Page 29

I stood inside the door, arms crossed, every muscle coiled tight. The air was thick with old beer and bourbon, the jukebox whining some country ballad that grated on my nerves. A few drunks slouched at tables, too far gone to care about the storm brewing between us. Vivi’s lips curved, that wicked grin that made my control fray like cheap rope. She’d tugged me close, her fingers grazing my jeans, her breath hot against my ear, and now she was waiting, testing, pushing me to snap.
“You came,” she said, voice low, a velvet blade slicing through the noise.
“You ran,” I shot back, my voice rough, barely masking the need clawing at my throat.
“I wanted you to follow.”
Her words hit like a match to gasoline. She reached for me again, her fingers hooking into my waistband, pulling me forward until there was no space left, just her heat against my chest, her scent flooding my senses. I could feel her pulse, fast and wild, under my thumb as I gripped her hip, bruising, possessive. The demon roared, and I was done fighting it.
“You think you can play me, Red?” I rasped, my mouth brushing her ear, my voice a growl. “Think you can dance on bridges and in bars and I’ll just watch?”
Her laugh was throaty, a sound that sank into my bones. “I’m not dancing, Cipher. I’m daring you.”
I tightened my grip, pulling her closer, her body molding to mine like she was made for it. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” she whispered, lips grazing my jaw, her breath a spark that lit every nerve on fire.
The bartender cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “One whiskey, neat. One Coke,” he said, sliding the drinks across the counter. Vivi didn’t move, didn’t look away, her eyes burning into mine like she could see the demon and wanted to fuck it raw.
I let go of her, just enough to grab the whiskey and down it in one swallow, the burn grounding me for a split second. She took the Coke, sipping it slowly, her lips wrapping around the straw in a way that made my jeans feel too tight. She knew what she was doing, and I hated how much I loved it.
“Pick a corner,” I said, voice low, nodding toward the bar’s shadows. “Somewhere no one’s watching.”
She raised an eyebrow, that grin creeping back. “Bossy.”
“Now,” I said, the word a command, a plea, a fucking prayer.
She sauntered toward a booth in the back, hips swaying like she was walking a tightrope over my sanity. I followed, the demon pacing, my eyes on her like she was the only thing in the room. The booth was tucked against a wall, the vinyl cracked, the table sticky with years of spilled drinks. She slid in, one leg curled under her, and leaned back, sipping her Coke like we were on a goddamn date.
I sat across from her, elbows on the table, hands fisted to keep from reaching for her. “Every asshole with a phone is posting about you,” I said, voice tight. “The bridge. The ballerina. You’re not invisible anymore.”
She shrugged, unbothered, her curls spilling over one shoulder. “Let them talk. I don’t live for their rules.”
“You live for the rush,” I said, leaning forward, my voice dropping. “But you’re not the only one who feels it. You climb bridges, you kayak at night, you push me—and someone’s gonna push back. Someone who doesn’t give a fuck about your smile.”
Her eyes flickered, just a hint of something—fear, maybe, or recognition—but she buried it fast. “You worried about me, Cipher? Or just mad I’m not locked in your tower yet?”
I smirked, despite the storm in my chest. “You’d burn my tower down, Red.”
“Damn right,” she said, leaning closer, her breath warm against my lips. “But you’d love the flames.”
The air crackled, the space between us a live wire. I wanted to grab her, drag her across the table, kiss her until she forgot her own name. But the bar was too public, too exposed, and the demon wanted her alone, where I could take my time, where I could make her mine without eyes on us.
A crash shattered the moment—a bottle hitting the floor, followed by a slurred shout. I turned, instincts kicking in, my hand twitching toward the knife in my boot. Two drunks were squaring off near the bar, one with a broken bottle, the otherswinging a chair. The bartender yelled, but it was too late. The crowd surged, some cheering, some scrambling for the door, and chaos erupted like a spark in dry grass.
Vivi’s laugh cut through the noise, bright and reckless. “Nowthisis my kind of night.”
I grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the booth. “We’re leaving.”
She yanked free, eyes gleaming. “Not yet. I want to see how this plays out.”
“Vivi,” I growled, but she was already moving, slipping through the crowd like she was born for mayhem. The demon roared, and I followed, shoving past a guy who smelled like cheap vodka. The drunks were grappling now, blood on the floor, the bottle’s jagged edge catching the neon light. Vivi stood too close, her head tilted, like she was studying a fucking painting.
I caught her arm, spinning her toward me. “You don’t get to die in a bar fight.”
“Who said anything about dying?” she said, grinning. “I’m just living.”
A fist swung wide, missing its target and nearly clipping her. I pulled her back, my body shielding hers, and threw a punch that dropped the guy cold. The crowd roared, the fight spreading like wildfire, bottles shattering, tables overturning. Vivi’s laugh was a beacon, pulling me through the chaos, and I realized she was moving toward the back door, her steps deliberate, like she’d planned this.