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“Long time no see,” she bounded up the steps in a fluid motion, holding the door open and ushering me just ahead of her. “How are you feeling, Ragdoll?”

“Tired,” I murmured.

“Then let’s get you home.”

As we walked to the Aston Martin, Cyrus kept looking over her shoulders, peering into the darkest corners of the lot. But rather than making me jumpy, her vigilance was a comfort.

Walking outside at night was usually a terrifying ordeal. Whether it was outside the club or down the block from Lola’s place, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it without a man calling or leering, threatening me with his idea of a good time.

But when I was with Cyrus, all the noise and the fear faded away. Someone would need a death wish to try fucking with her. Which meant that for once, I could look up and see the stars. I could listen to the quiet brush of the wind through the trees or the distant crickets. I could afford to be tired without worrying that it would look like an invitation.

Cyrus must have noticed me looking around. When we finally reached the car, she didn’t reach for the handle. Instead, she hovered by the passenger side silently, her dark eyes flicking between me and the darkness beyond: permission to luxuriate in the freedom her watch granted.

The offer surprised me, but I wasn’t too stubborn to turn it down. Tilting my head back, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the coolness of night fill my lungs. On the exhale, I opened them and was shocked by how bright the sky was. Stardust scattered through every inch of the darkness: a perfect balance of light and dark.

I didn’t much believe in a god — certainly not the one that Heirs or Rubin propped up. But at moments like this, taking in the beauty of the universe, it was hard not to think that maybe there was something bigger out there. Some force of the universe that protected me through my worst moments, that guided me to small pleasures like this.

As I admired the view, Cyrus’ gaze lingered on me, rapt enough to raise heat to my skin.

With one final breath in, I nodded that I was ready. Only then did she open the door for me.

“Thanks,” I sighed. As I slid into the car, I pulled my jacket tight around my shoulders, getting cozy. But the sight of what Cyrus was packing was enough to send a chill down my spine. When she shut the door behind me, her jacket shifted, revealing a glock tucked into the waistband of her pants.

My heart stammered as she made her way around the front of the car, locking the door as soon as she was seated behind the steering wheel.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Mhm,” I swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the slight bulge of the holster beneath her pants. The sight of the weapon made me nervous inherently — had she snuck that into Paradise? What would it have taken for her to use it?

But it also was a relief knowing that it was here for my protection.

As she pulled off into the night, I peeled my gaze from the weapon, lifting it to her stony expression instead. She liked to act so stoic, so reasoned, but I could see the untamed bits of her that flickered just beneath the surface.

At her core, Cyrus was a wild animal: ready to kill, ready to claim what she wanted. All she needed was permission to bare those fangs.

“Why did you come in tonight?” I leaned back in my seat, resting my head against the leather. Nash and Blade had spent plenty of nights sitting out in the lot waiting for me — though their abstention had started at my request, back then things were still rough between us.

I’m sure they’d love another show, if that first time is anything to go off of…

But rather than answer my question directly, Cyrus shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. “I hear the place is struggling to stay open.”

That was true — as the weeks went on, the place was increasingly flooded with Rubin’s lackeys. As if Paradise’s absentee owners didn’t leave enough on Nico’s plate on a normal day, now she was drowning trying to make sure the dancers could make it on and off the stage in one piece. It was unsustainable.

But Cyrus wasn’t some impassioned patron of the arts.

Her stubbornness emboldened me. Leaning across the console, I rested my hand on her knee, slowly dragging my fingers up her thigh until I felt the bulge of her gun through the fabric. “Why did you watch me dance, Cyrus?”

She exhaled hot and heavy, grip tightening on the wheel as her voice dropped to a growl. “You’re the best thing that shithole’s got, Ragdoll.”

“Pull over.” The force in my voice surprised me. But what surprised me even more was the speed with which Cyrus complied, careening into a dusty ditch without a care for what it did to her luxury car.

She’d hardly thrown the car into park before my seatbelt was off. I was crawling over the center console, desperate to feel her underneath me. Her skin was scorching hot as my lips pressed to hers, my center grinding against the firm muscle of her hips.

As my palms pressed to her neck, cupping her jaw, I could feel her veins thrumming with need. Whether she’d planned to fuck me tonight was unclear, but I could tell that she’d been thinking about it.

Since when?

Maybe when she looped her finger under my g-string to tip me, or maybe when my heels first hit the stage. Maybe the night I’d come traipsing through the fence and back into her life.