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Hart

My phone buzzed in my hand six minutes later. I opened the text from Vera.

Sugar: It’s been six minutes. You ain’t bout it.

I stared at the message for a long moment, then exhaled slowly through my nose.

“What did she say?” Marlon asked from the passenger seat.

I showed him. “She enjoys being a pain in my ass. She wants me to crash out. But I’m not gonna give her the satisfaction.”

Christiansen leaned forward between the seats. “That sounds romantic.”

“It’s not,” I said, typing back.

Me: Final warning.

Three dots appeared instantly. Then disappeared. Then reappeared, as if she were actively debating how much peace she wanted in her life tonight.

Sugar: Sorry. I can’t come right now. The DJ invited me on stage. You’re good waiting, right? If not, then I can just catch a ride back with the DJ.

A blurry photo followed the text. Vera was posed next to someone I assumed was the DJ—tall, muscled, and tatted.

“You know what fucking pisses me off?” I grumbled, shoving my phone into my pocket and climbing out of the Bronco. “Vera would end my career with a baseball bat and a handful of salt if I pulled this shit with another woman.”

“Salt? What’s the salt for?” Christiansen asked.

“Fuck if I know,” I growled, storming towards the entrance.

The bass from inside the warehouse throbbed hard enough to vibrate beneath my boots and make my teeth clatter. A line wrapped around the side of the building, even though it was nearly one in the morning, and neon lights leaked from the loading dock doors.

“That’s what happens when you date someone with an underdeveloped brain,” Christiansen muttered.

“Underdeveloped brain my ass. Vera’s fucking Einstein,” I replied, tugging my earring and approaching the line. One of the security guards must have recognized us because we were waved to the front without a word.

“Better luck next time,” one guard said, patting me on the back as we entered. I nodded and tried not to become overwhelmed. Lasers cut through a cloud of fog as bodies packed shoulder to shoulder moved beneath flashing lights. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of sweat, liquor, perfume, vomit, and fruit-flavored vape.

We pushed deeper into the warehouse, and people occasionally recognized me. Double takes and phones subtly lifting pissed me off even more.

The music shifted, and the crowd erupted even louder. Above the massive stage, LED screens flashed ArKane’s name.

ArKane stood elevated above the swaying bodies, and directly beside him was Vera, my girl, smiling too hard for comfort. My fingers balled into fists at my sides when the DJ slung his arm casually around her shoulders. Vera leaned comfortably against him and said something that made them both laugh.

“Aw shit,” Marlon said.

The masked DJ looked down toward Vera while adjusting something on the soundboard, and something ugly twisted in my chest.

“Bro is out here fighting demons,” Christiansen said, searching the crowd for someone.

I ignored him completely as Vera glowed beneath the flashing lights while that masked motherfucker touched her like he had every right to. He leaned down near her ear to say something. Vera threw her head back and laughed again.

I started toward the stage before logic could intervene.

“Hart!” Marlon called behind me, but I barely heard him. My heartbeat drowned out the techno and the ravers’ excited screams. The closer I got, the more the scene irritated me. Possessive heat crawled up my spine as Vera seductively danced on stage.

Christiansen glanced between me and the stage. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hart.”

“I won’t.”