Page 8 of Overdose

But there he is, posted up by the bar like he owns the place. All leather and rings and that smug fucking expression he gets when he thinks he’s in control.

I could see the baggie in his hand from here. Pink skulls. Cyanide.

And she took it fromhim.

Smiling like she didn’t just sell her soul to the goddamn devil.

It pisses me off more than it should.

Girls like her—wild, reckless, begging for the world to chew them up, they don’t usually get more than a second glance from me. But she’s different. She moves like a fuse already lit. Like she didn’t come here to party. She came here to disintegrate.

Dagger saw it too.

That’s what burns the most. Dagger’s a fucking parasite. He doesn’t even pretend to care. He deals rot, hands it out like candy, then walks away when someone drops. He’ll flirt, feed you your favorite flavor of poison, then vanish before you hit the ground. He’s not a dealer. He’s a fucking executioner with charm, and by the way he’s eyeing her, she’s the next name on his list.

She starts dancing. High, feral, and glowing. Arms above her head, mouth open like she’s breathing in the bass. She grinds against strangers like their hands mean nothing on her skin. She kisses one girl, then another, then pushes them both away with a laugh that doesn’t sound familiar in an eerie unreal way. Her top’s strap slides further off her shoulder with every spin.

She never pulls it back up.

I shift the set without thinking. Darker. Slower. Designed to burn through her veins.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

It only makes me angrier. I already don’t like what this is turning into. The way I keep adjusting for her. The way I’ve been watching her for almost an hour straight like I’m somehow wired to her pulse. She makes me feel off balance. On edge. Which is dangerous.

She looks up, and everything inside me tightens.

Those brown eyes. Glittering. Daring. She holds my stare like she owns it.

Fuck.

She’s got no idea what she’s doing. Shit, maybe she does.

I flick my gaze toward the bar.

Dagger’s still there. Still watching her.

But now he’s watching me too.

Of course he noticed. He always does. The rivalry never really died. We just got better at pretending it did. But this girl?

She’s about to rip the whole façade apart.

I can already feel it.

This time won’t be any different. It won’t end clean.

Not withherin the middle of it all, and definitely not with Dagger breathing down my neck.

I drop the volume just enough to pull in a heavier beat, then raise it again like nothing happened. Like I’m not losing my fucking mind. Like I’m not two seconds away from jumping down, grabbing her by the wrist, and dragging her somewhere dark where he can’t touch her.

Because whatever the hell this is—it’s mine now.

Not his.

Not anymore.

The lights start to dim. Not all at once, but in slow flickers—pink and blue bulbs dying above swaying bodies, smoke curling into halos over their heads. The crowd’s swelling now—more bodies pushing in, heat rising, movement everywhere like the chaos got bored and decided to multiply.