Page 42 of Rockstars, Babies & Happily Ever Afters: Vol. 1

He flipped the brim of his hat around to the back, then pulled her in front of him and lowered his face to her plums-and-smoke-scented hair. Now the incense didn’t smell sickeningly sweet. On her, it was like fucking candy.

Everything was.

Or maybe that was her shampoo or lotion he was smelling. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d never erase the scent from his mind.

Without searching for the source of the music, he hauled the headphones off her head. “Can you fly, little Ricki?” he murmured against her ear.

If she’d giggled again, he might have happily wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed. Not because she was happy, whether that was from the chemicals or just complete naïveté about her situation. But because she could be.

He would’ve taken any fucking pill or powder that gave him that option, no matter the consequences. But those highs were brief. Fake. And he’d had enough plastic to last a lifetime.

She turned her head and pinned him with desolate eyes, her laughter gone. It had vanished from her face as if it had never been there at all. “I keep trying.”

On her hip, his hand clenched. Leaving bruises on fragile flesh. Purposely, so if she didn’t have any other reminders of this moment, she’d have that for as long as the marks lasted.

He’d mattered.

He pressed his mouth to the top of her head and sucked in a greedy breath. “You’re going down those stairs and you’re going to run. Understand me?”

She nodded.

“Don’t look back, don’t wait for me. Don’t stop for anyone. Get help and don’t ever fucking come back here, no matter what.” This time her nod wasn’t enough. He shifted to grip her chin, drawing her up on her tiptoes until her eyes met his. “Promise me, Ricki.”

He didn’t know why he was calling her Ricki. Lila had slipped and called her it once yesterday, but until two minutes ago, labeling her as Richelle in his head had been plenty. But now the name tripped off his tongue.

She didn’t reply right away, just stared up at him. “I promise,” she whispered, her chin trembling. “I won’t come back here.”

Satisfied, he shoved the headphones into her hands and gave her a boost out the window. Once her feet landed on the iron platform, his heart started beating again.

She was going to be okay.

But she didn’t run. Unsteadily, she crouched down and grabbed a hank of the hair poking out beneath his cap. Too damn long. “What’s your name?” she mouthed, as silent as the moon bathing her in an unearthly glow.

“Your worst nightmare. Now go.”

The corner of her lips lifted as she tugged on his hair. “Beautiful nightmare,” she breathed, leaning forward. He figured she was balancing herself on the sill, so he wasn’t prepared for her to dip down precariously to crash her mouth onto his.

The kiss lasted ten seconds. Less. Her lips were rough, not soft. But the sweetness lingered even as she drew back and lifted her shaking hand to her mouth. To seal in his taste or to wipe it away, he didn’t know.

Then she was gone.

Read the rest of Mal and Ricki’s story in Raw Rhythm, and Finding Forever, in our Found in Oblivion series.

Read the complete Lost in Oblivion series or visit quinnandelliott.com for more details about our Oblivion World!

RECONNECTED: SIMON AND MARGO

A LOST IN OBLIVION EXTRA

The details of this bonus story come AFTERRaw Rhythm,Found in Oblivion Book 6. So, if you are not fully caught up with theFound in Oblivionseries we are warning you now. SPOILERS!

“You’re going.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Simon Kagan pointed to the car. “We’re getting out of here for a few hours. You can do this, Violin Girl. I promise.”

“They need me.”

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