Page 30 of When She Unravels
“I have, and I would.” He steps away and waits for me to piece it together. Damn it, he’s not lying. That stupid granola bar.
“You are infuriating,” I hiss, but I don’t think he hears me. He’s already turned on his heel and is stalking away.
Astrid and Vilde gape at me.
“I didn’t ask for him to do this,” I say.
Astrid lets out a disbelieving laugh. “What did you do to get so under his skin?”
“Nothing. I have no idea what possessed him.” Maybe he just gets some perverse joy from bossing me around.
When the food De Rossi ordered arrives, I insist they dig in with me. Everything tastes so incredibly good that my irritation eases. I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my wrist, and when I remember how he drank me in with his eyes, heat flickers on at the pit of my belly. Still, I make a point to not to look at De Rossi’s table.
The hours tick by. It doesn’t take long for Astrid and Vilde to get comfortable with our new open tab, and soon we’re all well on our way past tipsy. When the dance floor opens up, we’re the first ones on it.
They turn up the music so that it drowns out most conversation. Now that I’m heavily buzzed and well fed, I’m in a surprisingly good mood. Was I too stubborn with De Rossi? All the man wanted to do was pay for my meal, even if he acted like a brute. Maybe I should at least give him my thanks.
I look around, but I can’t see him. Just as I’m sure he left the restaurant, an arm wraps around my waist.
My blood surges through my veins like lava. “Still looking?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Only at you.”
I freeze. It’s not De Rossi’s voice. For a split second, everything around me cancels out, and Lazaro’s face flashes in my mind.
I whirl around and nearly laugh with relief. A tall stranger. He’s dangerous looking. There’s a knife tattoo on his face, to the side of his left eye, and a nose that’s been broken one too many times, but to me he is no one. Fear leaves me like a retreating wave.
Whatever he sees in my face excites him. He steps closer, pressing his chest to my breasts and planting his palms just above the curve of my ass. “What’s your name,bella?”
“I don’t give it out to strangers,” I say, trying to pull away.
“We won’t be strangers for much longer,” he says an inch away from my lips. His breath is rotten. He’s moving my hips with his hands, grinding me into his crotch like I’m some fuck toy. From the bulge pressing against my leg, it’s clear what he wants.
Everything suddenly feels dirty and sick. The alcohol—a mix of wine, tequila, and God knows what else—splashes inside my stomach, and my clothes feel too tight. I’m sweaty from the dancing, some of my hair has fallen out of my bun, and it’s sticking to my neck.
The stranger won’t let me go, and I discover I don’t have any will to fight him.
You wanted to be a whore tonight,a voice says inside my head. It’s what you deserve.
His eyes turn liquid with desire. “Come with me,bella.” He turns me in the direction of the restroom. Then he starts to push me that way, his big active body overwhelming my smaller passive one.
I glance to the side, toward the bar. Astrid and Vilde are chatting to the bartender, the three of them laughing at some joke. Maybe they’ll still be there when this man is done with me. Maybe they’ll never know what I invited upon myself with my wickedness. When days, weeks, months later they talk about this night, it will be one thing in their minds and another thing in mine. A creeping loneliness wraps around the entirety of my thoughts and squeezes hard.
Just then, the bulk of the man pressed against me disappears.
I open my eyes—I must have closed them at some point—and try to orient myself. The bathroom is to my right, the dance floor to my left, and ahead of me stands De Rossi, holding the other man by the collar of his shirt.
“You’re still here,” I say numbly.
He ignores me. “She’s drunk,” he says to the tattooed man. “Leave.”
The stranger sneers. “Fuck you.”
“Careful.”
“Who’s she to you?”
My heart picks up speed.
