Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(10)

At the door I stopped and glared at him from over my shoulder. “Not on your life.”

He just smiled that smug, cocky smile, as if he could see right through me. “All you have to say is no, Red.”

I raised a middle finger.

Take that as my no, *.

“You can go f*ck yourself.”

He laughed and those black eyes shimmered. “Nah, baby. Unlike you, I’m not so keen to go at it alone.”

“You’re such an *.”

“And you, Red, are an uptight bitch.”

He wasn’t the first guy to call me a bitch.

Usually, it didn’t bother me.

Hell, most of the time I took it as a compliment. An affirmation that no one would dare mess with me.

But Lyrik calling me a bitch? It was the first time it stitched these thick, suffocating threads of sadness and anger through my heart.

God, he was such an egotistical, shameless bastard.

And I was an idiot for allowing it to hurt.

I should have turned and walked.

Closed my mouth.

But I couldn’t stop it from tumbling free.

“So a girl’s a bitch just because she won’t jump in your bed?” I was sure the shake of my head revealed too much.

Disgust. Disappointment. Defeat.

“You know what, Lyrik? Maybe I want more in my life. And I won’t allow you to reach out and take what I don’t want to give.”

I was pissed.

Shaken.

Determined to put Lyrik back in his place.

They’d ordered another round of drinks.

I was quick to mix them, whipping up something extra special for one Lyrik West. Just because I liked him so much.

An hour had passed since he’d cornered me in the storage room, and just as much time had gone by since he’d returned to the booth, the table now sporting the addition of three girls.

Shea and Sebastian had called upon their good sense and vacated.

Now Zee was sitting there basically alone, playing on his phone while one girl sat sideways across Ash’s lap, arms laced around his neck, garnering all his attention.

It was the two hanging like sparkly ornaments from Lyrik’s sides that had me on the rampage.

His arms were draped around their shoulders as he sat kicked back in the seat.

Not a care in the world.

A low growl gathered at the base of my throat.

Didn’t take him long.

What a pig.

And why the hell did it piss me off so bad?

But it did.

Truth was, I was irate. Something about it left me feeling used and dirty and disposable.

Glasses clanked as I threw their drinks on the tray, and even though I wasn’t a server, I was damned well going to deliver them myself.

I slithered across the floor, winding through the high-top tables, making sure my hips and ass were doing the talking as I stalked toward the booth. The most saccharine of smiles twisted my face as I slid the cosmos to the girls who were only out for a little fun, but somehow had managed to stumble into my path of fury.

They didn’t even seem to notice the force in which I slammed them down.

Oh, but Lyrik did, eyes taking in his special drink. The bright red liquid sloshed over the rim and ran onto the table when I set it in front of him.

With that cocky smirk, he glanced up at me. “What’s this?”

I pressed my palms flat on the table, leaning in close to his face, voice as bitter as I felt. “It’s a red-headed slut. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

This time the girls took note, glaring at me as if I was suddenly a competitor, my flaming red hair making it all too clear I was referring to myself. One had the decency to look offended when Lyrik shot me a wry smile and opened that offensive mouth. “Actually, I was thinking I wanted a taste of a blue-eyed angel, but I’ll take you however I can get you.”

My blue eyes narrowed as I struggled to contain the hurt and rage and all these convoluted emotions I didn’t want to feel, while his smile widened in satisfaction.

He lifted the glass toward me then threw back his shot.

Just as fast, he spit it out. Red liquid spewed across the table and dribbled down his perfect chin. Furious, he swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the f*ck was that?”

“That was a warning not to touch me again.”

So maybe my secret red-headed slut recipe included a little cayenne and Tabasco. Nothing a real man couldn’t handle.

In disbelief, he shook his head. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” He pushed the girls off him, squeezed out to stand, gestured for them to follow. “Come on, we’re out of here.”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out two hundreds and flung them out in front of him, the bills fluttering down to land on the table. “Thanks for the drink,” he seethed.

He stalked away like a howling, blackened storm, the two little bitches stumbling on their heels as they clamored after him.

Thickness crawled up my throat, supplied by the regret pressing hard against my chest.

You really are a bitch.

Why did I care? This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To chase him away. To throw out daggers and toss up shields, where I could seclude and conceal and isolate myself behind this barricade.

Where it was safe.

Ash shot me a knowing grin. “Oh, Tam Tam, remind me not to f*ck with you, darlin’. Because you scare the shit outta me.”