Burn for me

CARTER'S POV I am f*****g tired of Wayne's butting in my mission. I can handle myself. f**k. When will he get that? I think as I head to the only place that can calm me down. The streets of Talber are dark and wet, the rain falling in sheets. I pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders and keep walking. The neon lights flicker above me, casting strange shadows on the cracked pavement. I stop in my tracks and recognized a familiar frame. The sign is old, the letters flickering. "Oblivion." I enter and as usual the air smelled like freedom, beer, cigarettes, and lowlifes. Perfect place for me to vent. The music is loud, thumping through the floor. Bodies are pressed together on the dance floor. The smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol fills my lungs. I take a seat at the bar and have a chat with Dario, telling him how f*****g frustrated I am. "You look like hell," Dario says, his brown eyes scanning my face. He is wiping a glass with a towel, his movements slow and deliberate. "What happened this time?" I run my hand through my curly hair, letting out a heavy sigh. "Wayne happened. Same old s**t. He does not trust me. He thinks I cannot handle the mission. He keeps—" I stop, shaking my head. "He keeps treating me like a child. Like I am still that scared little boy he pulled from the fire." Dario sets the glass down and leans forward, his voice dropping. "You are not a child anymore, Carter. You are twenty-one years old. You have been through hell and back. He needs to let you breathe." I laugh bitterly. "Tell me about it. He says he loves me. He says he is just protecting me. But it feels like a cage. Every time I try to make my own decisions, he is there, telling me I am wrong. Telling me I am not ready." Dario looks at me with worried eyes and says, "You should break up with him if you don't like it." I stare at him. "What?" "I am serious." He sets the towel down. "You are miserable, Carter. Anyone can see it. You walk around like a ghost. You drink too much. You are always on edge. That is not love. That is control." I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going. "If he kicks you out, you can always come work here at Oblivion." He sighs, running his hand through his dark hair. "It is not glamorous. But it is safe. And you would be free." I could tell how much he cares about me. His eyes are soft, worried. He has always been there for me, ever since the orphanage. He was the only one who held my hand when the bullies came. He was the only one who understood what it felt like to be invisible. But that job is my dream. Being a cop. Making a difference. Fighting for justice in a city that has forgotten what justice means. I have worked too hard to throw it all away. And I do not think I would get kicked out just cause of a break up. Wayne loves me. He has always loved me. He would not throw me out over something like this. But I owe Wayne my life. Literally. He pulled me from that fire. He gave me a home. A purpose. A reason to keep going. I cannot just leave. I shake my head. "I cannot, Dario. You know I cannot. He saved my life. I owe him everything." Dario looks at me, his expression soft but firm. "You owe him gratitude, Carter. Not your freedom. Not your happiness. There is a difference." I look down at my hands. "I know. But it is not that simple." Dario sighs. "Well then, Carter, I tried. But if you ever change your mind, I am here." He pats my shoulder and leaves to check out his customers. I watch him go, feeling the weight of his words settle on my chest. I take a few shots. The whiskey burns going down, spreading warmth through my veins. I take another. And another. And not long enough, I obviously get hammered. Ugh! My head is banging. The music sounds like it is coming from underwater. The lights are too bright. Everything is spinning. I lean against the bar, my eyes half-closed. I am so tired. So f*****g tired of everything. The mission. Wayne. The constant pressure to be someone I am not. I just want to forget. An unfamiliar figure approaches me. He is tall, broad-shouldered, with greasy hair and a smile that makes my skin crawl. What the hell? This guy reeks, I think. The smell hits me like a wave. Sweat. Cheap cologne. Something sour underneath. He puts his hand on my thigh slowly as he reached into my shorts. His fingers are cold, clammy. I freeze, my body going rigid. He leans in and whispers, "We should get out of here." Fuck. His breath was as bad as how he reeks. It is like rotten meat and stale beer. I want to gag. "Ewww!" I shriek, shoving his hand away. "Do not f*****g touch me, weirdo!" He does not back down. Instead, he laughs, leaning closer. "What a feisty little doll. Come on, do not stay alone here when we can go have fun." "Fun?" I laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. "You think I would ever go anywhere with you? You smell like a dumpster. You look like one too." He grabs my wrist, his grip tight. "You are a mouthy little thing. I like that. I like breaking mouths like yours." I try to pull away, but his grip is too strong. Panic rises in my chest. I am drunk. I am weak. I cannot fight him off. But I am a survivor. I have been surviving my whole life. And I refuse to let this piece of trash take anything from me. My eyes dart around the bar, looking for anyone. Anyone. And then I see him. At the counter. Standing alone. Ordering a drink like he owns the place. Long red hair tied in a severe bun. Sharp features that could cut glass. Blazing red eyes that seem to burn through the dim light. His body is ripped, muscles carved by years of brutal training. He is tall. So tall. Towering over everyone. He has