Chapter 9: Horror Movie Interrupted
The loft was a cavern of shifting blue light and grotesque shadows. On the massive screen, a porcelain doll’s head rotated slowly on a shelf, its painted eyes gleaming. Jade clutched a throw pillow to her chest, the cheap polyester slick under her fingers. Addison, curled into Liliana’s side on the opposite end of the deep sofa, let out a squeak that was half-fear, half-delight.
“Nope, absolutely not,” Addison whispered, burying her face in Liliana’s shoulder. Liliana, calmer, just smiled and stroked her girlfriend’s hair, her eyes flicking to Jade with a knowing look. The air smelled of fake butter, cannabis, and the pear-scented candle guttering on the coffee table.
A soft knock on the industrial steel door cut through the movie’s discordant soundtrack.
Three raps. Precise. Unmistakable.
Jade’s stomach tightened. Addison’s head snapped up. “Are you expecting a psycho killer delivery?” she hissed, a grin spreading across her face.
Before Jade could answer, another series of knocks came, this time followed by a familiar, lilting voice. “Delivery for the lady with the questionable taste in horror.”
Cole.
Addison was off the couch in a flash, her silk robe swirling around her ankles. “You have the best timing!” she sang out, skipping to the door.
“Addi, wait—” Jade started, but the deadbolt was already turning.
Cole stood in the doorway, haloed by the dim hallway light. He wore a simple black henley, jeans that were worn in all the right places, and a grin that seemed to absorb all the eerie blue light from the room. He held up a six-pack of expensive craft beer. “Saw the light. Heard the screaming. Thought you could use reinforcements.”
Addison pulled him inside with a laugh. “You’re a lifesaver. This movie is officially too scary for just us.”
Cole’s eyes found Jade immediately, scanning her from where she sat frozen on the couch. His gaze was a physical touch, lingering on her bare legs, the old band t-shirt she’d changed into after the bistro. “Hey, artist,” he said, his voice a warm rumble.
Liliana gave a small, polite wave. Cole nodded at her. “Liliana, right? Addison talks. A lot.”
“She does,” Liliana agreed, her tone dry but not unkind.
He moved into the space with an easy ownership, setting the beers on the cluttered coffee table. The screen flickered, the doll now levitating. He didn’t glance at it. His attention was a laser fixed on Jade. “Mind if I join the nightmare fest?”
It wasn’t really a question. He was already lowering himself onto the couch, not on the empty space beside Liliana, but directly into the center, his body sinking into the cushions between Jade and the other two. The sofa was wide, but he made it feel intimate, his thigh pressing firmly against hers. The heat of him seeped through the thin cotton of her shirt and the denim of his jeans.
Addison reclaimed her spot, snuggling back into Liliana. “Cole’s our buffer from the demon doll.”
“Damn right,” Cole said, cracking open a beer. He took a long swig, his throat working. He offered the bottle to Jade. “Calm the nerves?”
She shook her head, her mouth dry. Her mind was a reel of flashing images: Dex’s eyes in the alley, the pressure of his knee, the warning in his gravel voice. He gets in, and he takes pieces.
Cole shrugged, placing the bottle on the table. He slung his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just brushing the ends of her curls. He smelled of night air, motorcycle leather, and a clean, soapy scent underneath.
On screen, the protagonist crept down a dark hallway, the camera jerking with her panicked breaths. The music swelled, a grating string section building to an inevitable crescendo.
“Don’t look, don’t look,” Addison chanted, peeking through her fingers.
Jade tried to focus on the doll, on the hallway, on anything but the solid line of heat where Cole’s leg met hers, the casual weight of his arm behind her. He was so close she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny scar above his eyebrow. His playful energy from the bistro was banked now, replaced by a watchful, simmering presence.
The music hit its peak. The closet door burst open.
A contorted figure lunged out with a digital shriek.
Jade jerked violently, a full-body flinch of genuine surprise.
In the same instant, Cole’s hand, which had been resting casually near her shoulder, slid down. It was a motion that could have been coincidental, a reflex to her jump. But his palm landed on her bare thigh, just above her knee. His fingers curled, warm and deliberate, and then swept upward, under the hem of her loose black shirt, grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
The touch lasted less than two seconds. It was electrifying, possessive, and utterly ambiguous.
