Page 221 of The Villain We Tempt

And that’s where we’re royally fucked.

Lucia is fine. She knows the band and she fits into the crowd with her leather jacket and tattoos. More to the point, she didn’t walk in with any baggage.

The samecannotbe said for Yelena and me.

In Yelena’s case, that baggage is that rat-fuck Achilles. We all had suspicions, but they were confirmed the night of The Reckless party at The Garrison, when Wren got alcohol poisoning and passed out.

Achilleswas the one who showed up out of nowhere, grabbed Wren, and then drove all of us to Greenwich Hospital at near supersonic speed.

But the real giveaway was that he never left Yelena’s side while we were sitting in that hospital waiting room, waiting to hear if our friend was going to live.

He held her while she cried into his chest. He kept her hand in his. He glareddeathat Laz when the older man was talking with her.

I mean there are hints, and there are giant flashing neon signs. And Yelena finally caved and told us all the next day anyway.

But that’s all gone to hell now, because she just found out the weirdo’s been obsessively stalking her and spying on her formonths.

Gee,doesn’t that sound familiar.Shockingthat he and fucking Lochlan are related.

So yeah, that’s the final push that’s turned this series of bad ideas into a cascade of them. Yelena is only here because she’s angry and hurt and wants to lose herself in loud, wild music and too much alcohol.

Funny. Me too.

“I’m gonna get us another round!!” I yell over the pounding bass, piercing guitars, and the lead singer who keeps switching from this gorgeous operatic baritone to a screechy, demonic scream.

They both nod eagerly before I turn and shove my way over to the bar. The bartender is a woman, but it became clear three rounds ago when she was stink-eyeing my sweater that there's no “girls stick together” sisterhood here.

“Three more vodka Red Bulls?” she says dryly.

I nod, smiling weakly. “Yes, please.”

“Didn’t realize it was rush week for the sorority,” she says sarcastically before sauntering off.

And I didn’t realize it was act like a cunt for no reason week.

“Loretta’s okay once she warms up to ya.”

The speaker is an older guy, maybe in his forties. He’s tall, lean, and muscular, with long, slightly silvered hair pushed back from his face, a dark scruff of beard, and a mix of old school and blackout tattoos down his veined forearms. A black Harley Davison t-shirt is stretched over his broad chest, paired with dark jeans, black biker boots, and a heavy chain hanging from his belt.

“How long does that take?” I mutter.

He takes a sip of his beer and laughs. “Give it a decade, maybe?”

He grins averycharming smile at me.

Okay, not that I’m looking, but objectively speaking, he's hot.

“First time here?” he yells over the music.

I snort. “How could you tell?”

He grins. “You got some sass in you, girl.”

“Galina,” alcohol-fueled me says, sticking out a hand.

“Miles,” he bellows back over the music, taking my hand in his calloused bigger one and shaking it. His brow furrows. “Can I be honest, Galina?”

Here we go. “Look, I’m just here for the music. I’m not, you know…”