Page 114 of The Night Shift

Now

I wonder how long it will take Holly to clean everything up. She’s typically not a messy killer, but every now and then, her temper gets the better of her, and the calculated neatness of a slit throat is replaced by a brick-smashed skull.

The sharp tang of spilled tequila hangs in the air as I watch her trail my date into the washroom.

Well, she isn’t exactly my date. Neither did I intend for her to die tonight. That’s not why I asked her to dance. The only woman I want to dance with is Holly. She’s the only person I want to touch in this lifetime and the next. But since she refuses to admit that she wants me just as much, this felt like the only way to get a reaction. I just needed to get under her skin, to make her admit that watching me touch someone else drives her insane. And if it takes yet another slit throat to bring that truth to the surface, so be it. Every decision should not be rooted in morality. Some decisions depend on how one’s self-interest can be affected by the consequences.

The washroom door clicks shut, and I decide to wait it out by the bar. One more drink seems reasonable enough given I’llbe driving later. I order an Old Fashioned for myself and a gin martini with eight olives for Holly — she’ll probably need it after she’s done in there.

The barman returns with my order, and I cover Holly’s drink with a napkin before taking a sip of mine. I take a seat on a barstool, leaning against the counter with my eyes fixed on the washroom door, watching for any sign: a scream, a shadow, a streak of blood. Anything to tell me what’s going on behind it.

Nothing.

I glance over at the dance floor where April and Parker are still tangled up in each other’s arms, making out with each other as if no one else exists. Her lips crushed against his, his hands all over her. Jesus Christ, it’s like they’re trying to suck the life out of each other. The only time Parker pulls away from her is to grab a French fry from their shared plate to shove into her mouth before diving right back into their kiss.

Looking away, I pull out my phone. There are no texts from the inferior stalker, nothing from the other weird number either. Just a few messages from Em — mostly goofy pictures of her in her football gear. I like every single one before slipping the phone back into my pocket, my focus returning to the door.

What the hell is taking her so long? Should I check on her? It wouldn’t be difficult; the bar is quite crowded, and the air is thick with dim red lighting. Slipping through the door unnoticed would be child’s play. Though, I do hope she’s had the sense to lock it.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. At the thirteenth minute, the doorknob turns, Holly steps out, and for a second, I forget everything because fucking hell, that outfit.

The short green skirt clinging to her hips, the black corset, cinching her waist so perfectly it makes my mouth dry, the green leather jacket, and those boots — thosefuckingthigh-high, heeled boots. I want to get her naked underneath mewearing nothing but those boots. I want to feel the heels of those boots press into my chest, digging into my skin until they draw blood. Every nerve in my body ignites, my pulse thundering as a singular thought burrows into my brain:mine.

She runs a hand through her blonde waves. Her eyes meet mine across the room. I smile. She smiles back. Something isn’t right. Holly never smiles at me. My suspicions are confirmed precisely a second later, when my “date” walks out the door behind her. Completely alive and positively unharmed.

She’s smiling too, a little shyly. Her hair is slightly tousled, and her lipstick is... smudged. Is she fuckingblushing?

She says something to Holly — which, from the way her lips move, looks like a timid “thank you.” Holly moves her, so that her back is facing me, before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with the kind of tenderness that I didn’t even know she was capable of. It makes my gut twist. And then she kisses her. It’s not a casual peck on the lips. It’s a raw, hungry, fuckingkiss.

Her hand is fisted in the woman’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer, it’s like she’s trying to brand herself on the other woman. She’s kissingherwhen she should be kissingme.

Is she trying to get back at me for something?

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t work. I can practically feel the jealousy clawing at me, scorching through my veins, making every inch of me burn with the need to rip them the fuck apart.

When they finally pull apart after an eternity, Holly drags her thumb across the brunette’s lip, a slow motion that makes my teeth grind. She says something to her and the woman, who’s practically glowing now, walks over to her friends, while Holly — smug,smugHolly — makes her way to me. Hips sashaying and chin up high likes she’s already won. She has.

“Ooh, is this for me?” she says, reaching for the napkin-covered martini glass. She takes a sip, her eyes closing as thegin hits her tongue. “Mm...perhaps, you aren’t as useless as I thought.”

“That was quite the show you put on,” I say, unable to hide the twinge of irritation in my voice.

She takes another sip of her drink, and I watch her throat as she swallows the gin.I want to bite her.“You’re gonna have to be much more specific than that, Carter.”

“If you were jealous, all you had to do was come talk to me. There was no need to steal my date.”

Holly smiles over the rim, her expression dripping with smugness and I think I understand now why she finds me so insufferable. “I didn’t steal your date. She came willingly.”

“Is that so?”

Holly nods. “Multiples times, actually.”

My blood burns.

“And as for the jealous part, why would I be jealous? Did you install a secret tracking app on her phone as well?”

“For the last time, it’s not a tracking app. Though, I do have one of those installed on your phone.”

She shoots me a glare.