Frustrated, I sighed. “My head feels heavy. I think I’m sick.” I lifted my hands and touched my head, and I realized I was still wearing the helmet. “Oh.” I chuckled, realizing my mistake. “No wonder my head felt so heavy.” I took it off and shook my head, fixing my hair—or maybe messing it up even more. “Now I feel better.”
Silence settled between us, broken only by the sound of Artur pouring another drink. He could drink and not show signs of the effects that hit me after a few glasses.
Back at the club, I tried to talk to people, but they ignored me. Even when I tried to strike up conversations with the women, they’d pick up their things and leave. That’s why I ended up drinking alone.
“Can I drink?” I asked and got a glare in response, enough to communicate that it was a firm no. “I’m bored,” I muttered.
A powerful urge to speak possessed me, as if words could release what trapped my chest. If I didn’t, I could end up crying about nothing and everything. I always become a mess when drunk.
But Artur was nothing like Carina; he wouldn’t listen. God helpme, I wanted to speak.
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, and when he ignored me, I tried again. “Am I the only enemy in the territory?”
He filled his glass.
My words slipped out. “Okay. But don’t trust Renat. I’m sure he hates you.” I leaned my head on the bar counter, facing him. “He told me he wanted everyone to think he hated me. He wants to use me, but I’m done being used. There is no point.”
I was talking to myself now. He wasn’t listening, but at least I was voicing my thoughts.
“I hate him.” I groaned, my eyes closing. Wishing Artur would trust me about his brother was a pipe dream, wasn’t it? He’d always choose his family over nobody like me.
“About those pills, I had no intention of hurting anyone,” I continued. “That bastard told me they’d only make you unconscious. If I had known they were poisonous, I never would have done it.”
He slammed his glass on the counter, and my eyes opened wide. My heart skipped a beat. For a second, I thought he was ready to end me. I could see how he held his glass, the way his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. His lips parted slightly as he sipped, and I focused on the rhythm. He spread his legs and leaned his elbow against the bar, arching his back.
Maybe I was mistaken, but he seemed calm for once. It was the first time we’d been in the same space for this long.
“What’s your name?” I asked, feeling almost amused by the question. Artur wasn’t his real name. If it weren’t for Renat, I couldn’t have known that. Artur was the name of the dog.
He didn’t answer, nor did he look at me.
“Okay.” I sighed. “I can tell you a little about me,” I said, finally giving in to the alcohol. “Carina is my best friend. We share everything—some naughty stuff, too. You remember when we met at the lingerie shop? I was trying to find the best one for adate with Marco. I was planning to sleep with him.”
My cheeks warmed at the thought. What if things hadn’t gone south that night? Would I have enjoyed it?
“Carina taught me a lot. Oh, and she was my first kiss. Can you imagine?” Chuckling again, I sat up, curiosity spiking up. “Wait, have you ever kissed someone before?” I asked, already anticipating his silent treatment.
“Of course you have. At your age, you must’ve kissed many girls.” Leaning back with a pause, I frowned at him, my curiosity growing. “Wait, do you have a girlfriend? Does she know you kill people? Oh my God, she must be a psychopath, too. Is she scared of you?”
“Are you?” he asked as he took another sip.
“Am I?” I rolled my eyes. “Hell yes.”
Silence followed. And I realized he just answered me. Had he been listening to me?
“How old are you?” I asked, looking for something to keep the conversation going. He took a sip and licked his lower lip. Damn, he looked hot when he did that.
“Twenty-five?” I ventured. Silence. “Twenty-five. Yeah, you’re twenty-five.”
“Thirty,” he replied.
At first, I laughed, assuming I had misheard him, only to realize he had answered my question. I straightened up, more alert. Was I imagining this, or was it the alcohol distorting reality?
Was I really having a conversation with Artur? I pushed myself off the stool and stumbled toward him, my legs betraying every ounce of control I thought I had.
“Wait, did you just talk to me?”
He exhaled and placed his glass down. “You’re drunk.”