Page 33 of Web of Lies
My gaze flicks up to him, stealing a glance as he takes a sip of his beer, looking completely unbothered, like always. Kyle is thirty-six, ten years older than I am, and he has been in this type of relationship more times than I can count. Arrangements like ours are nothing new to him. From the start, we set the rules:no feelings, no strings. Just fun.Clean and simple. And yet, here I am, the younger one, already breaking my own rules by catching feelings like an idiot. I hate myself a little for it, but, at the same time, I can't stop hoping.
Another kiss to my temple pulls me out of my thoughts, and I sigh, leaning into his embrace. "Want another?" Kyle asks, nodding toward the now-empty glass in my hand. I glance between my drink and him, then give a small nod.
"Yes, that would be wonderful. Thanks."
"Be right back." He takes the glass from my hand, grabs his empty bottle, and heads toward the bar. My gaze lingers on his back as he walks away.
A small pout creeps onto my lips. I wish I could read him better. We've been seeing each other consistently for sevenmonths, and although I know a lot about him, he still feels like a stranger in some ways. I know he has ADHD. He told me once, in passing, and looking back, it explains so much about him—his restless energy, his impulsive choices, and how he thrives in chaos. But tonight feels different. He's off. He's not his usual unpredictable self. It's almost the opposite. It's like he's shutting down, and the truth is, I don't know how to handle it.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts when suddenly a warm presence appears beside me. "It's been a while, Riley." My eyes widen and whip around, where I find a man standing beside me. He's about the same height as Kyle, and a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. It’s none other than Ronan—an old fling.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, straightening my posture as my nerves jump to alert.
"Could ask you the same," he shoots back, his eyes leaving me to look past me. "Who's your date? That guy at the bar?"
"None of your business," I snap and shift away from him, but he moves with me.
"He looks like a douche. I've been watching you, y'know. You've barely said a word to each other." His voice drops all cocky. "Just say the word and I'll get you out of here. We both know you deserve better."
"No thanks, Ronan. I'm good," I say, eyes locked on the bar where Kyle is still waiting for our drinks.
Hurry.
"Come on," he croons, stepping even closer. "For old times' sake." Before I can stop him, he slips his arm around my waist. He leans closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and triggering a wave of nausea climbing up my throat. His other hand slides up my exposed thigh, his fingers creeping toward the hem of my skirt. I slap my hand over his, grip his wrist tightly, and pull his hand away before he can move another inch.
"Don't," I warn, my voice low and sharp like a hiss.
But he doesn't listen. Instead, he grins and hooks his fingers into the threads of my fishnet stockings, brushing his fingertips against my bare skin. "You know I've always loved how stubborn you are, " he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.
Ronan leans closer, his hot breath fanning over my ear. But suddenly, he's yanked away from me. The force of the pull drags me along, and I fall off the barstool, barely landing on my feet.
My eyes widen in terror as I witness Kyle grab Ronan by the collar, effortlessly haul him across the room as if he weighs nothing, and violently shove him toward the wall with the dartboards. The bar falls completely silent around us. Everyone's attention is now on the three of us.
"She said stop, you asshole," he snarls.
"Kyle," I breathe out, my heart hammering against my chest. I rush to his side, grab his arm, and wrap my fingers around his biceps, trying to pull him back. "It's okay." But he doesn't budge. He's locked in. His bloodshot eyes are fixed on Ronan. The veins in his neck pulse with fury, and there's something feral in his eyes that I've never seen before.
Ronan lifts both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Relax, man. I was just trying to help. She looked as if she needed saving. You've been ignoring her all night." He smiles, smug. And that is a big mistake.
The switch in Kyle flips. In a blur, he twists his fist into the fabric of Ronan's shirt and slams him back against the wall so hard the impact rattles the frames. Ronan's skull cracks against the wood, and his groan dies in his throat.
"She's mine," Kyle snarls, the words vibrating like a predator's growl. His grip tightens, cutting off Ronan's breath, whose face swiftly turns a shade of red. "She's with me. If I catch you near her again, I'll break every bone in your body. One by one, before I ultimately kill you. Got it?"
Every shade of color drains from Ronan's face, his hand flying to Kyle's wrist in a desperate attempt to pry him off. But Kyle's arm is iron, the muscles flexed and locked in place. Ronan wheezes, panic flickering in his eyes as he realizes how powerless he is against him.
"Kyle." I raise my voice, digging my fingers into the solid mass of his arm. "Let him go. He's not worth it." For a moment, he doesn't move. His chest heaves, and his jaw is locked tight. The rage in his eyes is wild and feral. After what feels like an eternity, his eyes flick to mine, his pupils softening, and he pulls his hand away from Ronan's shirt.
"Get out of here before I change my mind," Kyle spits, his voice rough.
Ronan doesn't need to be told twice. He stumbles forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, and shoves past us. He heads straight for the door, where his friends wait with nervous glances darting between him and us. Within seconds, they're gone.
The bar remains eerily quiet for a beat until the noise of the music and chatter picks up again as if nothing ever happened. Without a second thought, everyone goes back to their activities as if what just happened was simply another regular occurrence, like a typical bar fight.
My gaze shifts to Kyle, who is taking a deep breath and lifting a hand to rake it through the loose strands of his hair as if trying to erase the tension from his body.
He wraps an arm around my waist and leads me back to our table. He grabs his beer, takes a large gulp, and slams the bottle back onto the table with a thud. I lean into him, brushing my thigh against his, reach for the drink he got me, and take a sip.
"Let's finish our drinks and get out of here," Kyle says, his voice calm.