“Whoa, easy there,” Cole murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. His hand retreated back to the couch cushion, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. His expression was one of mild, amused concern. “Just me. No demons here.”
Her heart wasn’t pounding from the jump-scare anymore. It was hammering from the contact, from the confusing cocktail of violation and thrill. She opened her mouth, a hot retort on her lips, when her phone, facedown on the arm of the sofa, lit up.
The screen glowed in the dark room, a bright, intrusive rectangle.
A text notification. From a number not in her contacts.
Her breath caught. She knew.
With a trembling hand, she picked it up. The preview text glared up at her:
Unknown: Tell him to get his fucking fingers off what’s mine.
Ice water flooded her veins. Her head snapped up, her eyes darting instinctively to the high windows that overlooked the street. Nothing but blackness and the blurred lights of the city.
Cole was watching her face, his playful grin softening into something more curious. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she choked out, her thumbs fumbling over the screen. Rage, bright and sudden, cut through the shock. How? How did he get this number? How did he know? She typed back, her movements jerky.
Me: how the fuck do you have my number. leave me alone.
She hit send, the whooshing sound absurdly loud in the tense quiet.
The movie’s climax roared on, unnoticed. Addison was whispering something to Liliana. Cole’s attention was now fully on Jade, his earlier casualness gone, replaced by a sharp focus. “Jade?”
Her phone lit up again, instantly. Two texts in quick succession.
Unknown: I put your number in my phone when I dropped you off at the Cantina.
Unknown: And no.
Before she could process this, a large, calloused hand closed over hers, plucking the phone from her grip.
“Hey!” she snapped, trying to snatch it back.
Cole held it easily out of her reach, his eyes scanning the screen. She saw his face change. The easy charm drained away, replaced by a cold, hard neutrality. His jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. He read the texts, his lips pressing into a thin line.
For a moment, he just stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over it. Then, with a speed that belied his relaxed posture, his own thumbs flew over the keypad. He was typing a response.
“Give it back, Cole. That’s mine.” Her voice was low, dangerous.
He finished typing, hit send, and then placed the phone face down on the table with a soft, final click. He looked at her, and the playful glint was completely extinguished. His eyes were the color of a storm-charged sea. “There,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm. “Problem handled.”
“What did you do?” Her whisper was scalding.
Addison, sensing the shift, paused the movie. The sudden silence was heavy, fraught. “Uh, guys? Demon doll’s on pause. What’s going on?”
Cole didn’t look at Addison. He kept his gaze locked on Jade. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping so only she could hear. The scent of him enveloped her—leather and that clean soap and now something else, something sharp and metallic like anger.
“I reminded him of the rules,” Cole said softly. He reached out and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his grip firm but not painful. He forced her to look directly at him, his face inches from hers. His expression was intense, stripped of all pretense. “You don’t get to mark what isn’t yours, brother. You had your chance.”
He was speaking to her, but the words were meant for Dex. A message relayed.
Jade tried to pull her face away, but he held her steady. Her pulse thrummed wildly where his fingers pressed against her skin. “I’m not a bone for you two to fight over,” she spat, her fury giving her strength.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Cole’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Isn’t that exactly what you want?” he whispered. His thumb stroked her jawline, a mockery of a caress. “The adrenaline? The danger?” He echoed her own taunt from the alley, twisting it. “You like the game, Jade. You just don’t like knowing you’re a player.”
He released her chin finally, sitting back as if nothing had happened. He picked up his beer, took a long drink, and turned to Addison and Liliana with a practiced, easygoing smile. “Sorry, ladies. Domestic dispute. Unpause the terror.”
Addison looked nervously between Jade and Cole, but Liliana’s keen eyes missed nothing. She gave Jade a long, searching look, then silently picked up the remote.
The movie resumed, the sound flooding back. The protagonist was sobbing. The doll was laughing.
Jade sat rigid, the ghost of Cole’s touch burning on her thigh, the imprint of his fingers on her jaw. Her phone was a dark rectangle on the table. She had no idea what he had typed to Dex. The silence from it now felt more threatening than any message.
