Page 51 of Broken Pact

My lashes flutter a few times, clearing my vision but not wiping away the memory. I still feel the rough edges of disappointment and the hot flush of foolishness against the tender flesh of my heart. It’s a necessary reminder of what happened—of what I don’t ever want to feel again.

I step to the side, but he mirrors me, keeping his hand on my neck. I hate the way it grounds me, stirring something low in my belly at the possession in the gesture.

“What are you doing?” It comes out a half-growl, exasperation and frustration thick on my tongue.

He steps into me, using his hold on me to arch my neck and tilt my face toward him. “Bringing you back,” he murmurs.

“I’m back,” I snap at him, shuffling back a step.

He follows me, backing me against the cold metal handrail of the stairs. One hand flies to his wrist, the other to the handrail behind me. I thought this was it, but he doesn’t stop until my back arches over the top of the railing.

“Jagger.” It comes out breathier than I’m comfortable admitting.

He makes a low noise of protest in the back of his throat. “Jasper.”

The correction straightens my spine. “What are we doing, Jasper?” I mentally pat myself on the back for my even tone.

“I already told you, baby. Bringing you back to me.” He lowers his face, his lips brushing against the corner of my mouth. It feels like an electric current, the simple touch sending a tingle down my spine. A whisper of a promise.

My breath hitches at the contact. “I’m here.”

“Just to be sure though,” he murmurs against my lips.

My eyelashes flutter closed without my permission as he kisses the hell out of me.

25

CORALINE

The moment we step inside Grand Avenue, a chill runs down my spine. The air conditioning blows from a nearby vent above our heads.

“It looks so different right now.”

I’ve never been here when there wasn’t a concert. No bass rattling the vintage light fixtures, no wall-to-wall bodies, no ringing ears from the noise level.

The walls are adorned with old posters and faded photographs, whispering tales of musicians and memories long gone. I can almost hear the echo of their voices, layered with the distant hum of a crowd’s applause. It’s eerie and electric, a strange mix that sets my nerves on edge.

Jasper walks beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of this mildly unsettling atmosphere. In this light, I can see how the ghost rumors got started.

I glance over at him, my heart doing that annoying little flip thing it started doing a few days ago. I thought I’d trained that response out of my system after that fateful night at the clubhouse. But tonight, with the ghosts of the past lingering in every shadowed corner, the lines between reality and pretense feel blurrier than ever.

“Welcome, my esteemed guests, to tonight’s guided tour of Grand Avenue,” the tour guide intones with a sweep of his hands.

He’s dressed in an outfit that reminds me of Jack the Ripper: double-breasted red vest, black overcoat cape and slacks, a cane, and a black top hat.

He has the showmanship down, that’s for sure.

“If you are scared of ghosts, dark spaces, and things that go bump in the night, please exit the way you came in. This tour is not for the faint of heart.” The tour guide’s gelled mustache twitches as he looks between the twenty or so people here.

A bell tolls from somewhere deeper inside the building, and I know it was planned, but I flinch anyway.

“Scared already, baby? We haven’t even started yet,” Jasper murmurs.

“This is probably a good time to tell you I don’t really do scary.” I glance up at him.

“No haunted houses on Halloween?” he teases.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

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