Page 64 of Toxic B!tch
But what if he’s right?
“What are you even doing here?” I demand, my voice rising. “Is this your little setup, too? Did you bring me here to show me how deep I’m in?”
Jake’s smile widens, a glint of victory in his eyes. “My man’s here. He’s ready to offer you a way out. A way to keep doing what you do, but smarter. Cleaner. And with a paycheck.”
I should refuse. I should turn around and walk away, get out of here, and pretend this conversation never happened. Butsomething about his words, the promise of a cleaner life, tempts me. And when I glance at Malik beside me, his silence heavy and unreadable, I know he’s waiting for me to make a choice.
“Fine,” I say, my voice icy. “I’ll listen.”
Jake’s grin is smug, like he knows he’s already won. “Good. Let’s go have a chat. Is your…. What is this exactly? You’ve never been one to have a long-term lover.”
"This is my boyfriend," I say, my voice rougher than before, pushing past the hesitation. "He knows everything. And he's in."
Jake's eyebrow raises, amused. He sizes Malik up, his gaze lingering on him before he tilts his head, the amusement flickering out of his eyes. "And if you break up, or if he can't handle this? You've exposed us all."
Malik doesn’t hesitate, stepping closer to me with quiet resolve. "I won’t say a word," he replies, his voice low but firm. "I’m in love with her. As fucked up as this all is, I can’t walk away."
I should feel something other than the sharp, cold spike of disbelief in my chest. I should feel… something. Fear, maybe. Or panic. Instead, there's this strange swelling in my gut, like I’ve just been wound too tight for too long, and now he’s broken the tension. He said it—he loves me. Malik. The man who walked into my world without asking, without hesitation. The man who, against all logic, says he can’t walk away from the wreckage we’ve made of each other.
As if that’s not enough to send my mind spiraling, my pulse quickens at the realization. He's still here. He just confessed that, in the middle of all this madness, he loves me. And he’s not even backing down. His words hang in the air between us, and I can feel the weight of them, pressing on me in ways I can't quite process.
A dark laugh escapes Jake's lips, his eyes locking onto Malik with a certain coldness. "A real fucking modern-day love story,"he mutters, shaking his head. "If you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself."
It takes a moment for the weight of those words to land. My stomach twists, but I don’t flinch. I don’t show anything. I can’t.
But the elastic snap of Malik’s declaration—of love—keeps bouncing around in my head, making it harder to breathe. How is this my life? How is this my fucking love story?
CHAPTER THIRTY
MALIK
I'm dating a fucking assassin.
A free one at the moment, but in a little bit, she could be a paid damn assassin.
My head is still reeling, everything I've learned sitting heavy in my chest. Indigo—my Indigo—grew up in care, and it wasn’t pleasant. Too many people took, too many people hurt her, and they made her this. A force of nature. A monster wrapped in silk, beautiful and deadly. And she has a serial killer friend who tried to kill her once? Does she even hear how unhinged that sounds? I haven't even started with her about that.
Then there's Jake. Except he's not just Jake. He's Emil—no, scratch that, his real name is Jake, and he’s the one who's been cleaning up after her for lord knows how long. The bouncer at the bar wasn’t just keeping an eye on the place—he was keeping an eye on Indigo. Making sure her work never led back to her.
And the icing on the fucked-up cake? The quiet city I thought we lived in? Yeah, that was a lie. A joke.
I follow behind as Jake—because that’s who he really is—leads Indigo down a dimly lit hallway, his steps confident, like he owns the place. Maybe he does. I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. The walls are old brick, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and something metallic. Blood? No, it can’t be. Can it? I don’t even know anymore.
When we reach the door at the end of the hall, Jake knocks three times. The sound echoes, heavy and foreboding.
A raspy voice calls out, “Enter.”
Jake pushes the door open, stepping aside so Indigo and I can walk in first. The room is small, all dark wood and old leather. A single desk sits in the center, and behind it, a man I barely recognize—until he smirks.
Jake starts the introductions. “Sir, this is Indigo, the one I was telling you about. And this is her bo?—”
“Malik,” the man interrupts, his smirk widening like this is some inside joke I’m not in on.
My pulse jumps. What the hell is this? Everyone is someone else? My entire reality has tilted on its axis, and now I know this guy too?
I square my shoulders. “Brandon.”
He chuckles, leaning back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. He looks like a middle-aged accountant, the kind of guy who coaches little league on the weekends and grills burgers in his backyard. But there’s a sharpness in his gaze, a weight in the way he holds himself that tells me everything I need to know. This man isn’t harmless. He just plays the part.
