Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)

by A. L. Jackson

  I frowned and he just smiled.

  Cheeky and bold, he grinned wider as he cocked his head. “I was kinda hoping you were talking about me, since I couldn’t help but think the same thing about you while I was sitting way over there while you were way over here. Seemed a shame, so here I am.”

  He was cute. I kind of wanted to pat him on the top of the head and send him on his way.

  But when I felt Lyrik’s fierce, piercing gaze, I was suddenly leaning in the kid’s direction.

  “You think I’m cute, huh?” So I guessed I was going to play his game.

  The guy chuckled, his stare blatant as it dropped to my chest. I tried not to shiver in disgust.

  “I could think of a few better ways to describe you,” he said. “How about later you let me whisper them in your ear? I’ve got a room next door.”

  Wow, was I wrong.

  The kid wasn’t cute. He was a presumptuous twit.

  I leaned in closer and ignored the nausea swirling in my stomach and rising in my throat.

  Rise.

  I swallowed down that errant thought.

  For the last four years, I’d used my body as a weapon. But always as a defense. A tool to keep men just out of reach. Too hot for them to handle. Too dangerous to touch. Giving the impression I’d be all too happy to cut them to pieces if they even tried hurting me in any way, even though in reality I would have been the one shaking in my boots.

  But tonight? I hated myself a little more because I used this weapon against Lyrik. Even after he’d destroyed a little of what he’d exposed. I used it against the burning hope that wouldn’t stop churning in my spirit.

  I reached across the bar and ran the tip of my index finger down the stranger’s face. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I get off at three.”

  As if I was that easy.

  I scratched ten digits onto a bar napkin and pressed it into his hand.

  Of course they were the wrong ten digits. No chance in hell would I let him touch me.

  I hated every second of this.

  Back to pretending I was someone I was not.

  Messing with this kid, despite how offensively brazen his advances were.

  Vindictive in my actions.

  But the only thing that made sense right then was to hurt Lyrik the way he was hurting me.

  Slow and agonizing. Sharp and severe.

  As if I were slowly bleeding out.

  I had to build back up the walls. I had to restore the foundation I’d built to survive. I needed to protect and preserve and persevere. And I knew he was watching and I knew he received the message.

  You can’t hurt me.

  In my periphery, I felt more than saw Lyrik stand from the booth. Chest aching, I glanced that way and met with his gaze.

  Hard.

  Bitter.

  Maybe even disappointed.

  He stared me down for a few heartbreaking moments. Jaw clenched, the heavy bob of his throat was evident as he swallowed. Then he turned his back on me and walked out the door. He took all that potent energy with him, leaving the cavernous space hollow and vacant.

  I slumped forward. The cutting pain was so intense I gasped around it.

  You can’t hurt me.

  But I knew the truth.

  Lyrik West was the only one who could.

  IT WAS JUST AFTER three twenty when I finally made it home that night. I plodded up the exterior stairs toward my apartment. Exhaustion and sorrow weighed me down. As if I were bound by chains, my body drained, and my heart sluggish. Darkness clung to the star-studded sky, the trill of bugs a constant hum where they feasted in the trees. The humid air like a mold to my body.

  But I felt cold.

  Clammy.

  As if I might have gone into shock.

  Gripping the railing, I forced myself up the stairs. The click of my heels rang out like an exclamation of my loneliness. Like a stark reminder of the solitude.

  My hand was shaking as I fumbled to find the right key. I slid it into the lock and let myself into the stark isolation of my apartment.

  A dismal sigh worked its way free¸ and I tossed my keys to the kitchen counter and wandered down the hall into the bathroom so I could wash the mask from my face.

  I was getting so goddamned tired of wearing it.

  Tired of pretending I was something I was not.

  Tired of hiding from the past that rushed to catch up to me, competing to become a part of my future.

  I knew the choice was coming.

  I’d either have to face it.

  Go home and confront my past head on.

  Or I’d have to run.

  Leave.

  I just didn’t know if I had the strength to tackle either one and I wasn’t quite sure where that left me.

  Running a cloth under warm water, I washed my face, erasing the traces of the hard, cold girl.

  I dropped it into the sink, and stared at the face devoid of makeup. At the desolation swimming behind the blue eyes that blinked hopelessly back at me.

  “You did this,” I said aloud. But it wasn’t Tamar King who was listening. It was the girl who was screaming, begging me to find her.

  Pushing it down, I flicked off the light switch and headed toward my empty bed where I knew I’d toil in the vacancy. Toss with the turmoil. Where I’d be pulled in every direction until I was torn to shreds.

  Where I’d wake in the morning and try to pick up the pieces without the first clue of how to put myself back together. Not when I no longer knew the pattern of the puzzle.

  A soft knock sounded against my front door. My breath shot from me and I froze in the middle of my room, instinctively knowing it was him.

  I swallowed hard, unsure of which direction to follow. My heart begged for one more glimpse before he was gone, while my head said to let him go. It was for the best.

  All along, I’d known better.

  Known better than to let myself get so deep.

