Page 51 of Trigger Happy Ending

“You’ve been listening to one of those woo-woo podcasts or something?”

“No, dumbass,” I scoff, taking another bite. “Just a conversation I had with someone got me thinking.”

“With who? One of your fake stripper friends?”

My eyes narrow, not thrilled at Soren’s choice of description of Cherry. “Yes, if you must know. She seems to think it’s possible to leave a past behind and start fresh all over again. Just made me think, that’s all.”

“Pretending to be someone else works fine for some,” he muses. “But it wouldn’t for people like us.”

“Why?”

“Because of what we’ve seen, what we’ve done. And who we’ve become because of it.”

“You don’t have any idea of what I’ve seen and what I’ve done.”

“No, I don’t. But I’ll tell you what I do know. You put on this big, bad act, hiding behind the Black Widow bullshit. You tell yourself you’re fine with it. That it’s easier to be isolated, to be ice-cold. But hurt people, hurt people. And, baby, you must be broken in all the same places as me. Because you’ve become the same thing as I.”

My mouth hangs half open, stunned at his read on me.

I tilt my chin upwards. “And what have we become, Soren?”

“Dead inside.”

Soren sniffs, returns the kettle to the stove, and busies himself with tidying up. Like he didn’t just shake me to the foundation of my core. Is that what I am? Dead inside?

“Did I offend you?”

“No. You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know.”

Soren’s eyes soften a fraction before he nods and leans over the kitchen island, flipping open the pizza box and removing a cold piece of pizza for himself.

“Listen,” I offer, as I toss my crust into the box. “I won’t pull any more shit. Let’s be done with the bullshit games on each other and get this job done. It’s already hard enough as it is, we shouldn’t be making it harder.”

Soren chews, pondering what I’ve said. I’m obsessed with how the upside-down cross tattoos crinkle slightly on his face as he eats.

“Alright,” Soren agrees. “Clean slate?”

“Clean slate.”

I stretch my arms overhead and slide off the barstool, making my way to my room for a nap. I still feel like shit run over twice.

“You can keep it.”

I pause and turn over my shoulder and look at Soren. “What?”

“My shirt.” His gaze sweeps down my bare legs. “Looks better on you anyway.”

I don’t know if it’s my hangover or the teenage girl still living deep down inside of me, but I feel lightheaded and dizzy.

And maybe a little happy.

Chapter 24

Raine

Working hungover is literal torture. And I can make that comparison because I’ve been in actual, real-life torturous situations in the past, but working in a club, with thumping music, while nursing a hangover from hell? It’s a fucking punish.

I just want a burger (double cheeseburger, extra onion), but instead I’m restocking the top shelf of the VIP bar at the Golden Claw, thinking about Soren (and burgers). Soren was already a mindfuck, but based on the last twenty-four hours, I’ve decided he is actually the mindfuck of all mindfucks. I compiled a list to prove it: