Page 17 of Twisted Redemption

Brooke’s shoulders tense as she turns. When she sees me, her smile—her very fake smile—fades. “Blaze. What are you doing?” She looks me up in down, taking in one of the gray suits I only wear when I’m on the clock. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“A word, please,” I grit out.

Her eyes narrow, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head.

The guy she’s with leans over and says, “He’s not gonna murder you. Right?”

With a look that says, He might, Brooke pushes off the bar and follows me to a darker, less-occupied corner of the club. Her friend follows, keeping his distance but not taking his eyes off me.

I’d find it fucking annoying if I wasn’t happy Brooke has someone else looking after her. At least I hope that’s what he’s doing.

Maybe he’s jealous.

Maybe I’m jealous.

When she turns to look up at me, her gaze is chilling. “If you’re here to talk about earlier, then you can fuck off. I’m having fun tonight, and I don’t need you ruining it.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I say, snatching the drink out of her hand. “You never get drunk. And this isn’t the time or place to change that.”

Brooke huffs, trying to grab her drink back, but I raise it above her head. “Who the hell do you think you are, Blaze? Give me back my drink.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Thinking straight?” Rolling her eyes, she says, “Take a sip.”

“I’m on the job.”

“Take a fucking sip, you asshole.”

Narrowing my eyes, I lower the drink down to my nose, sniffing it. Nothing. After a small sip, I let out a grunt. No alcohol.

Of course.

I should’ve seen it in the way she’s acting—completely sober. I open my mouth to say something, but the look in her eyes causes my entire body to freeze.

“At least now I know what you really think of me.” God, why does she sound so heartbroken? She shakes her head, refusing to look me in the eyes. “I’m not—I’m not irresponsible, Blaze. But if I decide that I want to get drunk tonight, the people I’m here with care about me. All the time, not just when it suits them. I’d be fine.”

Her words snap me out of my stupor. “You’re not taking another sip of alcohol tonight.” I hand her drink back to her. “Just stick with these.”

Her eyes flash, and she holds up her hands, refusing to take the cup. “No. You don’t get to tell me what to do, Blaze. You’re not my babysitter. So fuck off.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she turns and leaves before I can. Gritting my teeth, I look at the pink liquid in the cup I’m holding, suddenly wishing it was alcohol.

I give Imani a quick glance, and then Ryan. He’s watching her like a hawk, and she seems perfectly safe. She’s dancing to the music, the lights casting a warm glow over her brown skin, her braids swaying behind her.

Nothing Ryan can’t handle.

My eyes wander back to Brooke, where she’s marching across the dance floor. Then she grabs Imani, who squeals at the sight of her before throwing her arms around Brooke. Then they head back to the bar, dragging some guy with them.

They all order a round of shots, and then another.

I force myself to look away. What she does is none of your business.

But even as I tell myself the words, I know I don’t believe them. Because Brooke is my business. She’s my best friend, whether she thinks I hate her or not.

And god, sometimes I think I might. Especially on a night like tonight, when she’s wearing such a tiny shirt and dancing for everyone to see. It’s like her body is begging me to touch it, but I fucking can’t.

I watch as she flirts with some random guy one of her friends shoves in her direction, leaning into him when he says something in her ear. She finally glances in my direction, and when our gazes lock, no distance can hide the pain in her eyes.

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