Page 124 of Filthy Elites

“Why?” I ask. “After you catch the dealer—”

“Kennedy,” Viks says, interrupting me.

“What?” I shift, turning to face him as my legs hang over the side of the seat.

“His name is Patrick Kennedy.”

“Okay…” I look up at him through my lashes. “After you catch Patrick Kennedy, things are going to go back to normal. I’ll go back to school and you’ll … go back to being Club Outsider’s manager until … you’re not anymore.”

Viks shakes his head and leans in, pressing himself between my legs. “No,” he says, his breath on my face. “Things can never go back,” he tells me. “What we are now … cannot be undone. And I don’t think you really want it to be.”

My throat dries up. My hands start to sweat and as his head moves forward, my heart leaps against my chest, scrambling like a frightened rabbit. Yet, at the same time, I don’t move back. I don’t resist him when he closes his eyes and kisses me. This kiss is unlike the ones before. It’s gentle, slow, and mesmerizing.

He doesn’t burn away my inhibitions. He soothes my fears. It’s startlingly different from how we’ve been and so incredibly sweet that it damn near brings tears to my eyes.Fuck,I think.I might actually love this man.

Viks pulls back and I’m left craving more of him. “Let’s go upstairs,” he says drawing himself away. “You can work on your art project until it’s time for me to take you to Club Outsider.”

“Okay,” I say, taking his hand when he offers it to me and hopping out of the front seat. Viks closes the door behind me, but he doesn’t release my hand. I stare down at our clasped fingers—mine still a little speckled by paint from earlier in the morning and with a small cut over one of my knuckles, probably from punching Josh, and Viks’ corded with muscle and tattoos that barely scrape past his wrist.

The sight of my hand in his does strange things to my insides. The strangest thing of all, though, is that I don’t mind it.

SEVENTEEN

Haley

Walking backinto Club Outsider after what happened is like walking back into a dream even knowing it’s not real. The walls are the same, the floors are the same, the faces are the same—but something feels not quite right. I don’t know how I didn’t even consider I would have a problem.

The only thing keeping me from turning around and leaving is Viks’ hand on my lower back. He leans down as we head across the empty dance floor illuminated by the bright lights only ever up when it’s devoid of customers or after last call. “I’ll be in the offices on the second floor,” he tells me. “If you need something, let me know. I’ll be checking in regularly.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, but he merely gives me a look and then brushes a kiss over the top of my head as we stop at the end of my usual bar and he continues on.

“Whoa.” I look up, spotting Veronica’s shocked and slackened face. “What the hell was that?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Nothing,” I say quickly as I jump behind the counter and start setting up for the night—putting the nozzles on the taps as I go.

“Oh no.” Veronica’s hand slaps down in front of me, making me still. “You haven’t texted me since you bailed mid-shift the other night. Bossman came in, demanding to know where you were—now he’s walking you into work and kissing your forehead?” She gives me a pointed look. “Spill,” she orders.

I bite my lip. “It wasn’t the forehead.” The defense is lame, and we both know it. I groan. “Fine.”

“Eeep!” She drags me back and holds onto my arm. “Okay, so like are you guys dating now? What happened that night? Why’d you leave early? Are you okay?”

I contemplate my words, wondering how much of the problem with the drug dealer I’m allowed to reveal. “There was an issue,” I start. “I was … um … there was a guy here that night that Viks was looking for and he…” I shake my head and blow out a breath. “No, wait, it’s complicated.”

“Okay…” Veronica’s eyebrows raise. “So, what about the dating part?”

“No?” I squeak and then frown when the word comes out more as a question. “I mean, no, we’re not dating.” I laugh awkwardly and then try to pry her grip off of me as I head back to my station and keep working, needing my hands to be doing something to distract myself from this conversation.

“Are you sure?” she prompts. “Because it looks that way to me and to everyone else.”

“Everyone else?” I look back at her. “What do you mean?”

She snorts. “You seriously don’t know?”

“If I did, do you really think I’d be asking you?” I point out.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, Hales, you’re hard to read sometimes.”

“Well, no, I don’t know, soyoutellmewhat’s going on.” I grab one of the clean washrags from a bucket under the counter and tuck it into my shorts and mini black apron before leaning back against the bar with my arms crossed over my chest.

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