Page 64 of Reaper's Desire

The thought takes root, dangerous and reckless as it is. I sit up slowly, listening to the silence from the living room. Julian's breathing is deep and even. He's finally asleep.

I could leave. Just for a few hours. Just long enough to prove to myself that I don't need him, that I'm not some pathetic girl pining after a man who's made it clear he doesn't want me.

This is insane.The rational part of my brain knows that Julian told me to stay inside for a reason. There are people hunting me, and leaving this safe house is exactly the kind of reckless stupidity that could get me killed.

But the hurt and anger are louder than reason right now.

I slide out of bed as quietly as possible, my heart pounding. I rummage carefully in my suitcase, finding a pair of tight jean shorts and a silky cobalt blue halter top, and slip them on, before running my fingers through my hair. I don't have time to put on makeup, but I grab a face wipe and run it over my skin, putting on a bit of lip gloss before reaching for the bedroom door.

I wait for the hinges to creak or the floor to squeak, but I move slowly enough that I manage to be silent. I listen for anychange in Julian's breathing, but I know he was exhausted, and he seems to be deeply asleep. I stand frozen in the doorway for a long moment, second-guessing this entire plan. If he wakes up and finds me gone, he'll be furious. He'll probably track me down and drag me back here, and then I'll have to endure another lecture about how reckless I am, how I don't understand the danger.

But part of me doesn't care, and that part is louder than the rest. Let him be furious. Let him feel a fraction of what I'm feeling right now.

I move across the living room on silent feet, my eyes locked on his sleeping shape. The front door is only ten feet away. Ten feet between me and proving that I don't need Julian to make me feel wanted.

My hand closes around the doorknob. I turn it carefully, and slip out into the hallway before I can change my mind.

The bar I find a few blocks from the apartment is calledCerný Pes—the Black Dog, maybe, based on the 'art' on the sign hanging beneath the lettering. It's exactly the kind of place I would never go to in New York. It's dark and crowded and smells like spilled beer and cigarette smoke. The rock music that's playing is too loud, and the lighting is dim enough that I can barely see faces across the room.

It's perfect for what I'm trying to achieve tonight.

I push through the crowd toward the bar, feeling eyes on me immediately. My hair is messy around my face, I know I have bags beneath my eyes, and there's no makeup on my face besides the lip gloss I've already nervously half-licked off. I look nothing like the polished heiress who used to attend charity galas in designer gowns, or even the spoiled trust-fund darling who partied in Ibiza not that long ago.

But I still turn heads.

A man steps aside to let me through, his gaze lingering on my body. Another one smiles as I pass, saying something in Czech that I don't understand, but have no trouble interpreting from the tone of his voice. The attention feels good. Validating. It's a reminder that I'm desirable, that men want me. I don't need Julian to make me feel good.

I reach the bar and order a vodka tonic in English, not caring if my accent marks me as a tourist. The bartender, a woman with short purple hair and multiple piercings, nods and starts making the drink without comment. When she slides it across the bar, I down half of it in one long swallow. The alcohol burns going down, and I welcome the feeling. I want to feel something other than the ache in my chest. I want to numb the hurt and anger until they're manageable.

"Rough night?"

I turn to find a man standing beside me at the bar. He's more handsome than I expected to find here. His blond hair is cropped short, and he has pale blue eyes, a strong square jaw, and high cheekbones. He's wearing dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that shows off a lean, athletic build.

He's smiling at me like he knows exactly how attractive he is.

"You could say that," I reply, taking another sip of my drink.

"American?" His English is accented but clear, and his smile widens. "Let me guess—New York?"

"Good ear."

"I spent a year in Manhattan. Columbia University." He extends his hand. "I'm Tomáš."

I hesitate for only a second before taking his hand. His grip is warm and confident, and he doesn't stop smiling as his thumb slides over the back of my hand. "Isabelle."

"That's lovely. Can I buy you another drink, Isabelle?"

I know I shouldn't be here. If I were smart, I'd decline and get back to the safe house before Julian wakes up and realizes I'm gone.

Instead, I drain the rest of my vodka tonic and set the empty glass on the bar. "Sure. Why not?"

Three drinks later, the edges of my anger have softened into a pleasantly blurry haze. The bar is even more crowded now, bodies pressed together on the small dance floor as the music pulses through the space. Tomáš has been attentive and charming, keeping my glass full and making me laugh with stories about his disastrous attempts to navigate the New York subway system. He's exactly the kind of distraction I need.

"You're very far from home," he says, leaning closer so I can hear him over the music. His hand rests on the bar beside mine, close enough that our fingers are almost touching. "What brings you to Prague?"

"Escaping," I say without thinking, the alcohol loosening my tongue. "From people who think they know what's best for me."

"Ah." His smile turns knowing. "Running away from something. Or someone?"