Page 6 of Overdose

I reach for the pill, but he pulls it back, just a little. Teasing. Waiting.

“What’s your name?” he asks, still holding it just out of reach.

I cock a brow. “Why? You planning on writing me a thank-you note after I OD in your arms?”

He doesn’t blink. Just watches me with that maddening almost-smile.

I scoff. “Didn’t realize names were part of the transaction. What is this—drug dealing with a dash of intimacy?”

Still, he waits.

I huff. “Blair. Happy now?”

He says it slow, deliberate. “Blair.”

The way it rolls off his tongue? Dangerous. Like he already knows how I taste.

He leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts against my cheek—smoke and something darker, something addictive. His voice drops low, slow, like a secret he wants to press into my skin.

“Careful, Blair,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Cyanide has claws.”

And the way he says it?

Not a warning.

A promise.

Fuck he’s hot as fuck.

Like, ruin-your-life-and-beg-for-more hot.

I pluck the pill from his fingers and pop it onto my tongue like defiance.

“So do I,” I purr, letting the words drip sweet and venomous.

Then I blow him a kiss—slow, cocky, and razor-edged, before spinning on my platforms and melting back into the chaos.

Gone before he can throw another warning or a reason to stay.

The beat grabs me by the throat, sinks its claws into the meat of me, and drags me under. It pulses through the floor, through my bones, through the cheap plastic soles of my platform boots until I forget where I end and the bass begins.

Bodies blur into each other like smeared paint. A girl in rhinestone pasties grabs my waist, laughing as she spins me around and pulls me into her. Her lips are slick, her skin electric. I don’t know her name, and I don’t fucking need to. We dancelike we’ve done this forever, like we’ve been stitched together for this one moment of shared chaos. Then a guy joins us, shirtless, glitter-slicked, reeking of citrus vodka and something dirtier. His hands find my hips. Her teeth graze my neck.

And I let them.

I don’t push away. I don’t flinch. I just melt.

Because the second pill hits—andfuck. It’s a full-body kiss from something unholy. Like a scream that never gets loud enough. My skin buzzes, nerve endings sparking. My spine bends like liquid. I forget who I am, forget I’m supposed to be human. I’m just rhythm, sweat and a heartbeat.

I kiss the girl. Deep, open-mouthed and shameless. I kiss the guy too, just because I can. His lips are soft. Hers are better.

Hands are on me. Tongues. Teeth. Sweat-soaked euphoria dripping from every stranger’s touch.

It’s too much, and yet, not enough.

Then Ifeelhim.

That slow creep of awareness. Thatdragin the air. Like being watched by something that doesn’t blink.