Page 32 of Toxic B!tch
I slip out of the bed, careful not to disturb Malik, and move toward the door. The floor creaks beneath my weight. I pause in the hallway, my senses on high alert, listening for anything out of place. The house is as still as I left it. No intruder, no movement. Just the eerie calm of my own mind tricking me into thinking I’m being watched.
I check the rest of the house out, slowly, methodically, as if any sudden movement might bring the world crashing down on me. Each room, each corner, is empty. No one’s here but me. No one but Malik, who is still sleeping soundly in my bed, unaware of the storm inside me.
I return to the bedroom, sinking back into the bed, the weight of the silence finally settling over me. My eyes go back to him, to Malik, in his own peaceful oblivion. His chest rises and falls with each breath, steady, simple, unburdened. It’s almost too much to bear—the serenity of it. It cuts through the tension in my chest like a blade. I hate how vulnerable he looks. How safe.
I should leave. I should pull away, keep my distance. But instead, I stay frozen, caught in a war I didn’t prepare for. My fingers twitch, yearning to reach for him. To close the distance between us, even if it means revealing more than I’m willing to show. But I don’t. I can’t. If I let him get too close, I might lose control. I might let him in. And if I do that—if I let him into the place where my darkness lies—he’ll see the truth of me. And I’ll lose him.
The weight of my thoughts presses down on me, heavier than it’s ever felt before. I don’t do love. I don’t do softness. But with him, it’s different. I feel something I don’t know how to handle. A warmth in my chest, a tenderness I can’t shake. I’ve spent myentire life hiding from this. From feeling anything that isn’t cold, calculated. But with Malik, with the way he holds me without even knowing what I am—it’s dangerous. It’s an addiction I never planned on.
His breathing steadies, calm and easy, while my pulse thrums a chaotic rhythm. I want to touch him. I want to trace the line of his jaw, run my fingers through his hair, feel the warmth of his skin against mine. But I know better. I know what happens when I let myself give in to that need. The world shifts, the walls I’ve built start to crumble. And once they fall, once he sees the truth of who I am, there’s no going back.
The panic rises again in my chest as I swallow hard. I can't let him see the monster inside me. I can’t lose everything I’ve built.
But he makes me feel things. Soft things. And it’s fucking terrifying. I want to hold him, protect him, but I know that’s just another lie I tell myself to keep me from drowning in the reality of who I really am.
His eyes flutter, his body shifting slightly in the bed. I freeze, holding my breath, but he doesn’t wake. I slowly exhale, the tension easing from my chest.
I could kiss him. I could pull him closer, let myself forget. But I won’t. I can't. If he knows what I’ve done, what I’m capable of, he’ll recoil. He’ll run. And I'll lose everything—him, the peace I’ve found with him, and the thin thread of control I’m barely holding on to.
I turn my head away, closing my eyes, but the image of him—so serene, so trusting—haunts me. I don’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve me. I know that. I’m a killer. That’s who I am. And he’s just… too pure for someone like me.
But still, I stay, lying beside him in the dark, trapped in the chaos of my own heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
INDIGO
The music blares from the speakers, rattling the bottles on the back of the bar as the night crowd surges through Crimson’s doors. Bodies press against the polished bar, waving bills, voices clamoring for attention. The scent of whiskey, perfume, and sweat thickens the air, mingling with the glory of liquor bottles under the dim overhead lights.
I work the room like a well-rehearsed actress, flitting between customers, flashing teasing smiles, leaning in just enough to keep their eyes—and their wallets—on me. It’s all a game. And I play it well.
I twirl a cocktail shaker above my head, catching it with a dramatic flourish before pouring the mix into a glass, barely looking at the guy ogling me from across the bar. He’s the type who thinks if he stares long enough, I’ll crawl over the counter and suck his soul out through his dick.
Not tonight, sweetheart.
I slide the drink toward him with a wink just to be mean, then turn away before he can get the courage to say something stupid.
I’m halfway through flipping a bottle of Jameson when a shift in the air prickles the back of my neck. Something… different.
Not a threat. But something else.
I glance up, and oh, fuck me sideways.
Malik.
Standing near the entrance, looking big and solid and devastatinglyout of placein this den of bad decisions.
He’s got that quiet, self-assured stance, broad shoulders stretching the hell out of a plaid shirt like he just walked off a lumberjack calendar. Jeans hugging his thick thighs. Boots scuffed from actual work.A walking monument to stability.
A man like that doesn’t belong here.
But then again, neither do I.
He’s holding a gift bag in one of those massive hands, his eyes scanning the crowd, and when they land on me, my stomach does some embarrassing, fluttery bullshit I want to stab.
I slam the Jameson bottle down harder than necessary.
He starts walking toward me, and I swear to God, it’s like the crowd just parts for him. Either because of his size or because people instinctively sense that this man isn’t the kind you fuck with.
