Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(30)

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was a hoarse rasp. So desperate and small, I felt it rattle my bones. She buried her face in my chest and clutched me like I was her lifeline back from the dark. The brash, bitch of a girl who tossed drinks at a dive bar was long gone. “I’m so sorry.”

I ran my hand down her back and pressed a bunch of small kisses to the crown of her head, my voice lost in her hair. “Shh…don’t apologize. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Nothing. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“Lyrik.” It was pain. Torment. Regret.

“Shh…baby…I’ve got you…I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

I cringed as soon as I let it pass from my mouth.

I looked to the ceiling and squeezed my eyes closed.

What the f*ck had I gotten myself into?

“Promise?” she whispered like she was just a scared little girl.

“I promise.”

It was a lie.

Truth was, I couldn’t keep anyone safe.

Because guys like me?

They bred destruction.

I felt everything break apart while I held her. Held her until her whimpers trailed off and her tense body finally relaxed. Meanwhile, mine threatened to snap.

When I was sure she was asleep, I carefully carried her back to her bed. Cautious not to wake her, I laid her down in the center of it still curled in the blanket. A moan bled through those red lips, and she snuggled back onto her side. All that red hair tumbled out behind her.

I brushed my fingers through it and anger pulsed.

Unstoppable.

What the f*ck was I going to do?





I COULDN’T KEEP MY hands steady. Glass clattered as I fumbled for two beer mugs from where they were hanging on the iron racks suspended above the bar. I pulled in the deepest breath, a vain attempt at settling my heart and my mind and my hands. It did nothing but stir my nerves more.

I should have called in sick.

I should have stayed curled up in bed all day. Just the way I’d found myself early this morning when I’d awoken alone in my bed wearing nothing but my underwear.

Or maybe I should have packed up all my stuff and thrown it in the trunk of my car and ran.

My heart throbbed in a resounding ache. That’s exactly what I should have done. I knew it. I couldn’t stay here much longer. In this place that had become my home. Where I had friends. People who cared. Those who had become my family.

That was the problem. It was getting too hard and I was getting too deep. But I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to start all over again. I couldn’t imagine welcoming a loneliness greater than the void I already drifted in.

Why, after all this time, had I given in?

Above all, why had I given in to him?

Turmoil raged through me like a sizzling firestorm. My insides were aflame with the aftermath of Lyrik’s touch. With the way he’d made me feel. That chaos was only fed by my pathetic reaction last night. I’d never anticipated that. But I’d let myself go. Let myself get lost in feeling and touch and hungry words.

Lost in everything I’d wanted and refused myself for the last four years.

I’d gotten lost in Lyrik before I’d gotten lost in the recesses of my mind. Lost in the dark corners I wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

I focused on pushing the air in and out of my lungs as I filled the mugs with draft beer.

Lights strobed from the stage. The rest of the bar was dimmed and dark, the energy alive. Normally, this was exactly the type of vibe I thrived on.

Not tonight.

The band playing on stage was loud and gritty. Every word the singer sang grated on my ears. Every chord of the guitar felt like the screech of nails dragging down my spine.

My entire being was twitchy and antsy and out of sorts. My concentration shot.

Foam spilled over the sides of the mugs. “Shit,” I hissed and set the beers aside, frustration bleeding through when I grabbed for a rag and aggressively wiped up my mess.

“You think I could get that beer over here, or are you not even capable of that one little task?” The snub hit me from the side.

I had no capacity for bullshit tonight.

Narrowing my eyes, I grabbed the beers and turned my attention to the jerk sitting at the far side of the bar. A guy who was probably in his early thirties. Attractive. Clearly, that was the only thing he had going for him.

He shot me a sweet, mocking smile. “Is it really that hard? If you need help, all you need to do is ask. I’m really good with my hands.”

Insult me and try to pick me up all in the same breath. What a prick.

My top lip curled. “I think I’m plenty capable, thank you very much,” I tossed back with all the restraint I could muster, doing my best to keep it in check when all I wanted was to unleash the hostility roiling inside me on this *. With a sneer, I slid the beers to him and his friend and cocked my head. “Satisfied?”

His brow lifted, his voice smooth. “Not even close. Why don’t we find a dark corner and you can make it up to me.”

Like he’d struck me, I paled and took a trembling step back.

“Oh come on…look at you…don’t play coy. You know what you’re good for. You need me to pay?” His eyes gleamed with lust, as if I was there for nothing more than his entertainment. “I’m good either way.”