe him.

My heart thrummed in my ears, and my chest tightened with the cold air I inhaled as I traced my fingers down his sculpted jaw. It was almost like touching an angel. This whole moment was surreal, as if ripped from some old, forgotten tragedy.

This was the last thing I’d expected to happen tonight, but as I shifted his head just a bit to see his face, I understood that in my arms wasn’t an angel but a devil.

But didn’t they say that the devil, too, was once an angel?

Shay-Lee

The cold January air hit my skin as I stood on the balcony of our suite, overlooking the city of London. Living in California, I wasn’t used to this weather, yet I hardly noticed the pain on my bare feet, standing in the snow coating the ground. My skin stung from the frost, but I welcomed the ache. Somehow, I learned that temporary moments like this helped silence my mind.

The last time I stood on the edge of a building and looked down at the possibility of ending my miserable life was becoming a fogged memory. It seemed so long ago now, like a distant dream. The truth was, I didn’t always want to die. At least, that was what I told myself. But there were times I wanted it more than taking my next breath. Moments where death seemed like such an easy solution to ending my pain. The last time I felt this way was nearly two months ago.

The night of Halloween.

My body had been so full of drugs and pain that I was beyond lost. Ready to let go and end my hell, my fingers began losing their grip on the rail, when someone pulled me back. For weeks, I had no idea who my savior had been. While his face was blurred in my memory, the warmth of his touch wasn’t. Neither were his arms that held me with strength no one ever had before and the words he’d whispered in my ear until the sun came up, making me believe even someone like me deserved salvation.

Ever lay a hand on one of my friends again and I’ll push you off that railing myself.

Those were the words my savior whispered in my ear a few weeks later, while choking me until I lost consciousness. Turned out, he really wasn’t a savior or a hero but a monster. The same as me—a fucked-up monster. It was only then, when he whispered those words, that I realized it was him.

Diesel.

The man who hated me to my core and who I hated back was the man from the balcony, the one who saved my life.

Moving my hand to my neck, I traced my ice-cold skin, where he had his fingers wrapped around it. How inviting the pain had felt and how intoxicating those mere seconds of voidness were before he let go. A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold swept up my spine, and I inhaled a sharp breath.

“What are you doing standing out here?” a snarky voice asked from behind me, snapping me out of my memories. I didn’t bother to turn around, knowing who it was.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed as the man tried to lay a robe over my naked shoulders. Now he wanted me dressed?

“I remember you having a completely different attitude last night.”

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