Page 58 of Toxic B!tch
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, just long enough to feel the full weight of that answer. The words settle into my chest like lead.
Indigo takes a small step closer, just enough that I can see the way her breath trembles in the cold. “You wanted the truth, Malik. This is it. A part of me wishes I wasn't like this. I have done things that I can’t take back.” Her voice drops barely above a whisper. “And I need to know… does that change everything?”
She’s asking for something dangerous. She’s asking for acceptance, for absolution. And I don’t know if I can give it. I don’t know if I should.
The question hangs between us, heavy and unspoken.
Does it?
I don’t know.
I don’t know if I can accept everything she’s done, if I can still see her the same way after this. But I also can’t ignore the ache in my chest at the thought of walking away.
Indigo watches me, waiting, her expression unreadable.
This is the moment. The choice.
And I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.
Fuck.
I’m head over heels for a fucking serial killer.
And worse than that?
I don’t know if I can walk away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
INDIGO
The night air clings to me as I stand beneath the flickering street lamp outside the abandoned train station. Malik hasn’t left. That alone sends a shiver through my body—because no one stays. Not when they learn the truth.
But he’s still here.
His pretty eyes are locked on mine, filled with something I can’t quite name. Not fear, not yet. Wariness, maybe. A slow realization that he’s just stepped into something he can’t unsee… can’t unknow. I should send him away before it’s too late, before whatever thread tethering us together snaps and wraps around both our throats. But I don’t.
Instead, I say, “Come with me.”
His brows lift. “Where?”
“Beth’s.”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You want to get food after all this?”
I shrug. “We’re going to have to continue this conversation one way or another. Might as well do it where it’s warm, and I can have a milkshake.”
For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. That he’ll shake his head, say something about needing time to think, and walk away like any sane man would. But then he nods once, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Alright.”
The diner isn’t far. It’s one of those places that’s been around forever, where the vinyl booths are cracked from years of use, and the smell of bacon grease and burned coffee has seeped into the walls. Beth is behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag that’s seen better days. She glances up as the bell jingles and gives me a knowing look. She never asks questions. I like that about her.
“Booth or counter?” she asks.
“Booth,” I say.
Malik slides in across from me, the table between us feeling too small. I keep my hands in my lap, fingers curling into the fabric of my pants as Beth pours us both coffee without asking. It’s black, no sugar, no cream. The way I like it. The way I need it.
Beth hands us menus, and I look up at her. “Milkshakes. Chocolate for me, with whipped cream and a cherry on top.” I turn to Malik. “And you?”
