(eng) Lisa Mantchev & A. L. Purol by Lost

Author:Lost [Lost]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Wasting words, and wonder why

My heart is on my sleeve,

You kill some faithless part of me,

And I can’t even grieve.

I wallow in the taste of you,

The scent of sweetest sin,

Swallow down my deepest fear,

So I can let you in…

I give myself a second. One precious moment to let that voice sidle over every one of my senses. It’s like she’s sliding a knife between my ribs and right into my useless heart. I get it then. I get everything. Hot and cold. Love and hate. Joy and sorrow. I feel every last thing that I’ve been holding away from myself for so long. I’m molten glass plunged into a bucket of ice water, with Lore threading cracks throughout my entire being.

And then I have to exhale slowly and open my eyes. Step away from her, even though I don’t want to move. After one quick glance at Asher, I head straight back to Jax Trace and his Shrinky Dink sidekick for some answers.

“Guess dumpster diving with Ke$ha has its perks,” he gets out as I slide into the booth on the opposite side and squeeze in so far that the girl becomes the compressed filling in a really uncomfortable man-sandwich. Jax’s eyes are on Lore, but mine, well, they’re all over Orange Pop here.

“What the fuck, dude?” she fires off, squirming because I’ve got her pinned tight.

My nostrils flare, because seriously, I’ve never caught a whiff of anything quite like this before. There’s woman there, all right, along with some other woman, telling me she definitely plays for the other team. There’s also the suggestion of secrets, the same smell that lingers in places where they store really old books. Ozone, like before a summer thunderstorm. And—

“What are you, an ass-sniffing bloodhound? Quit crowding me.” She levels the demand at me like I give two shits what she wants right now.

My gaze slides over her. “Look, toots—”

“The name is Tamsyn, dickhead.”

“And my name, surprisingly enough, isn’t dickhead, toots.” Then I look at Jax. “Are you going to tell me why you’re running around town with a sin-eater? Your pet pixie here is the second one to come skulking around Lore lately. Incidentally, every time that happens, my girl wakes up with her panties around her ankles and her head in the proverbial spit sink.” Jax opens his big, stupid mouth to answer, so I tack on a cavalier, “And when that doesn’t happen, that other sin-eater tosses a dead girl into the dumpster behind Scion or in my swimming pool. So don’t lie to me, Trace.”

Lore is still singing her heart out, like it’s Madison Square Garden and not some shitty dive bar off the side of Koreatown. iPhones capture the whole thing, the 21st century version of a Bic lighter at a concert, and in ten minutes there will be a hundred different angles of this performance splattered across the Internet. Thankfully, the crowd has almost completely forgotten me for the moment, so I get the opportunity to sit back and watch.

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