  Known better than to let him explore and invade. To get in and under my skin where he’d marked and scarred, like this invisible ink stamped across my heart where he’d left his emblem.

  Two more knocks. The second came far behind, the sound trailing off.

  As if it were done in resignation.

  In defeat.

  With a final please.

  Before I could think better of it, I moved toward the front door, drawn through the darkness.

  To the darkness.

  To the menacing, malicious man who I knew would be standing on the other side.

  Slowly, I turned the lock.

  The grinding slide of metal echoed through the quiet.

  Even slower, I opened the door.

  I guess I liked the pain.

  I nearly buckled with the torment just the sight of him summoned, the fiery need and the earth-shattering energy.

  That dizzying buzz vibrated in the atmosphere in tiny, explosive shockwaves.

  Obsidian eyes stared down at me from where he stood outside my door. Hands shoved in his pockets. Shoulders slack. So different than the bold, untouchable boy. This was someone who’d been touched.

  I gulped.

  God.

  He was beautiful.

  Gorgeous in a devastating way.

  Because that’s what I felt, standing there, trembling at his feet.

  Devastated.

  Stupid girl.

  “Hey,” he said, his elbows lifting out as he shrugged with his hands still firmly seated in his pockets.

  As if maybe this cocky, arrogant boy had no clue what to do with himself.

  “Hi.” It scraped up my throat.

  Moments floated around us, the two of us prisoners to uncertainty and doubt, before he warily peered over my shoulder into the quiet of my apartment. His gaze had gone hard by the time he dragged it back to me. “You alone?”

  Shame hit me square in the chest.

  I dipped my chin and nodded.

  Relief and frustration filled his exhale, and I n
oticed him look to the ground as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. He looked up, chewing at that bottom lip, that glimpse of vulnerability disappearing with the wind, ushering in his storm. “One thing I never took you for was a tease.”

  Bastard.

  Standing there acting as if this was my fault.

  I managed a scoff that I was certain came across broken. “What the hell do you care?”

  Humorless laughter vibrated from him. The sound resonated through me as if I was standing too close to a speeding train. “I told you I don’t do it often. I don’t fucking care because it’s not worth the trouble. It’s not worth the pain. But I never lied when I said I cared about you. Why, Red? Why should I care about you?”

  The last came on a desperate whisper.

  The earth shook beneath my feet and I tried to remain on solid ground. But I could feel it cracking. The fissures and fractures. The threat of it breaking away.

  He made me so fucking weak.

  He leaned in, close enough that his nose brushed mine. His expression verged somewhere between savage and sad as he glared down at me in the shadows. “You gonna hook up with him? Trade me in for a pretty boy before my plane even leaves the ground?”

  Guilt simmered because he’d hit it. Spot on. I throttled the feeling. Fought back. “What about the three girls at your table?”

  “What about them? Ash goaded me into going to that damned bar tonight. Asshole thought he had some kind of point to prove, dragging me there, shoving girls in my face who would be all too willing to jump into my bed.”

  The words constricted into a tight whisper. “Ash thinks it’s his God-given right to call me out on my bullshit. Forcing me to look at the truth. And the truth is the only fucking thing I want right now is you. You.”

  My eyes squeezed closed against his confession. It was so much easier protecting my heart when I hated him.

  “You’re an asshole.” I whimpered it as his hand traced across the distorted heart between my breasts. My body arched, already desperate for more.

  “I think we already established that.”

  “What are you really doing here, Lyrik?” It was difficult to even voice it with him standing there, his boxes packed, at the ready to steal everything away. “What do you want?”

  What would it change now?

  He huffed a laugh. It was a sound that verged somewhere between hate and disgust. He eyed me. Cautious. Gauging what to say.

  “Been lying in bed for the last two hours, staring at the ceiling, tryin’ not to listen for your return. For the voices I knew I couldn’t stand to hear. Tryin’ not to care that little bastard back at the bar might have been in there with you.”

  I swallowed the pain lodged at the base of my throat and tried to reach for some kind of rational thought when this boy always managed to strip it away.

  “You don’t really have the right to care about that anymore.” It was scarcely a whisper.

  He stared across at me. Challenging. “You promised me two months.”

  “Yeah, you promised them too…and you couldn’t even give me that.”

  “Blue—”

  I winced. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why?” He took a step forward, eclipsing me in his shadow, the man towering over me. “Why, Blue,” he demanded. “You think I don’t see you? That I don’t get what you were trying to pull tonight?”

  My hands fisted at my sides. “Tell me what you want…tell me…because I don’t think I can take this anymore.”

  I couldn’t stand there and not crumble at his feet.

  He hesitated. As if he were trying to hold himself back while everything left unfinished between us built, strengthened, and inflamed. I saw it the second he finally caved.

  His hand flew out in frustration, as if he wanted to punch something, and he ducked his head, shocking me by how quickly he got up in my face as the words poured from his mouth like a pissed-off plea.

  “I fucking missed you, okay? I fucking missed you and it fucking killed me thinking of you bringing that kid back here. Killed me thinking of you reaching for another man. Killed me to think of that bastard’s hands on you, taking what’s mine. I was supposed to have two months. Two months.”

