Page 8 of Tick Tock, Boom!

“You don’t get to go back there,” he said flatly.

I stared at him, my jaw locked so tight I could feel it creak. “I was with someone. She just ran back there.”

He didn’t blink. “Then she doesn’t wanna be followed, man.”

I took a slow step forward, testing the weight of the hand on my chest, the tension in my knuckles starting to hum.

“Don’t,” the guy said, calm as hell. “Not if you wanna keep coming back.”

I backed off, barely. My fists were tight, but I wasn’t stupid. Not here. Not when I didn’t know the game yet.

I turned, scanning the room, and caught the eye of a woman leaning against the wall by the bar. Tall. Tattooed. Legs for days and lips painted blood red. Her hair was a sharp platinum blonde, shaved on one side. She wore a black leather corset that hugged every inch of her, and her thigh-high boots looked like they’d stepped on a few men who deserved it. She watched me with that sharp, amused look women get when they know something you don’t.

I stalked over. “You know the girl who just went behind that curtain?”

She took a sip of whatever dark liquid filled her glass, let it roll on her tongue before answering. “If you mean the girl with the bell around her neck and the ungodly fear in her eyes… doesn’t know whether to purr or run?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She smirked. “That’s Amethyst.”

“Yeah, Amethyst,” I repeated, the name sticking in my throat like honey and ash.

“She’s new,” the woman said, tilting her glass toward the curtain where Amethyst had vanished. “Probably got spooked. This place? It’s not for the innocent. You either find yourself in here, or you lose yourself fast.”

“So she works here?”

The woman nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass like she was toying with her own thoughts. “Started a couple weeks ago, just got on the floor. Doesn’t say much. Sweet thing. Quiet. Skittish in that way that makes men want to go for the chase. Has no idea the kind of attention she pulls.”

Her eyes dragged down my body like she was appraising me for a private auction, then flicked back up with a slow, sly grin that tugged at the corner of her dark red lips.

“You were her first choice, huh?”

“First choice?” I echoed, my brow lifting.

She nodded again, and her long silver earrings caught the low light, dangling back and forth hypnotically. “Usually the pets… they get a moment to look around. Scan the room. They get their pick of who to approach. It’s all about instinct and connection.” She paused, taking another sip of her drink. “And surprisingly, she picked you, handsome.”

My jaw ticked as I took in her words.

“She could have crawled to anyone,” the woman added, voice low and knowing. “But she saw you, and that was it. I thought she’d go sweeter, didn’t expect dangerous.”

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.I looked back toward the curtain, jaw tight, my chest still buzzing from the feel of her voice, her hands, her fucking innocent eyes on mine.

She didn’t belong here. And she’d made the mistake of coming to me. Whatever spooked her, whatever sent her running, I was going to find out what it was.

I turned toward the exit, pushed through the door and out into the heavy Louisiana night. Lit a smoke. Let it burn between my fingers as the bayou swallowed the silence around me.

“She’s mine,” I said low to no one but the dark.

And I’d be coming back for her.

NATALIA

The humidity in the night air clung to my skin uncomfortably and suffocating. The smell of sweat was heavy with the stench of spilled beer, cigarette smoke, and hot pavement. The streets of the French Quarter were still pulsing with life even at this hour, the notes of jazz music rolled out of open bar doors, neon lights flickering on the pavement cast colorful shadows along the brick walls, and the occasional drunk stumbled into the gutter with a belly full of cheap whiskey.

My boots hit the cracked sidewalk in rhythm with the pounding in my chest. The apartment wasn’t far. A rundown walk-up tucked between a boarded-up voodoo shop and a bar that turned into a gay club after dark. The music was loud tonight, pulsing bass shaking the windows as a line of glitter-dusted men and women spilled out into the street laughing and glowing under the dirty yellow light. One of the bartenders, Ricky, nodded to me as I walked by. I gave him a tired wave and a small smile. I liked Ricky. He always made sure no one bothered me when I came home late.

I took the metal stairs two at a time, careful not to catch my boot on the rusted edge. The hallway smelled like piss and mildew, the flickering overhead light barely hanging on to life. As I rounded the corner, I heard shouting. A man and woman arguing in Spanish. Doors slammed. A baby cried. Typical night.

---