Nyra's Point Of View
Tasha's grip on my shoulders tightened as I spilled everything… the betrayal, the lies, the anniversary I'd planned like a fool, the way Ethan had looked at me like I was nothing more than a transaction his father forced on him.
My voice cracked halfway through, my throat burning, my hands shaking so bad I had to clench them into fists just to keep from falling apart right there in the middle of the bar. The words tumbled out of me, raw and ugly, the kind of truth that left a taste like blood in your mouth.
And then, Tasha's face hardened.
Her eyes went dark, her jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscle twitch. For a second, she didn't move. Didn't breathe. Then, like a gunshot, she slammed her fist on the bar.
"THAT BASTARD!"
The entire bar flinched.
Heads turned. Drinks paused halfway to lips. The men sitting nearest to us… some burly, tattooed types who looked like they'd seen their fair share of bar fights, shifted uncomfortably on their stools, their eyes darting between Tasha and me like they were waiting for a bomb to go off.
Tasha didn't care.
"HOW DARE HE?!" she snarled, her voice a blade. "After everything you gave up for him?! After you bent over backwards to make that man happy?! I'll kill him! I'll chop off his balls and feed them to him like fucking olives!"
One of the men… some poor guy with a handlebar mustache and a beer gut, actually crossed his legs at that.
I should've stopped her.
I should've.
But the way she was going off, like a one-woman army ready to march into battle for me, it was the first thing that had made me feel anything other than pain in hours. So I just stood there, my lips twitching despite myself, watching as Tasha unleashed hell.
"You hear me, Nyra?!" she raged, her finger jabbing the air like she was already carving Ethan into pieces. "I'll ruin him! I'll make sure every bitch in this city, knows he's got a micropenis and the emotional range of a fucking toaster!"
The man next to us choked on his whiskey.
I laughed.
It burst out of me before I could stop it… a sharp, broken sound, but a laugh all the same. Tasha whipped her head toward me, her eyes wild, her chest heaving.
"You think this is funny?!" she demanded, but then she saw it, the way my shoulders were shaking, the way my hand was pressed to my mouth like I could hold in the madness threatening to spill out.
And just like that, her face softened.
The fire in her eyes didn't go out. No, it was still there, burning bright and furious. But something else slipped in. something tender, something real. She didn't say a word. She just pulled me into her arms, her grip gentle now, her hand cradling the back of my head as she pressed me against her shoulder.
"Shhh," she murmured, her voice rough but warm, her fingers threading through my hair. "You're gonna be fine, baby. That useless piece of shit doesn't deserve you. And I'm happy he's gone. Let him bend his cardboard ass for all the dicks in the world for all I care."
I stiffened.
Then burst out laughing again.
"Cardboard ass?!" I wheezed, pulling back to stare at her. "Tasha, you can't be serious…"
She grinned, unrepentant. "Dead serious. You know his ass is flat. Like a fucking pancake. No curve. No jiggle. Nothing. Just…" She mimed slapping a flat surface with her palm. "...sadness."
I lost it.
I lost it, doubling over, my hands on my knees as laughter tore out of me, sharp and hysterical and so damn needed. Tears streamed down my face… from laughing now, not crying, and my stomach ached from the force of it.
"Oh my God," I gasped, wiping at my eyes. "His ass is… indeed flat—"
"See?!" Tasha crowed, triumphant, like she'd just won an argument she'd been having with the universe. "I told you! That man's whole existence is a lie. Flat ass, flat personality, flat dick energy—"
"Okay, okay!" I laughed, holding up my hands. "I surrender! Just… God, Tasha…"
She smirked, then turned and snatched a glass off the bar. The bartender, some guy with sleeves of tattoos and a knowing look, already had a bottle of something amber in his hand. He poured without a word, the liquid sloshing into the glass with a sound like a promise.
Tasha shoved the drink into my hands.
"Drink up," she said, her voice dropping to something low and fierce. "Tonight, we drown that man in alcohol and bad decisions. Tomorrow?" She grinned, sharp as a knife. "Tomorrow, we burn his world down."
The liquor burned like hellfire, but I swallowed it anyway.
One shot. Two. Three. The glasses clinked against the bar, the sound sharp and satisfying, like tiny explosions of defiance.
Tasha was already three steps ahead, her eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that only came after the fifth drink, when the world got blurry, but your mouth got sharp.
