Page 45 of Overdose

“She’s not the same,” he says, voice flat. “But she’s close enough to make your dick hard. Close enough to let you pretend—for a second—that you didn’t fuck it all up. That you didn’t let her slip through your fingers. But she’ll never be enough to bury the guilt. And you know it.”

I lunge.

He grabs my shirt before I can swing, slamming me back into the railing with a snarl.

“She was selling on your turf,” I hiss. “Stealing your clients. Cutting into your business. You couldn’t control her, so you had her taken out.”

His hands drop. His expression shifts—tightens. Just a flicker. Just enough.

I press in. “How do you think Blair would feel if she knew the truth, huh? Thatyou’rethe reason her sister disappeared. That you made her vanish like trash swept off your fucking doorstep.”

Something flashes behind his eyes—something dark. But he covers it with a laugh.

“You really think that’s what happened?” he sneers. “You always needed a villain, didn’t you? Someone to point at so you didn’t have to look at yourself.”

I shove him.

“You’re gonna talk about me?” I spit. “At least I didn’t lie to her. I didn’t pretend to be her savior while cutting her off behind closed doors.”

He laughs again. It’s not funny.

“You know what I think?” he says, stepping in until we’re nose to nose. “I think Blair should know the last guy she fucked was in love with her sister. That he’s not addicted to her, he’s just hoping the twin shit goes all the way down.”

My blood turns to fire. “You shut your fucking mouth.”

“But I’m wrong, right?” he sneers. “You don’t see her as your second chance? Your do-over? The hit you missed. The body that vanished before you could admit you failed. You keep chasing her ghost like it’ll confess something you’re too fucking scared to say out loud.”

“Stop,” I growl.

He doesn’t.

“She’s not your redemption,” Dagger says, ice in his voice. “You don’t give a fuck about her. You just want to feel better about how it ended. Like maybe if you save the sister, you won’t feel so fucking guilty.”

I swing.

He dodges. Smiles.

Then he turns to go.

“I saw it,” he mutters, not even looking back. “Watched her unravel. And you? You stood there acting untouchable, like you were too fucking pure to get your hands dirty. Told her she mattered, swore she meant something but when it came time to actually show up? You didn’t. You wouldn’t. She needed someone to pull her back, and you let her sink. So don’t stand here acting like I’m the villain in your little guilt-ridden fairytale.”

He glances over his shoulder, smirking like he’s already won.

“Maybe if you’d actually fucking shown up when she needed you, you’d know what really happened.”

Then he turns his back on me.

Just like that.

Gone.

And I’m left standing there, fists clenched so tight my knuckles crack, breath ragged, sweat slick and sticking to my skin. The air’s thick—hot and muggy, like it’s holding its breath with me. Like even the fucking night knows I’m not okay.

Blair’s gone.

Again.

Straying just out of reach with that same look—cold, cutting, like I’m the one who wrecked her. Like she’s already decided I’m not worth the fallout.