Page 22 of Poison's Promise

“Touchy, aren’t we?” he drawls, leaning back in his seat.

“Drop it,” I growl, stepping closer. The anger is rolling off me in waves, but he doesn’t seem fazed. If anything, he looks more amused.

“I’ll drop it. But you should know, Poison, secrets don’t stay hidden for long around here,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Good thing I’m not trying to hide anything,” I shoot back, even though we both know it’s a lie.

The air between us crackles with tension, but I refuse to back down. Not now, not ever.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

“Fuck you, Dex,” I mutter, turning away from him again. I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret—like punching that smug look off his face.

“Maybe later,” he calls after me, his laughter echoing through the bus as I storm down the narrow hall.

I slam the bathroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I try to catch my breath.

My heart is pounding, my mind racing with everything that’s just happened.

Asher’s touch still lingers on my skin, and I can’t shake the memory of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against mine.

“Get it together, Poison,” I whisper to myself, pushing off the door and moving to the sink.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping it will help clear my head. It doesn’t.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the mess of my hair, the wild look in my eyes. And the torn crop top.

I groan, pulling it off and tossing it aside. I can’t go back out there like this. I need to find something else to wear. Something that won’t make Dex’s knowing smirk burn even deeper into my skin.

I rummage through the small closet, finally finding an old band tee that will have to do. It’s better than nothing. I pull it on, the fabric soft and worn, but at least it’s intact.

Taking a deep breath, I step back out into the hall, ready to face whatever comes next. Because no matter what happens, I won't let anyone see me break. Not Dex, not Asher, not anyone.

“Poison,” Dex calls from the front of the bus, his tone lighter now. Almost teasing. “You coming back out or hiding all night?”

“Keep dreaming,” I mutter under my breath, but I force myself to move forward. To face the music. Because running away has never been my style. That’s Asher’s thing.

CHAPTER FIVE

Asher

I step off the plane, the familiar hum of LAX enveloping me in its chaotic embrace.

The smell of jet fuel and fast food mingles as I weave through the crowds, my heart pounding with anticipation.

It’s been a week since I last saw Polly, and every minute since I’ve been away from her feels like an eternity.

“Taxi!” I shout, waving down one of the yellow cabs lined up outside the terminal.

The driver nods, and I slide into the backseat, rattling off my address.

“How long you in town for?” he asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“Just a couple of days,” I reply, staring out the window as the city blurs by. “Here to see my daughter.”

“That’s nice,” he says, turning his attention back to the road. “Family’s important.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling a pang of guilt twist in my gut.

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