Page 24

Angelique

I hesitate to get up when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. Not because I’m still doing my hair or fumbling with makeup—I’ve been ready for ten minutes—but there’s something about knowing Reign is on the other side, ready to take me to dinner, that causes my heart to lodge in my throat.

I smooth my hands down the front of my dress.

It’s a simple black number that skims my calves and hugs my body just enough.

The long sleeves are a deliberate choice, covering the new round of fresh cuts on my wrist that I gave myself today, and the high neckline gives nothing away.

It’s the kind of outfit you wear when you don’t know where you're going, only that you need to feel safe in your own skin and still look good. I breathe in slowly and open the door.

He’s wearing a black dress shirt, sleeves casually rolled just below his elbows, the fabric sleek and clearly expensive, tailored to cling to his frame like it was made with only him in mind.

There’s a quiet power to the way he wears it, understated but impossible to ignore.

It’s unfair how elegance looks dangerous on him, how restraint only makes him more tempting.

His gaze rakes over my body slowly, taking his time before returning to my face.

And when it does, I swear I feel it all the way down my spine.

My body responds to him like gravity, and heat rises in my throat, pooling low in my belly.

I force myself to look away before I let him see just how badly I want to touch him.

How badly I want him to touch me.

"Ready?" he asks.

I nod, and he steps aside, motioning for me to follow. We walk out into the warm night, his Porsche parked in front of the house, shining under the moonlight, and when he opens the door for me, I slide in.

He drives fast, cutting the driving time in half. Oxford glows in the dark with golden stone buildings lit from below; old streets dressed up like a movie.

The Folly sits on the edge of the river, its ivy-draped facade soft in the low evening light.

Inside are candlelit tables, exposed beams, and linen napkins folded with precision.

Reign doesn’t pause at the host stand, walking us straight into the dining area.

It’s only then that I realize we’re the only ones here.

He leads me through the dining room without hesitation, down a few steps to a velvet-lined alcove with a view of the river glinting just beyond the window. The space is private and intimate. Moments later, a server appears beside the table and places two heavy menus down.

“Mr. Harrington.” He nods at Reign before walking away.

I lift a brow and look at Reign. “Did you book out the whole restaurant or something?”

He doesn’t look at me right away, instead flipping the menu open, fingers gliding down the page, and then he shrugs. “I have some investments in the place and some sway in their business hours.”

I blink. Of course the man who showed up in an expensive-looking suit doesn’t need a reservation to a fancy restaurant. He can just pay them off to shut down the whole place for the night.

“What do you want?” he asks, nodding to my untouched menu.

I pick it up and scan the page over before deciding on the Fish of the Day. He lifts two fingers and the server from earlier walks up to our table within seconds, a smile plastered on his face.

“One Fish of the Day for the lady,” he says, closing his menu. “And I’ll have the beef sirloin.”

“And to drink?” the server asks.

“Your most expensive bottle,” Reign replies, not taking his eyes off mine.

The server nods, taking our menus. “Right away, sir.”

Within a few seconds, the server is back with a bottle of wine and pouring it into my glass.

I take a small sip to taste, noticing that it’s unexpectedly smooth at first, tasting like pears mixed with vanilla, before a citrusy aftertaste kicks in.

I drink the whole thing before the server finishes pouring Reign’s glass.

Both Reign and the server look at me with surprised expressions, but the server doesn’t hesitate to top up my glass before placing the bottle to the side of the table and leaving us.

The candlelight flickers against the curve of my wineglass, catching on the sharp angles of Reign’s face as he leans back in his seat.

“Why do I have a feeling you plan to fill yourself up with liquid courage tonight?”

I smirk. “Because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

I wink at him before picking up my glass and downing the whole thing again. He watches me refill my glass; amusement written across his face.

“Careful, Angel. This particular wine is meant to be savoured slowly. You might not feel it pulling you under, but I can guarantee if you stand up right now, you’ll feel the alcohol hit you.”

