Page 35 of Thorns of Lust
The coolness of New Orleans filled my lungs and touched my skin. The warmth of the alcohol baked me on the inside, and I couldn’t decide whether it was helpful or not.
The city buzzed with life. The ambiance of the old New Orleans was in the air, smelled along the breeze, heard in the music, and felt in the colors all around me.
But the atmosphere didn’t match my mood. The Crescent City floated as I drowned. The vibrancy of the city highlighted my dark mood. I used to be a talker, happy chatter, but now, I preferred my own company. I couldn’t even recognize myself.
Alcohol swam through my blood, making me feel relaxed, dulling all my senses. Although it failed at dulling the self-disappointment in the pit of my stomach. I promised myself I’d stop drinking. I really tried, but the sweats started, then tremors followed. My hands were unsteady. Withdrawals were bad.
I turned down the alley, opting for a less busy street. I couldn’t stand all the laughter and music anymore. The constant click of my heels and my bodyguards in the distance was the only thing I focused on, ignoring all other noises.
But then the second set of footsteps stopped. It happened so fast. By the time I registered it and went to turn around, it was already too late.
Unyielding hands slammed my back against the wall and a hand covered my mouth. My flask clanked against the pavement. My breath was cut off from the impact and that hand that blocked my airway. My vision blurred from the impact. I blinked, then blinked again, staring at the stranger’s face.
High cheekbones. Hair as dark as a raven’s feathers. Dark, cold eyes. Beautiful skin. He’d be beautiful, if not for that sneer curving his lips. And cruelty in his eyes.
“Where is the chip?” His voice was rough. Heavily accented. Unfamiliar.
My eyes shifted to the left, then right, frantically searching for my bodyguards. They were nowhere to be found. My heart thundered hard against my chest, cracking my ribs.
I guess I’m on my own.
Yet, I knew. I was no match for this guy. Not in my buzzed state.
I lowered my eyes to his wrist and my heartbeat faltered. A Yakuza tattoo sleeve decorated his skin.Yakuza in New Orleans?Shock slammed through the alcohol induced fog in my brain.
I wasn’t drunk enough to not realize this was bad. Really bad. The Yakuza were ruthless. Merciless. Dangerous. And their fighting skills were unmatched.
Sasha always tried to teach me self-defense moves. I’d never been particularly interested but things somehow stuck. So I went for it. I relaxed my body, fooling him into thinking he’d overpowered me. Then I kneed him into his balls.Hard.
“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, pain crossing his expression but his grip on me refused to ease. Goddamn him! The alcohol swimming through my veins wasn’t helping.
The next second, he jammed his elbow into my ribs. “Ouch,” I yelped. That fucking hurt.
“Last warning before I snap your neck,” he growled. “Your husband’s chip. Where is it?”
My voice was muffled as I answered. “I-I don’t know. What ch-chip?”
One second I saw his fist flying through the air, the next the man’s body slumped onto the ground. It happened even before my brain could process it all.
I blinked, staring in shock at the man lying at my feet. He couldn’t have been a high ranking Yakuza member. His pants were decent but not expensive. His white t-shirt was Tommy Hilfiger. Not cheap, but not overly expensive either.
“Are you all right?”
The first thing that registered was the scent. Citrus, sandalwood, and spice. Adrian! Alas, the wrong voice.
“Adrian?” My voice was a hoarse whisper.
The corner of my mind understood it couldn’t be him, but still my eyes shot up with hope, expecting to see the familiar face.
My husband’s.
The sinking feeling was instant, overwhelming me with such power that my knees started shaking. My heart shuddered and my lungs expanded, taking a deep breath. The scent seeped into my marrow, so potent it intoxicated me more than all the alcohol.
I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me. Just one more moment of oblivion. Hope. But reality came too soon.
“Are you okay?” The same, unfamiliar voice.
I opened my eyes. The man who stood in front of me wasn’t my husband. But he smelled like him. Just the way I remembered from our first time together.
