Page 138 of Tangled in Knots

Her knife is in a new holster so it’s within easy reach. Shivering, she takes a breath as my thumb rubs over her skin, goosebumps rising in sharp relief.

“I shouldn’t touch,” I remind myself, lifting my hand. Not without permission, never again.

“I could somehow tell when you were touching me on the stage. I just didn’t realize it until afterward,” she whispers. I want to ask her how, but she answers the unasked question.

“There are calluses on your hands that the other men didn’t have. In a fucked up way, it was better to know my body reacted more to you than them.”

With that, she opens her mouth and bites down hard on the fleshy part of my hand between my thumb and index finger. Hissing in pain, I feel the connection between us snap into place. I know it’s weaker than the one she has with Damon, but I breathe a sigh of relief nonetheless.

“You feel so sad,” she says.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I tell her. “I should have found a way to take you away from everything. Run away with you.”

“I know,” she says, a tear glistening in her eye. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I did. You deserve peace of mind. We will never take you back there,” I promise, forcing myself to my feet. “Where are you going now?”

There’s a smear of blood on the corner of her lips and my hand is bleeding, but I need Adira to make the next choice.

“I need to go to the restroom and you need to wash your hand,” she says.

Leaning down, I retrieve my mask and nod.

“Can I go with you?” I ask.

Adira gazes at me in thought, trying to figure out what I’m doing before she blinks.

“You’re not going to bark at me to do what you want me to do?” Adira asks.

“You can feel what I want, but you’re the boss, baby. What’ll it be?” I ask her.

It feels as if things are shifting already, but I’m not getting my hopes up. I have a lot to make up for.

“You can walk me,” she says with a sigh.

A giant knot in my chest begins to loosen. Adira is saving my life tonight, she just doesn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER 29

2 Weeks Later

ADIRA

I’m working at the bar tonight, and then I have two days off. Morris asked me for my number after the charity event, which has led to a few phone calls when I can’t sleep.

I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, my heart racing, but without any idea why. Damon has also popped into my texts to ask me what’s going on, telling me his heart is racing as hard as mine.

It helps to talk about the unknown with my light on, dispelling the shadows that remain in my mind as well. I’m still adamantly against therapy, though Aisling suggested I go to group therapy tomorrow just to sit and listen.

I haven’t decided if I will yet. I still think I’d rather cut people open than myself to work out how I’m feeling. I don’t understand the purpose of it. It still hurts just as much afterward.

“Hey, can I get a whiskey and coke, please?” a customer asks.

“Absolutely,” I tell him, getting to work. Easy smiles aren’t in my wheelhouse yet, so I’m straightforward at work. No one has called me out for my resting bitch face, so it must be working.

Laughter is still sporadic and met with surprise when it happens, but I’m taking it as a win. It usually occurs when I’m with the Kelly brothers, or the other day when Damon said something really dirty to me.

Sliding the drink to him, I take his money with an incline of my head.

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