tattoos. Dark ink crawling up his arms, disappearing under his sleeves. And he is gorgeous. f*****g gorgeous. "I said get your hands off me!" I scream, my voice ringing through the bar. "And who says I came here alone?" The greasy man scoffs. "Liar. I have been watching you. You came in alone. You have been drinking alone. No one is coming to save you, little doll." I ignore him. Instead, I randomly point to any guy that caught my eye. "That is my boyfriend." The man's eyes go wide. He looks at the man I pointed at. The man with red hair. The man with blazing red eyes. The man who is now staring at me with an expression I cannot read. "I am his boyfriend," I say again, louder this time. "He is right there. And he is going to be very angry if you do not let go of me." I stand up and go over to the man's seat. My legs are unsteady. My head is spinning. But I do not stop. I sit on his lap, my body pressed against his. The heat from his thighs seeps through my jeans. His chest is hard against my back. His arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me steady. I am so drunk. So f*****g drunk. The whiskey is still burning in my veins, making everything spin. I do not care about anything right now. I just want to forget. Forget the mission. Forget Wayne. Forget everything. Unaware of who the person was, I was too hammered to care. But when I look up and I met his gaze, his red seductive features, I recognize him almost immediately. It was Rayne. Like the mafia Rayne. The one I am supposed to keep an eye on and spy on. Rayne. Fuuuuuuuckkk— My heart stops. My blood turns to ice. My breath catches in my throat. I am f****d, aren't I? Fear runs down every corner and tip of my body. It starts in my chest, spreads through my stomach, travels down my legs. My hands start shaking. My skin goes cold. That sobered me right up. The fog in my head clears instantly. The spinning stops. I am suddenly very, very aware of exactly where I am and who I am sitting on. What is he doing here? What the hell? Why— My mind races. He is supposed to be untouchable. Invisible. He is supposed to be at his compound, surrounded by guards, protected by walls and guns and men who would die for him. But he is here. In Oblivion. In the same bar as me. And I just sat on his lap. I need to act normal. I need to play this off. I cannot let him know who I am. I cannot let him know what I am doing here. I act like I do not know anything and everything is fine. I smile, a bright, drunk smile that does not reach my eyes. I slowly get down from his lap, my legs unsteady. I thank him. "Thank you for that. I could not shake that bastard off on my own." My voice is light. Careful. Too high-pitched. Rayne looks at me as he stood up. Jeez. He is f*****g tall. But up close, he has soft features. His jaw is sharp, chiseled, but his lips—ughhh, they are to die for. Full. Pink. Perfect. They look soft. Kissable. What the hell am I thinking about in a situation like this? I shake my head, trying to focus. I need to get out of here. I need to leave. Now. "I should go," I say, taking a step back. Rayne moves faster than I expect. He grabs me by the waist, pulling me closer. His grip is firm, unyielding. I stumble forward, my chest pressing against his. I am so close to his face. He is looking down on me. His red eyes burn into mine, and I cannot focus. All I can think about is his lips. "I am your boyfriend," he says sternly but with a seductive aftertaste. His voice is low. Rough. It vibrates through my chest. Holy s**t. "Where are you going, baby?" Everything about that was hot. His voice. His eyes. The way he said baby. Like I belong to him. Like I am his. But this is a serious situation. I swallow hard, my throat dry. "I—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat. "I am just—I need to—" He raises an eyebrow. "You need to what?" What is he going to do with me? I do not think I can handle myself alone like this. Plus, I am drunk. Not as drunk as before, but still drunk enough that my reflexes are slow. My judgment is cloudy. If he decides to hurt me, I am dead. There is no way I can fight him off. He is twice my size. Trained. Dangerous. Am I so dead right now... What do I do? I decide to play along. I force a smile. "I am sorry I used you to get that freak off my back." I tilt my head, letting my eyes drift down to his lips and back up. "But if you want, we could..." I tease. Let the words hang in the air. Let him wonder. Rayne smirks. Oh my gosh. Is that a smirk I see? "Mr. Hotshot," I taunt. He laughs. It is a low, dark sound that sends shivers down my spine. "You are bold for someone who just met me." I shrug, playing it cool even though my heart is pounding. "I have always been bold." He steps closer, his body towering over mine. "Can you handle it?" he asks, his voice dropping even lower. "Can you handle me?" I smirk. "I guess you will have to find out." He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bar. I stumble after him, my heart racing. He walks with purpose, his grip firm on my wrist. We step outside. The cold air hits my face, and I shiver. Rain is falling again, soft and steady. He leads me to his car. A black car. Expensive. Sleek. It looks like something out of a movie. A personal driver is sitting in the front seat, waiting. Rayne opens the door and gestures for me to get in. I hesitate. My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears. Am I getting kidnapped right now? I look at him. His red eyes are watching me. Waiting. I get in. Rayne slides in beside me. The door closes. The driver starts driving. I do not know where we are headed. I do not know what is going to happen to me. But I hope he is not going to kill me.