Page 80 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
It takes a few seconds, but I find what I’m looking for. “Adelaide’s car has GPS. They’re twenty minutes out.”
Hunter nods once. “Convenient.”
“Put it into the satnav,” I tell him.
He does, and Isaak presses harder on the accelerator. The twenty minute drive turns into ten.
The road winds through a sleeping village, snow soft against shuttered windows and faint golden light spilling from the few still awake.
When we pull in, the car park’s packed, rows of high end vehicles glazed in frost. Above the entrance, a pale neon sign hums faintly.
Le Cerf Blanc.
Isaak kills the engine. No one speaks as we climb out. The music spills into the night, vibrating through the cold air.
Two men stand at the door, Hunter slips one a folded note and the velvet rope lifts.
Inside, the air is thick, heat, perfume braided with alcohol. Bodies press together, some swaying, some laughing, some simply occupying the space.
I don’t need to look long. I’m drawn to her. The moment I walk in my eyes land exactly where she is.
She’s at the table in the corner, head tipped back, locked in laughter at something her sister has said. She looks too damn at ease.
Too untouched by everything.
Adelaide and Piper are there too, seated at the same table. Glasses scatter the surface.
They’re surrounded by local boys, well groomed, styled hair, polo shirts, completely unaware of the danger in sharing a table with them.
My jaw tightens so hard I feel it in my teeth.
Milo toys with his lighter beside me, absentminded, the motion meaningless against the music.
Hunter’s face doesn’t shift, he’s fixed on the man nearest Piper.
Isaak watches with the same cool detachment.
We don’t speak. We’re all seeing the same thing, and whatever murderous impulse lives in me, I suspect we share it.
One of the boys leans in. He pushes a strand of Ophelia’s hair behind her ear, he’s close enough that his lips brush nearly against her skin as he whispers.
I can’t hear the words. That doesn’t matter. Something in my chest locks tight. Every reasonable thought drains away, replaced by a single, raw instinct to end him for touching what isn’t his.
Her cheeks colour faintly, but what flickers in her eyes isn’t interest, it’s discomfort.
But then I remember who she really is.
A liar. Always a bloody liar.
His fingers trail over hers, and that’s enough.
Someone’s dying tonight.
I start forward, the crowd parting. The boy notices first, his grin faltering when his gaze meets mine.
It flicks from me to Ophelia and back again, and that’s all it takes. The fuse that’s been burning in my chest ignites.
He shouldn’t be looking at her like that. He shouldn’t be looking at her at all.