Cole’s thigh was still pressed against hers. He made no move to shift away. He watched the screen, but she could feel his awareness of her like a physical force, a magnetic pull in the space between them.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw him out. She wanted to grab her phone and see the damage.
But more than anything, curled beneath the fury and the fear, was a dark, unwanted thread of excitement. It was the same thread Cole had just named. It was the thrill of the knife’s edge.
And as the movie’s credits began to roll, casting the room in a flat, white light, Jade made no move to get up. She sat in the charged stillness, the taste of stolen beer and something much more dangerous on the air, and waited for the next move.
The white light from the credits washed over them, a sterile glow highlighting the tension in the room. Addison stretched, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she eyed Cole. “So,” she drawled, her voice slicing through the quiet. “You and your brooding friend just pass a girl between you like a shared motorcycle?”
Cole’s body went still beside Jade. He didn’t look at Addison. He kept his gaze fixed on the dark television screen, his expression unreadable.
“Addison,” Liliana murmured, a gentle warning.
“What? It’s a valid question.” Addison leaned forward, her eyes bright with mischief and cheap wine. “One texts claiming ownership, the other feels her up during a scary movie. It’s very medieval. I’m just trying to understand the rules of this little tournament.”
Jade felt the words land like thrown stones. Each one cracked against the fragile control she was clinging to. She saw Cole’s knuckles whiten around his beer bottle. A low, dangerous quiet radiated from him.
The phone on the table remained dark. Silent. Dex was out there somewhere, a phantom watching from the shadows, his message hanging between them all. What’s mine. The possessiveness of it, the sheer audacity, coiled in her gut alongside Cole’s earlier, secretive touch.
She was not a trophy. She was not a game piece.
A cold, clear fury detached itself from the mess of her emotions. It was sharper than anger, purer than fear. It was decisive.
She stood up.
The movement was sudden, a breaking of the strained tableau. Addison’s smile faltered. Cole’s eyes, wary now, flicked up to meet hers.
Jade didn’t speak to them. She looked only at Cole. Without a word, she leaned down, her fingers closing around his wrist. His skin was warm, the pulse beneath her thumb a quick, rhythmic beat. She felt the corded strength in his forearm, the potential for resistance.
There was none.
He allowed her grip, his expression shifting from wariness to a sparked, intrigued surprise. She pulled.
He rose from the couch easily, letting her lead. His weight followed her, a silent compliance that felt more charged than any struggle.
“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice low, a private question in the silent room.
Jade didn’t answer. She turned, dragging him by the wrist across the polished concrete floor, past the confused, wide-eyed faces of her friends. The bedroom door stood ajar, a slice of darkness beyond.
“Jade?” Addison’s voice was small now, all the teasing gone.
She ignored it. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and pulled Cole inside. The dim glow from the main room barely illuminated the space: her unmade bed, a spatter of paint across a canvas on the floor, clothes draped over a chair.
She released his wrist as if burned and spun to face him, kicking the door shut with her heel. The click of the latch was final, a sound that sealed them in together.
The darkness in the room was soft, incomplete. She could see the outline of him, taller, broader, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the confined space. Her breath came fast, a mixture of adrenaline and rage.
“What,” she demanded, the word slicing through the quiet, “is the game?”
He didn’t move. He just looked at her, his features shadowed. “Jade.”
“No.” She took a step forward, her finger jabbing toward the door, toward the world outside. “You text him. He texts me. You put your hands on me like a warning shot. He talks about rules and blades.” Her voice rose, trembling with the force of it. “You say I’m a player. So tell me what we’re playing. Right now.”
Cole sighed, a rough exhale. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture momentarily breaking his imposing silhouette. “It’s not a game.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s a fucking mess.” He took a step toward her, closing the distance she’d created. The air between them grew thick, charged. “You think this is fun for me? Watching him lose his mind over some girl?”
“I hardly fucking know either of you!” The protest was visceral, torn from her throat. “I just moved here, haven’t even started my job yet. Tell me what this stupid game is now.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, hanging in the dark bedroom like broken glass. Cole’s outline shifted. He moved closer, not invading her space but stepping into a sliver of streetlight filtering through the blinds. It cut across his face, highlighting the grim set of his mouth.
