Page 17 of Overdose

“No,” he says, flat and final. “You’re coming with me.”

No questions. No hesitation.

He leads me toward the booth, cutting through the bodies like they’re nothing. And then—without a word—he lifts me.

Just picks me up like I’m a fucking feather.

Cool. Love that for me. Nothing like being manhandled by a brooding shadow-daddy with forearms carved out of concrete and zero patience.

The music hits me harder this time, like it missed me while I was gone. I close my eyes and sway, feeling every pulse of bass ripple through my bones. My skin hums. My hips move on their own. I don’t even care if I look insane—fuck it, maybe I am.

Maybe I was born that way. Or maybe I just broke somewhere along the way. Somewhere back wheresheis.

No. Not doing that. Not now.

I shake the thought loose with a twist of my hips, drowning it in the neon haze and chemical heat. But somewhere between the beat drop and the strobe exploding overhead, my gaze wanders.

I scan the crowd, breathless and spinning, limbs still liquid from the comedown. Lights smear across faces—blues, greens, violent pinks, and for a second it’s all a blur.

Until it isn’t.

Because I find him again,Dagger.

He’s down below, leaned against a post, a bottle in one hand, gaze fixed right up here.

Right at me.

No—past me, to Noir.

Their eyes lock. I feel it. Like some electric wire stretching between them, too thick with tension to be ignored. Noir doesn’t flinch. Just smirks, cool and smug, like he’s already won whatever the fuck they’re playing at.

And me? I’m the prize apparently.

I roll my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the lights sear my retinas and the sweat drip down my spine. Whatever rivalry they’ve got going on, whatever grudge match they’re locked in, it doesn’t matter.

I’ll never see either of them again.

Odds are slim. Hell, I don’t even know their real names.

So I dance like it.

For him.

For me.

For whatever version of myself exists right now in this hazy, glowing fever dream.

And from the corner of my eye—I swear—I feel them both still watching.

Like predators circling.

Like I’m not prey. I’m the fucking bait.

Four

Dagger

I sawred the second Noir touched her.