Page 13 of A Forbidden Arrangement
I force the reminder through the haze of warmth still clinging to me. It was a one-night stand. Nothing more.
Men like him don’t do relationships. They take what they want, when they want it, and leave the rest behind.
Still, the ache low in my belly remembers how he made me feel. Safe. Wanted. Seen in a way I haven’t been in years. Every touch last night felt deliberate, like he was making promises with his hands, and every single one, he kept.
I pull in a slow breath, steadying myself. I won’t make this awkward for him. He gave me something I won’t ruin by pretending it could be more.
Xander shifts behind me, his arm tightening like his body knows I’m awake. The weight of him presses me deeper into the mattress, solid and warm. It feels too good, too easy, to take comfort in him.
I ease my hips away a fraction at a time, working free from the weight of his arm. The mattress dips as I shift, and his hand slides into the space I left, searching. My pulse jumps. I grab the nearest pillow and press it into his reach. His fingers curl around it, and he pulls it in tight, his breathing never changing. The faint scent of soap clings to my skin, the kind that wasn’t there when I fell asleep. My chest tightens. He’d cleaned me while I slept. The sweetness of it presses warm against something tender inside me, and his words of ruining me for everyone else start to ring true.
I push upright, holding my breath, then plant my feet on the carpet. Every sound feels too loud in the stillness. I snag my shirtfrom the floor, buttoning it, and bend for my skirt. The wool drags over my thighs and hips, catching on skin still tender from last night.
I glance once toward the bed. He hasn’t moved. The pillow is clutched to his chest like it belongs there. My chest tightens, but I shove the feeling down and scan the room for my panties. They are nowhere in sight.
At the desk, a pad of thick hotel stationery sits beside a heavy black pen. I hover over it and scrawl two words.Thank you.
I start to sign my name, but the pen stills halfway through the first letter. He never asked. Not once.
The sting hits sharp, right behind my breastbone, spreading in a slow burn that feels too big for something so small. My throat tightens. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that it wasn’t supposed to matter. One night. Nothing more.
I force the tip of the pen to move again, my handwriting sharper than it should be.Dahlia.The letters feel final, like I’m leaving more behind than a note.
I set it down and smooth my palm over the paper once before walking away.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator in an attempt to avoid the walk of shame through the lobby. My steps are quick, barely a whisper against the concrete. At the bottom, I push through the metal door into the alley.
A pained moan carries from my right.
A man lies curled on his side, three others standing over him with squared shoulders and faces lost to shadow. The world stalls for a heartbeat, just long enough for my mind to catch up, and ice-sharp fear spears through my chest. My instincts scream to get the hell out.
They haven’t looked my way yet. I shift back a step, weight light on my heels, careful not to draw a sound. Two more feet and I’ll be inside again.
The door clicks shut behind me, the echo ricocheting through the narrow space, locking with finality.
Chapter 7
Dahlia
Every head turns.Eyes fix on me, pinning me in place. Heat rushes up my neck, my pulse kicking hard enough to hurt. My throat goes tight. Breathing feels too loud.
One of them steps forward, the overhead light catching his face. Something about him snags in my memory, familiar enough to make my stomach drop, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before.
“Help me.” The words rasp out of the man on the ground, wet and broken, slicing through the air like a blade. He’s curled on his side, one arm reaching for me as if I’m the only lifeline left. My body aches to go to him, to drag him away, but the men surrounding him are all armed. I have nothing. No weapon, no chance. If I step toward him, we both die here. The only hope either of us has is if I run and make it out and call for help. My nails dig hard into my palms. I have to survive first.
The muffled sound of the gunshot tears through the night. The man on the ground jerks once, then goes still. For a moment, my mind empties, the world narrowing to the red pooling beneath him. Then reality slams back. He just killed someone. Oh my God. I just saw himkillsomeone.
My fingers tighten around the phone in my hand, acting before I can think. I lift it and snap a photo. All three of them go still.
“Delete that.” The man with the familiar face’s voice is low and sharp. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
I jam my phone into my purse. The photo’s the only proof I have, and there’s no way I’m erasing it.
He wears a sinister smirk full of confidence as he tips his chin toward me, his voice hard. “Get her.”
The others shift like they’ve been given permission. My pulse spikes so fast it makes my vision edge white as I step back.
“It’ll only get worse for you,” the man says. His tone is calm, almost lazy, and that makes it worse. “You run. Iwillfind you.”