I roll my eyes but listen anyway, setting the glass down with a sigh. He leans back in his seat, one side of his mouth tugging into that maddening, lazy smirk.

“Good girl,” he says, voice low and rich. The sound shivers through me, uninvited, heat curling low in my belly. I squeeze my thighs together beneath the table, annoyed at how easy it is for him to undo me.

But I don’t let it distract me. “Why didn’t you ever pick up when I called?”

His smirk falters as he exhales hard through his nose. “I see we’re jumping straight to the point before the food even gets here.”

He reaches forward for his glass, swirling it once, then brings it to his nose and slowly inhales the scent before taking a sip. I patiently wait for him to put the glass down, knowing he’s just trying to buy himself some time.

“I was busy,” he says finally, eyes fixed on the table. “Whenever I was free, it was already the middle of the night for you in New York.”

I let out a humourless laugh. “Right. Because time zones are such a bitch when it comes to texting.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.

“So that’s your excuse, then?” I press. “You were ‘busy’ ? Too busy for a two-second reply? For a single word?”

“Maybe we should wait for the?— ”

“No,” I snap. “You disappeared, Reign. I went from hearing your voice every day to nothing. Absolute silence from you. Like I didn’t even exist anymore. Like everything that happened between us that summer, and all the things we shared meant nothing to you.”

He looks at me, desperation and anger blazing behind his blue eyes. “You had your new life. You were doing what you were meant to do, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” I fire back. “You don’t get to ghost someone who mattered to you and then pretend it was noble.”

His expression hardens. “You left me.”

“And you let me.”

We stare at each other, the air between us taut and trembling. My heart is pounding at an impossible speed, and the wine only adds heat to the fury churning inside me.

“God,” I scoff, shoving my chair back. It scrapes against the floor as I stand and wobble slightly from the wine. “If I’d known you were just going to give me half-assed answers instead of owning up to your part in all of this, then I wouldn’t have agreed to this dinner.”

I reach into my purse, pull out a crisp wad of cash, and toss two-hundred pounds down onto the table.

“For my half,” I bite out.

I turn on my heel before he can speak, the buzz making my body sway side to side.

“Fuck,” he curses behind me, but I don’t look back.

I walk out of the restaurant and into the night, heels cracking against the cobblestone with every step, pulse pounding in my ears. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I’m not staying here, not with him.

I’m halfway down a side street, scanning for a cab, when I hear footsteps. I glance back, thinking it’s Reign, and find four drunk men walking toward me instead. They’re catcalling at me loudly, words slurring, and some even manage a whistle.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” One of the guy’s sneers. “You dressed like that for us?”

I pivot, hoping to lose them, and realize I’ve walked into a narrow alley with a brick wall in front of me.

When I turn to run out, I find them already standing at the entrance, out of breath, as if they ran to trap me in here.

I fumble for the Farbgel Spray in my bag as I back up, trying to keep some distance between me and them.

Two of the guys run at me and when they’re close enough, I yank the bottle out of my bag and spray them both in the eyes, revelling when they scream as the dye stains their skin, hands flying up to their eyes as they desperately rub their lids.

The third guy smacks the bottle from my hand and on instinct I kick him hard between the legs with my pointed high heel, not surprised when he lets out a high-pitched squeal, like a pig, before dropping to the ground next to his two friends.

But just as my foot comes back down to the ground, the last guy grabs me by my upper arm and slams me into the brick wall, knocking the air out of my lungs, before he presses a cold blade to my neck.

“Come on,” he slurs, breath sour. “We just want a good time with you, sweetheart.”

I open my mouth to scream but he applies pressure to the blade, and I feel it cut through my skin, warm blood trickling down my neck. My hands shake, frozen at my sides.

“Let me get a good look at that pretty face,” he says, using his dirty hand to push back my curls out of the way .

I spit at him, and he pulls back the hand holding the knife to slap me so hard that the sound echoes through the alley. I’m stunned for a moment, ears ringing and feeling the sting of pain pulse along my cheek.

“I’d rather die,” I say, looking at his ugly face. “Than let another man take advantage of my body.”

