Page 79 of Ash and Poison

“Sounds so fun,” she said, pressing her legs against me. “Some other day. It’s too cold, and Declan is still around.”

I grunted. “I should have just killed him.”

She flinched before she took my hand in hers. “Come inside,” she said, dragging me with her. “But seriously, Ash, you shouldn’t have come.” She rubbed her forehead. “If Vincent sees you...”

“Vincent isn’t here.”

I knew it was a risk, and I was willing to take it. For her. Why? Why the hell would I risk something I had worked half my life for her?

While I was worried about Declan coming back, she was waiting for him to come back, hoping he’d come back.

“You thought I was Declan, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to kill him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice hesitant, losing her usual confidence. I noticed she became shifty whenever Declan was mentioned.

Did she have feelings for that bastard or something?

“Were you really lovers?” I asked, hating the bitter aftertaste the word left in my throat.

“I don’t know I would call us that, but… yeah.” She shrugged.

My heart pounded as I fisted my hands.

“And then you killed his best friend, and now he’s out for your blood. Did I get that right?” She rolled her eyes, her nose scrunching up.

“This morning wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. He called me after he left to let me know he’ll be paying me another visit soon,” Diya said, her smile widening into almost something unhinged. Her eyes sparkled with a disturbing mix of anticipation and delight.

She didn’t look afraid—no, she looked excited.

“Why didn’t you tell me he…” I stopped halfway. It was none of my business, and yet I was angry that she didn’t tell me about his call, or ask me for my help.

“What?” She quirked her brows. It looked like she was trying to psychoanalyze my words.

“Nothing,” I grumbled. “It’s freezing. Do you have anything to drink?”

“You show up in the middle of the night and ask me for a drink?” She glowered, heading toward the small kitchen. “How about a glass of milk?”

“Milk? Really? What am I? Fucking four? Do you have whiskey?”

“I have chai, coffee, and vodka, but you aren’t supposed to drink vodka.” She laughed. “What do you want?”

“Vodka,” I replied, following her into the kitchen.

“Espresso Martini, then,” she said, grabbing a crystal glass.

“Do you ever eat here?”

“I do it when I feel like cooking,” she grunted, pouring a cup of brewed coffee and a shot of vodka, and topping it with ice. “Here you go.”

“Why does mine only have half a shot? Yours has one and a half,” I complained, taking the glass from her.

“That’s still half a shot too many,” she said, moving toward the couch.

She gave me a half-smile when I sat next to her. I took a sip of the drink with a long sigh.