Electric Connection

Chase leaves abruptly, leaving me gaping at the bathroom door that automatically swings shut behind him, wondering why those words hurt.

I like Aiden. I like being bound. I'm intrigued by the Shades. Even if they make me nervous. It shouldn't bug me if Chase thinks I should be one of them.

But he told me they're dangerous. They hurt people. He thinks that's a good fit for me?

Jaw tense, I put the first aid kit back in the cupboard, lock it, and shove the door of the bathroom as hard as I can on the way out. The hydraulics stop it from slamming the way I intended so Chase, turning back into the room where we had group, doesn't get to hear what I think of him.

Shaking my head, I stalk into the room.

Danny's gone, Ember's in the corner surrounded by four adults, and Trista's nearby talking to a couple cops.

Others from group mill around, eyes darting. I don't blame them. It's impossible, as an addict of illegal substances, to be surrounded cops and not feel twitchy.

I can't be here. Refusing to search for tan skin and light eyes, I cross to Trista's side, hand her the key when she glances at me as she's still talking to the officer, nod once, and turn on my heel to leave.

They're all too focused on Ember to be concerned about me. I stalk out the door and down the hall, swallowing back a sudden lurch in my cravings.

It isn't until I push through the glass doors onto the sidewalk outside and see the black sportster rumbling in a handicapped park right on the curb, that I remember Aiden. Here. For me.

I jerk to a stop.

He's sitting in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, ice-blue eyes locked on mine.

. . . You know the Shades actively target addicts?

I shove the thought away, cursing Chase. Aiden's the only good thing that's happened since we moved to this Godforsaken town.

He doesn't move, but Aiden's gaze sharpens—and doesn't soften until I start walking again, heading for his car.

When I open the passenger door and drop into the seat, he smiles. I think he'll reach for me, but something in my posture must give him pause, because he raises an eyebrow in what has to be the sexiest looking wordless-question that's ever pointed my way.

"Get me out of here," I say. "Please."

"Whatever you want, Beautiful," he says and puts the car into reverse.

His hand rests on the back of my seat as he whips the car into the lot, then brushes my shoulder when he moves his hand down to shift into gear.

I shiver, tell myself it's because he's hot and we've got something going on.

It has nothing to do with what Chase said.

Nothing.

*****

In the too-bright light of the late evening sun, Aiden's black fingernail flicks a button on the car dash and a band I don't recognize assaults my ears via the car stereo until he turns it down.

The sudden noise startles me, and my cravings—that disappeared while I was focused on the Ember drama—surge again, twisting my stomach. But I'm determined to soothe it, and resolve to myself: I'm eager to be bound. That's all. I'll tell Aiden I need to be home by midnight to make curfew and it'll be fine, just like it was in my room.

"It's early yet. We'll probably be the first people there," Aiden says, meaning the bonfire.

"That's fine." I'll ask him to bind me whether there's a bonfire or not. I don't care.

By the time we pull up across the road from the burnt-out warehouse the sky directly overhead is dark, but blends through gray and into pink at the horizon, giving the building an eerie, haze, like something out of Silent Hill.

The creak of Aiden's door opening snaps me back to reality. I get out of the car too, letting the weight of the door close itself with a thunk. He walks all the way around the front of the car to my side and waits while I straighten my clothes, to take my hand, pulling me across the road. His palm is warm and dry. I squeeze it and he cuts me a heated glance over his shoulder before we turn into the midnight gap between the buildings.

Irritated at myself for the trill of fear, I let go of Aiden's hand and force myself to walk alone into the alleyway between the now-familiar burnt-out building and the rickety fence. I heave a sigh of relief when we step gingerly over broken glass and out onto the beach grasses.

The waves have eroded the dunes during the week. We stop where the sand cuts away in a drop from the grass holding it together. It's two or three feet down to the soft sand above the tideline.

As we reach the edge I stop to look down, but Aiden grabs my hand again takes a running jump, pulling me over the edge. I yelp, swearing hard when we land and my feet bury themselves, so I end up sprawled on the still-warm sand, glaring at him.

Aiden laughs, "You okay?" He pulls me back to my feet and brushes off my ass.

"Pervert." I shove him away with a smile.

"Opportunist," he corrects me. I roll my eyes.

Feet gritty from sand in my boots, I cross to the dark sand below the tideline and down the beach, toward the old docks. In their shadow, a handful of people scurry back and forth to a pile of wood that's growing larger with every trip. My stomach clenches with anticipation.

I'm doing this, I tell myself. It isn't the same as getting high. There's no substance. No come-down. It's a spell.

As I follow Aiden, I keep telling myself these things.

I just wish I could shake the uneasy feeling sitting deep in my gut.

*

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