Page 59 of Cold Mercy

Music pulses through the room while Elizabeth is busy lecturing some guy about why men are pigs, which is exactly why she rarely drinks.

Arlyn hand rests on my thigh, light and careful, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away if I'd like to. With the other, he brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and there’s something steady and intentional in the gesture that sends a warm current down my spine. Talking to him is… easy. Shockingly easy. There’s no tension in his voice, no hidden edge, no second meaning behind every word. He doesn’t scan the room for exits, doesn’t watch people like they might pull a gun any second.

Our knees brush, and a moment later, he traces a finger along the rim of my glass, his expression open and focused as if he genuinely wants to hear what I have to say. For the first time in a long time, I let myself enjoy the attention, telling myself it’s just the alcohol or the music. As I shift and cross my legs, he leans in a little closer, his eyes dipping to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting mine again. It's in that charged moment that something at the entrance catches my attention: a tall, familiar shape, with a second one moving just behind him.

James Callaway, and fucking Thomas Reed.

James looks annoyed, like he already regrets being here. But Thomas… the moment his eyes land on me, everything inside him freezes, then darkens.

His stare locks on Arlyn’s hand on my thigh, on my crossed legs angled toward someone else. The shift in his expression is instant and lethal. Like he’d tear through this club with his bare hands if he thought he could get away with it.

I give Arlyn my number and tell him I really have to go, and before he even says anything else, I hook my hand around Elizabeth’s arm and pull her away from the bar. Away from him, away from the very tiny two-minute bubble of peace I somehow had tonight.

“Did you fucking tell him to come here?” I hiss, dragging her toward the darker corner of the club where Arlyn can’t hear us.

She blinks at me, completely drunk, her lips pursing into that confused pout she gets when she has no idea what’s happening around her.

“What are you talking about?” she slurs. “That guy was pissing me off, so I texted James to pick us up!”

“Oh, texted James? Right. And he showed up with backup? Since when are they suddenly a duo?”

She shrugs like this entire situation is a joke.

“Calm down, they’re both here, they’ll drive us home. Stop overreacting.”

“Give me your phone.”

She hands it over without even a sigh, and the second I look at the screen, fury buzzes through my blood like electricity.

“You texted Thomas, Elizabeth. Not James. Thomas.”

She laughs, actually laughs.

“God, don’t be dramatic. They're together anyway, so what’s the difference?”

“A massive fucking difference,” I snap, shoving the phone back into her hand far too roughly, but I can’t help it. I’m done for the night.

“I’m taking a cab.”

Not waiting for her to argue, I make for the back exit, pushing through the metal door and into the cool night air, finally trying to catch my breath.

I don’t get more than two breaths. A strong hand grabs my arm, and before I can react, Thomas towers over me, fury radiating off him like heat. He doesn't give me an inch, pressing his body against mine and pinning me to the rough brick.

“Is this how you punish me?” he growls, crowding me against the wall. “You pushed me away, so why the fuck was he touching you where I wanted to? Did you lie to me, or are you just trying to hurt me?”

I laugh softly, a sound devoid of humor, and meet his furious gaze with one of my own. My heart is hammering against my ribs, betraying me, but I refuse to look away.

“It’s none of your business,” I whisper, tilting my chin up, my eyes flashing with a dangerous dare. “I’m just not into you. Your ego is going to have to deal with that, pretty boy”

Lies, lies, lies. Look him in the eyes. Tell him you hate him, untill the feeling dies.

Everything in my mind is screaming to run. Every instinct I have for self-preservation is begging me not to give him an inch. He is a walking warning sign. But my body hums under his proximity, aching to close the distance I’m trying so hard to keep. I don’t know if I’m pushing him away because I truly don’t want this, or because I’m terrified of how badly I actually do.

His hand snaps up to grip my jaw, holding me still. His dark, obsessed eyes watch as his thumb brushes over my lower lip, dragging it down slightly to expose the lie.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, his voice rough and vibrating against my skin. “You want a reaction? Keep pushing. See what happens when I stop being the nice guy who walks away.”

“Aww, I think I liked the polite version of you better,” I whisper, mocking him, leaning in until my mouth is millimeters from his. “What happened to the good, protective Thomas? Did I finally break him?”