Hard Limits(25)

She kept looking around, but no one seemed to be following her. Screw that. She was listening to her gut. Eyesight was deceiving. Her gut wasn't. Trying to steady her breathing, she reached into her pockets and grabbed the pepper spray and the knife, her heart thumping at triple speed. Whatever was coming at her, she wasn't going down without a fight.

Making it to her doorstep was a relief, but she still had a long corridor in front of her. And an empty apartment.

Paige wasn't too happy with her moody roommate, Ramona, and Ramona's constant fights with her boyfriend, but now that she was out of town, Paige missed her. Tonight, she definitely could have used a six-foot-four trans woman wearing reinforced spike heels.

Once inside the building, Paige's feeling of impending doom receded. She scanned her surroundings. Mrs. Henlich had her doormat upside down because she liked to read the word WELCOME on her way out. Rowan's light, at apartment 2C, was still broken. The whole place smelled lemony from that damn disinfectant their superintendent's daughter got commission from selling. Everything was as usual.

Then she heard them: the hushed voices and the steps on the stairs. She had company.

Panicking, Paige broke into a run. She reached her door, opened it, and locked it behind her. Her hands were trembling, clammy from holding the pepper spray and the knife so tightly. She stood listening as the steps got louder and louder … and passed her.

It was Rowan with a girl, by the sound of it. Rattling keys, some giggling, the click of a closing door, and then silence. 

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her forehead against the cold wood. Man, she needed to get a grip on herself. She was being paranoid. Damn social media. She would shut down all her accounts. Let Marc try to cyberstalk her then.

Feeling much calmer with a door between her and the rest of the world, and with her gut not screaming at her anymore, she turned around and froze.

There was someone in her apartment. A black, ominous shadow. Sitting on her sofa.


NICO STARED AT her and, little by little-not to spook her more than she was-stood up. Maybe he should have turned the lights on. Hopefully the stream of moonlight coming from the window would illuminate his face before she sprayed and stabbed him. "Hi, Goth girl."

She didn't move a hair. "Nico? What are you doing-" She stopped abruptly and then asked in a shaky voice, "You injured?"

He shifted his feet, feeling awkward. "No."

For a long moment, she didn't respond in any way. Then suddenly she threw her weapons to the floor and ran at him, jumping into his arms and hugging him hard.

The feeling of instant relief he got from having her with him again caught him by surprise. He had to lock his legs before they buckled, and it wasn't because of her weight. He took a step back and sat on the sofa.

Burying his face in her hair, he breathed her in. Man, she felt so good wrapped around him. He'd missed that so much these last weeks.

"Thank God," she whispered against his neck. Then she lifted her gaze to his, patting his back with her hands as if inspecting him for injuries. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Good," she said with a smile. Her expression, totally freaked out when she'd come in the apartment, was now relaxed. "For a second there I thought you were again in need of a YouTube-certified trauma surgeon."

He chuckled. "And a great YouTube-certified trauma surgeon you are. Not that I need your services."

Such a big, fat lie. He needed her. This. The complicity. No ulterior motives. No hidden agendas. He was so damn tired of having double and triple agendas. Of using people and being used in return. A web of lies, his whole existence. Contingency plan on top of contingency plan.

His Goth girl, all smoke and mirrors, was the only thing real in his life. Which was why he shouldn't be here in the first place.

Unable to stop himself, he cupped her face and brushed her lips with his. When she let out a breath of surrender and opened for him, he took possession of her mouth, kissing her ravenously. And realized she had a new piercing. On her tongue. Fuck.

His cock was throbbing unapologetically between her legs.

"I was going to ask what you're doing here, but this answers it," she said, pressing against his erection. "Still happy days, I see."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I really didn't come for this." He had no clue what he was doing there. Searching for the last piece of his soul, probably.

"You didn't come for what? For the kisses? Because you look like you need them."

She read him so damn easily. "I didn't come here to fuck you."

"You don't want to?"

He tried not to look conflicted, but he probably failed miserably. "Things are complicated."