Page 140 of The Kiss Of Death
I snatched Grandma’s car keys from the counter and bolted toward the door, but Levi’s hand was already wrapped around the handle, blocking my escape.
“Dalia, don’t do something foolish, please,” he pleaded. “I can leave, we can leave, but you should stay.”
“Let me go, Levi.”
“You love me,” he stated each word with conviction, his gaze now dark as midnight, ensnaring mine in an unyielding grip. His hand had left the handle to cup my face, his thumb tracing the outline of my lips as if etching them into his memory in a final, agonizing caress.
“Not anymore,” I breathed, the lie causing a sharp ache in my chest. “I don’t love you anymore. Now, if you ever had feelings for me, you’ll let me go the fuck away.”
He took a step back, and I seized the moment to slam the door shut behind me.
Ialmostrespected Dalia’s wish.
I had graciously allowed her to slip away, but that didn’t mean I didn’t stay close by.
Kay insisted on ringing in the New Year with Sylas at some exclusive club in London, while Cillian had likely barricaded himself in one of the many rooms of his castle, drowning out the noise with earplugs at his mother’s tiresome charity gala.
I ended up at a bar, sullying my coat against the sticky countertop, soaked with the residue of alcohol as the idiots’ laughter grated on my nerves. Not by choice. But duty.
Dalia was dancing by herself in the middle of a bunch of assholes, who were staring at her as if she was fresh meat. I knew a part of her did it on purpose to hurt herself—or me, in case she was aware I’d been watching her for the past couple of days. She was staying at a hotel with her grandma, who was probably asleep, so here she was, having no one to celebrate New Year’s with.
She had me. She just didn’t know it.
I narrowed my eyes at the sorry excuse for a man, adjusting his cheap, commercial tie after downing three vodka shots, his head bobbing to the music. His gaze fixated on my broken doll as if he stood a chance with her. When he rose from his seat, I sprang from mine, sending the stool crashing to the ground in my haste to block his path with my arm.
“Don’t even try,” I warned him, my blood already boiling.
The asshole laughed. “And who are you?”
“Nice tie.” I clicked my tongue and snatched his tie.
I twisted it until it threatened to strangle him in a chokehold. He gasped for air, and it did nothing to me. It would be a shame to end up in jail because of him, but then again, it is what it is.
The guy choked, desperately clutching at his knot. “Chill, man.”
My patience was running dangerously thin. I was desperate to feel something, anything—to break free from the suffocating void.
With a forceful shove, I pushed the idiot away and returned to my seat. He was just the third fool I’d had to scare away from Dalia. Thankfully, I had bribed the owner to close at midnight so I wouldn’t have to deal with them for long.
I had lost her, but that didn’t mean any of those jerks could have her.
She halted her dancing, whispering in the ear of a bulky biker dude. The man, likely in his late thirties, grinned smugly and trailed Dalia to a more secluded area. A surge of rage ignited within me, coursing through my entire being. I shadowed them to a dimly lit corridor, but Dalia was nowhere in sight. Instead, four of those bikers were lying in wait for me.
The jackass swung his fist at my face. Pain shot through my lower lip as it split, blood welling in my mouth with its metallic tang. I released a thin, mocking laugh before wiping away the blood with the back of my hand.
“That’s all you got?” I jeered. “Now that I let you punch me like a caveman, you’ll leave that white-haired woman alone.”
“He has a crush.” The one with a Santa-esque beard cackled, a beer clasped in his hand.
Crush, as if that would potentially describe how I felt.
With a disdainful sneer, I snapped my neck to the side, inviting whoever dared to come at me for another primitiveact of violence. My brain was too numb to even think. His lumbering approach was so predictable, so painfully obvious, that I effortlessly sidestepped his clumsy punch. But the others were quick to follow suit, launching themselves at me like rabid dogs.
While I was crystal clear on my reasons for wanting to see them bleed, their desire to rearrange my face remained a baffling enigma.
Our fight spilled out from the cramped hallway into the central room, where tables and drinks were sent flying in our wake. I’d like to claim I had the upper hand, but, alas, being outnumbered four to one hardly put the odds in my favor.
Things escalated to the point where security guards wrenched us apart and hurled us on the outside.