"Okay, okay, new rule!" she slurred, slamming her empty glass down so hard the bartender winced. "Whoever drinks the most shots tonight takes the other on a shopping spree next week!"
I blinked at her, my vision already swimming. "Tasha, I can afford my own shopping spree…"
"Oh, shut up!" she snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "This isn't about money. This is about pride. And also, I need to see you embarrass yourself in public."
I snorted, but the idea… stupid, reckless, perfect, settled into my bones like a dare. I wanted to drown. I wanted to drink until my brain turned to mush, until Ethan's face was nothing but a blur, until the world tilted so far off its axis that I couldn't feel anymore.
So I grabbed the next shot, and the next, and the next.
Tasha kept up at first. Her face flushed, her laughter getting louder, her insults getting creative. "You're gonna regret this tomorrow!" she cackled after shot eight, her fingers slipping on the glass. "Ha! Your liver is gonna hate you!"
"My liver can suck it up," I shot back, tossing back number nine like it was water.
The bar was spinning now. The music pulsed in my veins, the bass thrumming in my chest like a second heartbeat. My skin felt too hot, my thoughts too slow, my limbs heavy but light at the same time, like I was floating just above the ground.
Tasha hit twelve.
I hit thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen, she dropped her glass.
It shattered on the floor, the sound lost under the roar of the music. Her face was bright red, her eyes drowsy, her voice barely more than a slur. "I give up," she groaned, sagging against the bar. "You win, Nyra. Jesus Christ, how are you still standing?!"
I grinned… slow, triumphant, drunk, and pushed myself up from the stool.
Big mistake.
The world lurched. My knees wobbled, my ankles betraying me, but I caught myself on the edge of the bar, my fingers gripping the wood like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
A laugh bubbled out of me, high and wild, as I swayed on my feet, my arms flailing like I was conducting some invisible orchestra.
"Hehehe… I won!" I sang, my voice slurring as I did some ridiculous dance move… half twirl, half stumble, that nearly sent me crashing into the guy next to me.
He yelped and scrambled out of the way, his beer sloshing over the rim of his glass.
Tasha was wheezing, her hand pressed to her mouth like she was trying to hold in her laughter. "Oh my God," she gasped. "You look like a newborn giraffe trying to twerk!"
I cackled, my hand flying to my forehead. "I need to sleep, Tasha," I groaned. "I feel my head flying off my neck."
She snorted, her eyes watering. "Girl, I can see eyes on your neck. Since when did you have eyes on your neck, Nyra?"
I lost it.
"You're drunk, bitch!" I howled, doubling over, my stomach aching from laughing so hard.
"Nah," Tasha slurred, shaking her head like she was trying to clear it. "I'm sober. You're the one seeing double."
She waved at the bartender, who was watching us with the kind of amusement reserved for people who'd clearly lost their minds. "Yo! Room. Nice one. Now."
He didn't argue. Just nodded, reached under the counter, and tossed a key onto the bar. Tasha slapped some bills down, way more than necessary, but neither of us cared, and shoved the key into my hand.
"Go," she ordered, giving me a gentle shove toward the back. "Before you fall on your ass and sue me for emotional damages."
I saluted her… sloppy, exaggerated, then turned and staggered toward the lounge area, my heels abandoned somewhere near the bar, my dress clinging to my skin like a second layer. The hallway stretched ahead of me, the dim lighting making the walls sway.
Men whistled as I passed.
I didn't even look at them. Just glared in their general direction, my voice a slurred growl. "Look away, idiots."
One of them laughed. Another muttered something I didn't catch. Didn't care.
The door to the room was marked with a golden 7. I fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it twice before I finally got the damn thing in the lock. The door swung open, and I stumbled inside, my shoulder hitting the wall with a thud that should've hurt but just made me giggle.
My purse went flying. God knows where it landed. My heels were kicked off with a noise somewhere between a clatter and a thunk.
The dress? Gone. Torn over my head and thrown across the room like it had personally offended me.
I was left in nothing but my underwear, my skin prickling with the sudden cool air, my head spinning like I'd just stepped off a merry-go-round.
I flopped onto the bed.
Face-first.
The mattress swallowed me, the sheets cool against my heated skin. I groaned, pressing my cheek into the fabric, my limbs spread-eagle like a starfish.
"Mmmf…" I mumbled into the pillow. "Soft…"
Then, a voice… Smooth. Low. Dangerous. "Who are you…?" it purred from the darkness. "And what are you doing in my room?"