Page 62 of Toxic B!tch
He stares at my hand, his breath coming slower now, more controlled. I wonder if he’s realizing that this is a turning point. That if he says yes, there’s no going back. That knowing something andseeingit are two very different things.
“I don’t know if I can,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
I pull my hand back. “Then I guess you don’t want to understand me after all.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. We both know it’s a trap. If he walks away now, he’s proving me right. If he comes, he’s stepping into my world, making himself a part of it in a way he won’t be able to undo.
He exhales slowly, then nods. “Fine. I’ll go.”
A slow, satisfied smile curls at my lips. “Good.”
Malik exhales, resting his hands on the table. “It’s late. We should go home.”
I tilt my head, watching him. “Go home alone or together?”
His gaze flickers, something unreadable passing over his face. My chest tightens, waiting. If he says, alone, I’ll be ruined. I want this—I want him so badly I can taste it.
Malik sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Together. But no fucking, Indigo. I’m serious. As bad as I want you, I’m not ready.”
I nod, swallowing down my disappointment. “Will you at least sleep in bed with me? Hold me?”
“Yeah, babe. I can do that.”
A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You called me babe again.”
He shakes his head, but there’s the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. We pay our bill, neither of us speaking much as we head outside. We take separate cars to my place, the distance between us feeling heavier than the silence itself, like something fragile, something neither of us is willing to break just yet.
When we get inside, I lock the door behind us, then head straight for my bedroom. No hesitation. No games. Malik follows, his presence grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. We strip down without words—him to his boxers, me to my panties before I pull on an oversized shirt. His shirt. The one he left here once and never asked for back.
He groans, running a hand over his face. “You’re killing me, Indigo.”
“Sorry,” I murmur softly, almost shyly. “I’ve been sleeping in it every night. I miss you.”
His expression tightens, something vulnerable slipping through the cracks. “Come on,” he mutters, climbing into bed and lifting the blanket for me to slide underneath.
I don’t hesitate. I press against him, letting his warmth seep into me as his arms wrap around my body, pulling me into his chest. I close my eyes, breathing him in.
This is all I want. For him to understand me and still want me.
I’ll be the devil he knows to everyone else, but here, in this room, I just want to be his baby girl.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
INDIGO
The drive to the warehouse feels endless, the night stretching out in front of us like an open wound. The roads are empty, bathed in the sickly glow of flickering streetlights. I don’t say much. Malik doesn’t either.
We’re in Malik’s truck, the cab thick with silence, but I feel his presence like a weight pressing into me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is tight, fingers gripping the wheel a little too hard. His knuckles are white, and his posture is stiff. He’s here. He’s still here. I don’t know why, but part of me wonders if he’s just waiting for the right moment to run. To leave.
The warehouse on 5th looms ahead, a forgotten skeleton of rust and broken windows. It looks exactly like the kind of place you’d expect something like this to go down—secluded, dimly lit, and reeking of something old and rotting.
Malik parks the truck, then gets out first. I pull my jacket tighter around me before stepping out, feeling Malik’s gaze on me like a hot brand against my skin. He doesn’t move rightaway. Just stands next to the truck, hands jammed deep in his pockets. I can feel him watching me, his eyes searching, trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
I feel the weight of that look. But I don’t have the words for him. Not now.
