Page 18 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

Every time I hurt him; he pushes me harder.

I need it to … to … I need it to stop.

I spin the black steel of my dagger around my finger, the rubies on the hilt glimmer in the moonlight. Spinning it into position, I control my grip and plunge the shallow blade into his stomach. His hold on my throat tightens, and he uses his massive size to flip me to my back.

“Fucking bitch,” he growls as he lets go of me.

“Fucking prick,” I retort.

“I need to be inside you.”

“You need to die.”

Cassius climbs off me, removing his shirt, and uses it to apply pressure to his wound. It’s not fatal, but I needed to interrupt whatever the fuck was happening between us.

“Who says?”

“I do not reveal my clients, Cassius. That would only put a price on their head, and then we would be stuck in a never-ending loop where I would run out of people to kill. And Cassius—I really like to kill.” I say the last part through gritted teeth. “I need to kill.” I admit.

“I like when you kill, baby. Just not me.”

I turn towards him, eyeing him warily. He called me baby and fuck; I actually liked it.

“What if I double your fee to not kill me?” he asks, his voice flat.

“I do not break contracts.”

“But if you kill me, you won’t be able to fuck me. And we both know you want to.”

My phone dings, and I pull it out to look at the screen.

Rowan: Where are you?

I look at the time, I have not been gone long. What could she possibly need?

On assignment.

Rowan: Why is your location turned off?

Must be a glitch.

Rowan: Or a dick. Get home before someone else notices you’re gone.

I climb off the car, my heart no longer thundering in anticipation. Its beats are slow and rhythmic. Back to normal, I suppose. Cassius extends an arm out … to stop me? To pull me back? I don’t know, but his injury is substantial enough to put me outside his reach. I will always be just outside his reach, and he will always be just outside of mine. True intimacy will always be a pipe dream.

I wish it was one I could chase.

I hold the clutch and push the start button on my bike. The motorcycle roars to life. Part of me wishes I could do the same.

A cloud of dirt is all I leave behind.

thirteen

“So, you gonna tellme what happened last week or what?” Garrett asks me, reaching for his glass on the table. We’re sitting in my VIP booth at the bar. It sits a few feet above and to the right of the DJ booth, providing a fantastic view of the dance floor and bar.

Flashes of color illuminate the bodies on the dance floor. People of all shapes and ethnicities move to the music. The DJ has them fired up, their skin glistening with sweat beneath the lights.

The bartenders are hustling, throwing bottles in the air and catching them with ease. Cocktail servers deliver drinks with a soft touch for a customer here, a caress there. The tips they will pull in tonight alone will cover their rent for the month, if not two. The different games in progress downstairs stay visible via the tablet on the table in front of me.

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