  “And now it’s too late.” The words shook as they slipped from my tongue.

  As if he’d been struck, his face jerked to the side. His attention seemed gripped by the night and the unsettled trees and the passing time. Finally he turned back to me, his black hair whipping in the wind, that energy inciting a storm. “We have tonight.”

  God, I wanted it. To give up and give in.

  “What if it hurts when you leave?” I whispered.

  Some kind of old sorrow lashed through his expression, and he stepped forward, so gentle as he cradled my face in his hands. The words were so much softer than the first time he’d uttered them to me. “Baby…don’t you get it yet? I’m not worth the pain.”

  I touched his cheek, my fingers fluttering across his lips. They parted with a breath.

  I wished he knew how much he was. That I saw so much more.

  “Blue,” he whispered again.

  Soft, gentle seduction.

  Cruel.

  Manipulation.

  “I hate you,” I attempted, but tears were already gathering in my eyes.

  Exposing. Revealing. Unveiling.

  One fell, streaking down my cheek. A single droplet of hazard and hope.

  His exhale sounded in relief, and he slowly gathered me in the security of his arms. He pressed my cheek against his heart that ran wild. The man was a bundle of mayhem, pushing and pulling and confounding. Yet in his arms, everything became so clear.

  “There she is. Blue. My beautiful, brave Blue. I thought I’d lost her.” Fingers played through my hair, moving back to my face where he forced me to look at him.

  I blinked and more tears fell. The moisture slipped into the webs of his fingers. He squeezed my face, his shoulders bunching and his body swaying in indecision. His gaze flicked between my eyes and my mouth. His tongue swept across that delicious bottom lip, before any timidity vanished.

  His mouth came down with the force of a landslide. His tongue drove between my lips, meeting with the resistance in mine. It quickly morphed into surrender.

  Because I was already gone.

  Lost to this man. To his darkness and his ghosts and his hard, unattainable heart.

  I was a fool.

  A fool.

  A fool.

  A fool.

  Giving in was only going to hurt me that much more.

  But right then, I didn’t care.

  Because the world was spinning and there was nothing in it that felt better than him. Nothing better than the softness of his lips and the desire on his tongue, his hot hands on my body as his begged against mine.

  I clutched his shoulders and pushed up onto my toes.

  Dying for more.

  That’s exactly what it felt like.

  As if I would die if I didn’t get this one last night.

  One last taste.

  One last memory.

  Because the scars were still there—the old wounds still raw and aching—and confusion still reigned in my heart and mind. My spirit was more unsure of my future now than it’d ever been. But tonight, only this moment mattered.

  “I wasn’t finished,” he growled low. Teeth grazed at my chin, before his kiss took a needy path down my neck. Lyrik sucked at my pulse point. It made me gasp and writhe and moan.

  “Two months,” he mumbled. “I was supposed to have two months. Two months to erase. Two months to leave my mark. Two months to make you know nothing else but my name.”

  I shuddered beneath his murmurings. This man had no idea how deeply he had. The eternal impressions he had made and the magnitude of the hole he would leave behind.

  “Tell me no, Blue. Tell me no,” he begged as he forced me closer, the desperation in his perfect body in direct contrast to his words. His kiss devoured my
mouth, just as this man demolished my senses and devastated the last shred of my willpower.

  Lyrik West owned me.

  But this was my own personal demise.

  My choice.

  Given on my own accord.

  This single night surrendered to him.

  Even though I knew the aftermath might destroy me. I had so little left holding me together. But I felt like I needed this to survive.

  The overwhelming anger and betrayal, the need and hope, boiled to a tumultuous frenzy. Overflowing. Stripping me bare. “I hate you,” I muttered again as delirium hit, my fingers clawing and my mouth demanding, my body pressing and pleading.

  I hated him for chasing me.

  Hated him for exposing me.

  Hated him for making me feel this way.

  Hated myself for needing him so much.

  And God, how I loved it all.

  “You make me forget who I am,” he said in return as he hiked me up. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

  And Lyrik kissed me like he was never going to kiss me again.

  Because we both knew it was the truth.

  “Slow.” It flowed as a murmur from his soul. A reminder of who we were. Of what he’d given me. Of the security he’d made me feel in these arms that were so strong and comforting when instead I should have perceived their threat.

  I wanted to weep—the emotion so dense I choked on it—because tomorrow he’d be gone and he would take it all with him.

  My dignity.

  My heart.

  My soul.

  He owned them all.

  He carried me into the quiet dimness of my apartment and down the short hall into my bedroom. He set me on the floor and took two steps back. With that potent gaze locked on me, he kicked off his shoes. His heavy pants filled the already thickened air.

  “Take off your clothes,” he commanded. “I want to see you.”

  A ragged breath jetted from between my swollen, bruised lips.

  There he was. That intimidating man who didn’t tiptoe or treat me like glass. The one who didn’t treat me like a broken girl. Even when I knew he was getting ready to break me a little more.

  He peeled his shirt over his head.

  My eyes strayed, dancing across the body I wanted to sink into and disappear forever.