Page 27 of Fatality

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn't exactly looking where I was going.”

“You should be careful in those heels.” His hands settle on my shoulders.

His touch isn't warm, it's cold.

That's the first thing I notice about him.

How is he cold in this weather? Even at night?

“Yeah…” I sigh. “I know. I just... drank a lot. I'm really sorry for not paying attention.”

“No, it's quite alright.” the man says, stepping closer.

Not threatening, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise anyway.

Why is he getting closer when he already helped me?

Now that he's closer, I can finally make out his features properly.

He has dark hair and dark eyes, and now I understand why his hand felt so cold—It's bionic.

“Okay,” I say with a polite smile, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand, even though I probably look like a complete mess. “Thank you for stopping me from eating the pavement... but I have to go now.”

I take a step back, but I don't move.

A slight pressure settles on my shoulder, his grip has tightened.

What the actual fuck?

“Are you sure you're alright? You look like you might need more help.” His eyes slowly drag over me, lingering on my neckline. “A young woman like you... in that dress... all alone... after drinking that much... you could get yourself into trouble.”

My skin crawls, this is disgusting.

Even drunk, I immediately understand that he's not going to let go of me under the excuse of making sure I'm 'safe.'

I have a feeling he's about to become a serious problem.

“Let go of me, I'm meeting my friends. They're waiting for me—”

“Then,” He cuts me off. His grip tightens as he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing mine. “I'll just stay right here until they show up. Don't you think?”

I can feel the warmth of his body, the smell of tobacco, metal and chemicals.

Probably from his arm.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

And why is it always when I'm drunk that men decide to start messing with me?

His fingers linger against the thin strap of my dress, tracing slow, featherlight circles.

My jaw clenches, every muscle in my body tensing beneath his touch.

If I don't move or scream, I'm going to end up in a situation I absolutely do not want to be in.

“When are your friends getting here?” He leans in. “Because until then... we can talk, if you know what I mean.”

Oh, hell no.