Primal Pursuit

“It’ll come. Enjoy the dress.”

I button my suit jacket as I leave the confessional and saunter out. I need to know what Poppy remembers, and how much detail of that night is embedded in her memories.

It just ups the stakes of our game, and I will push until she snaps right back to me.

Chapter

Nine

POPPY

No panties.

What the actual fuck?I haven’t heard from him in days, something I tell myself I’m glad about, and now, now he hits me up with this text?

That twisted and psychotic feeling of lust and hate and longing and the need to murder him storms through me.

I don’t want to play right now. I’m not going to. Tonight, we just finished at Kings and I’m heading with Will to an underground event at the pop-up club, Grab. It appears all over town with different themes and DJs.

“You’re gonna love it, Poppy!” Will says as we take a taxi to the place. “You packed a party dress, didn’t you?”

“I packed a dress, yes.”

He rolls his eyes and flips his sparkly scarf over one shoulder. “You do you, honey. But listen, we tend bar for the first few hours, until after-hours peeps come in, and then we can dance and drink for free. Make money and drink for free. Win-win.”

“I don’t really tend bar?—”

“You don’t need to. It’s just pour and sling, or pop the top. It’s like the dark ages in drinks. Anyone can do it.”

I nod as we pull up and go in. I help set up the makeshift bar with him, fill the ice boxes with cheap-ass cans of beer, line up the plastic cups along with the bottles of booze.

Once we’re set up and people start to trickle in, Will grabs my arm. “Oh, fuck. I forgot, Poppy.”

“Forgot what?”

“Yesterday, on your day off, an old dude came in asking about you. Sent him on his way.”

I grin. Davian will love being called old.

The grin melts immediately. What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m not above hot sex that’s all the right kinds of wrong, even the wrong kind of wrong, like Davian wrong. But to think it’s cute?

This isn’t cute. Not even a little. This is my life and his death.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

My phone lights up again.

New game, rabbit, if you don’t have cold little paws.

Asshole. I’m not playing.

And then the fucker sends a rabbit emoji.

I shove my phone in my pocket, and for the next four hours I don’t even think about looking at it. I’m up to myeyeballs in making drinks for what seems like the alcoholic version ofNight of the Living Dead.They’re hungry, but not for brains.

But Davian haunts my mind and senses, and when shift change comes, I run off to the staff bathroom and get changed, shoving my bag under the bar when I’m done.

I didn’t eat much today, so a few heavily poured drinks are all it takes to get me toasty, and when he texts me again, I text back. Because…I don’t know why.