Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)

Or maybe I should have packed up all my stuff and thrown it in the trunk of my car and ran.

My heart throbbed in a resounding ache. That’s exactly what I should have done. I knew it. I couldn’t stay here much longer. In this place that had become my home. Where I had friends. People who cared. Those who had become my family.

That was the problem. It was getting too hard and I was getting too deep. But I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to start all over again. I couldn’t imagine welcoming a loneliness greater than the void I already drifted in.

Why, after all this time, had I given in?

Above all, why had I given in to him?

Turmoil raged through me like a sizzling firestorm. My insides were aflame with the aftermath of Lyrik’s touch. With the way he’d made me feel. That chaos was only fed by my pathetic reaction last night. I’d never anticipated that. But I’d let myself go. Let myself get lost in feeling and touch and hungry words.

Lost in everything I’d wanted and refused myself for the last four years.

I’d gotten lost in Lyrik before I’d gotten lost in the recesses of my mind. Lost in the dark corners I wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

I focused on pushing the air in and out of my lungs as I filled the mugs with draft beer.

Lights strobed from the stage. The rest of the bar was dimmed and dark, the energy alive. Normally, this was exactly the type of vibe I thrived on.

Not tonight.

The band playing on stage was loud and gritty. Every word the singer sang grated on my ears. Every chord of the guitar felt like the screech of nails dragging down my spine.

My entire being was twitchy and antsy and out of sorts. My concentration shot.

Foam spilled over the sides of the mugs. “Shit,” I hissed and set the beers aside, frustration bleeding through when I grabbed for a rag and aggressively wiped up my mess.

“You think I could get that beer over here, or are you not even capable of that one little task?” The snub hit me from the side.

I had no capacity for bullshit tonight.

Narrowing my eyes, I grabbed the beers and turned my attention to the jerk sitting at the far side of the bar. A guy who was probably in his early thirties. Attractive. Clearly, that was the only thing he had going for him.

He shot me a sweet, mocking smile. “Is it really that hard? If you need help, all you need to do is ask. I’m really good with my hands.”

Insult me and try to pick me up all in the same breath. What a prick.

My top lip curled. “I think I’m plenty capable, thank you very much,” I tossed back with all the restraint I could muster, doing my best to keep it in check when all I wanted was to unleash the hostility roiling inside me on this asshole. With a sneer, I slid the beers to him and his friend and cocked my head. “Satisfied?”

His brow lifted, his voice smooth. “Not even close. Why don’t we find a dark corner and you can make it up to me.”

Like he’d struck me, I paled and took a trembling step back.

“Oh come on…look at you…don’t play coy. You know what you’re good for. You need me to pay?” His eyes gleamed with lust, as if I was there for nothing more than his entertainment. “I’m good either way.”

Those flames roared, that storm spinning and spinning and spinning. Or maybe it was the room.

I was shaking, searching for the breath I had lost. My chest grew too full and blackness threatened at my eyes. I felt stuck somewhere between that vulnerable, stupid girl who I never again wanted to be, and the bitch who wanted to lash out at the world. To jump across the top of the bar and rip out this guy’s throat. To make him pay.

Like instinct, my hand wrapped around the neck of a big bottle of Jack.

I felt a solid arm around my waist, pulling me back, a placating voice at my ear. “Whoa there, sugar.”

Charlie.

I slumped with my back against his chest, catching the breath I was searching for in a wheeze.

“There now, there now,” he murmured as he hauled me away. He dipped us under the end of the bar and led me through the swinging door to the kitchen. Off to the left was an old grungy office, a single dim lamp burning from the desk that sat in the middle. He snapped the door shut behind us when he had me within the quiet.

He turned me around with his hands on the outside of my upper arms. I cringed when I saw his expression. His mouth was slack, those kind brown eyes filled with concern and completely lacking their near-constant ease.

His brows knit tight. “Hey there,” he soothed. “You in there, sugar? What’s going on with you tonight? You damned near clawed that guy’s eyes out.”

I huffed, though it was shaky. “He would have deserved it.”

“Have no doubt about that. Already have Nathan on it. He’s out. Don’t need scum like that mucking up my bar.”

A.L. Jackson's books