He sneers, looking into my eyes as his knife presses harder against my throat this time. The burn of his blade familiar, but still terrifying.

If this is how I go, then so be it. The world is cruel enough, anyway. What’s one less person to fall victim to the tribulations of life?

But he suddenly eases the pressure of the sharp edge against my throat, eyes widening as an arm snakes its way around his neck. A second blade appears—sleek and black—and roughly presses against his cheek. He gasps and jerks back, earning himself a deep cut to his face.

He drops his knife, releasing me, and it clatters to the ground just before Reign slams the guy’s head into the brick wall with one smooth, brutal shove. I hear the crack of his skull before he drops to the ground, groaning as blood leaks from his head down his face.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, watching as his eyes roll back as he lies on the ground unmoving. “Is he dead?”

Reign pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans his blade, pure rage reflected on his features. “Not yet.”

The other men scramble to their feet, eyes bloodshot and faces stained from the Farbgel Spray. The one I kicked is pressed against the wall, staring at his friend bleeding out on the ground, as he pees himself and bends his body sideways to vomit .

“Mate,” one of them shouts. “We’ve got to get him to the hospital!”

They rush over, pick him up, and run out of the alley screaming for help, not looking back at us once. And it’s only when they’re gone that I realize how fast my heart is racing. But one look at Reign has it ready to explode right out of my chest.

His angry eyes are silently watching me as he finishes wiping his knife clean, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. I don’t move from my spot, my back pressing against the cool brick behind me, as he takes two steps toward me and stops just a breath away.

He places one hand on the wall above me, leaning in closer.

His scent is intoxicating, and instead of inching away when he places his own knife under my chin, I find myself incredibly turned on.

He applies pressure, forcing my face up, and I’m positive he’s about to kiss me, but his eyes drift to my throbbing cheek and then down to the fresh cuts on my neck.

His jaw pulses as he returns his eyes to mine, eyes flickering down to my lips only momentarily.

“I should’ve killed him,” he growls, his voice deathly low.

The words send a shiver straight down my spine as wild, uncontrollable butterflies detonate in my stomach.

My throat tightens as I stare at him, at how angry he is for me.

He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together.

And I know that if I said the word, he’d go finish what he started.

“Why?” I breathe. “Why would you say that? Why did you even—” I swallow hard. “You don’t feel anything for me, Reign. You proved that when you disappeared. So why would you take such a risk? ”

His eyes narrow as his jaw ticks.

“Do you really think I’d watch someone lay a finger on you and not want to rip them apart?” His voice dangerously low. “Anyone that hurts you doesn’t deserve to live.”

He lowers the knife, grazing the line of my throat, away from the cuts, with aching tenderness. I exhale sharply, my thighs pressing together, heat flooding my core like a traitor.

God, what’s wrong with me? This must be the alcohol, right?

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smirk, gaze locked on mine, watching every flicker of heat that flashes across my face.

His hand replaces the knife, warm and grounding against my skin, fingers sliding into the back of my hair, curling tight as he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine.

And it hits me that this is the first time someone’s touched me like this since Alec, and I haven’t flinched.

I haven’t pulled away or recoiled or frozen.

I’m just letting him touch me and letting it feel good.

“Say the word, Angel,” he whispers. “Say the word, and I’ll make sure no one ever touches you again. Not unless it’s me.”

I don’t say anything, because how do I tell Reign Harrington that yes—being touched repulses me, makes my skin crawl…

unless it’s him ? How do I tell him I want his hands everywhere on me?

That I want him to take control, to break me, to put me back together?

How do I tell Reign Harrington that I want all of him?

But I don’t have to, because whatever he sees in my eyes has his mouth crashing into mine with reckless hunger, and I open for him like I’ve been waiting all my life.

Something snaps into place, a feeling of trust, of safety, wrapping around us.

I taste blood and desperation, and maybe that should scare me, but it doesn’t.

It makes me feel alive. He makes me feel alive.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I want to feel something other than fear.