“The game,” he said, his voice stripped of all its earlier charm, “is trying to see who self-destructs first.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “Me, him, or now, apparently, you.”
“Why?” The single syllable was ragged.
He was silent for a long moment. The hum of the city outside was the only sound. “Because six years ago, I took something from him.” His eyes held hers, unflinching.“Someone. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. And instead of dealing with it, we just… let it fester. Made rules around it. Like not touching the same things.”
Jade’s mind spun, trying to map this confession onto the raw tension between the two men. “So I’m a ‘thing’ now? Something you two have a rule about?”
“No.” He shook his head, a sharp jerk. “You’re the first thing in six years that made him want to break the rules. And that… changes the game.” He took another step. The heat from his body reached her, a tangible force in the cool room. “He looks at you and sees what he lost. I look at you and see the fuse.”
The words hung between them in the dark room, ugly and final. I look at you and see the fuse. They weren't a confession; they were an indictment. They painted her not as a person, but as an instrument of chaos, a spark next to old, unstable powder kegs.
A cold, clarifying fury washed through her, burning away the last remnants of shock and confusion. It left behind a sharp, focused edge.
“I’m not a fucking fuse.” Her voice was low, a strained whisper that vibrated with intensity. She took a step forward, invading the space he’d claimed. “I’m not an old flame. I’m not a chess piece in your fucking game.”
Cole watched her, his body tensing, his stormy eyes tracking her movement in the dim light. He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain, to deflect.
She didn’t let him speak.
“I’m a human being,” she stated, each word a hammer strike. “And I can make my own damn decisions.”
Then she moved. It wasn't a tender approach. It was a conquest. Her hands came up, one tangling in the fabric of his henley at his chest, the other gripping the back of his neck. She pulled him down to her level with a fierce, uncompromising strength.
She kissed him.
It was not soft or exploratory. It was violent, a collision of lips and teeth and pent-up frustration. It was salt and the faint, coppery taste of her own anger. It was the silent scream against being a passive object in their tangled history. She poured every bit of her defiance into it, a physical reclaiming of her own agency.
For one shocking second, he froze. Then he responded. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splaying across her lower back, crushing her against him. His kiss was not gentle either. It was a raw, hungry answer, a release of something he’d held tightly leashed. It was heat and desperation and six years of complicated guilt.
It was everything she’d wanted and feared since she’d first seen him on that sun-drenched street.
And that was the most terrifying part.
She broke the kiss as suddenly as she’d initiated it, shoving against his chest with all her strength. He stumbled back a half-step, his breath ragged, his lips swollen. His eyes were wide, dark pools of genuine shock.
“Get out,” she commanded, her voice raw but steady.
He didn’t move. He just stared, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Get out!” The words ripped from her throat, echoing in the small room.
Slowly, as if waking from a dream, he straightened. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze never leaving hers. The playfulness was utterly gone, replaced by a stark, unnerved intensity. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
A thin, humorless smile touched his lips. It was an acknowledgment, a gesture of surrender to her will.
“Alright, Jade,” he said softly, his voice rough. “Your move.”
He turned and opened the bedroom door. The living room light spilled in, outlining his frame. Addison and Liliana were silent statues on the couch, watching him go.
He didn’t look back. He walked across the loft, opened the main door, and stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, a sound of profound finality.
The silence he left behind was thick and heavy. Jade stood in the center of her dark bedroom, her lips still burning, her hands trembling at her sides. She could still feel the imprint of his body, the shocking warmth of his mouth. The taste of him mixed with the metallic aftertaste of her own rage.
From the couch, Addison let out a long, low whistle. “Holy shit, J.”
Jade didn’t answer. She walked back into the main room on unsteady legs. Her phone still lay face-down on the coffee table, a silent, ominous slab.
She picked it up. Her fingers felt numb. She opened the text thread with the unknown number—Dex’s number. There, below her last outraged message, was a new one. Sent from her phone, by Cole.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. The message Cole had sent, the one that had prompted his confession, glowed up at her.
It read: Back off. She’s choosing. You lost that right years ago.
And below it, a new response from Dex had just come in, timestamped two minutes ago.
It was a single, grainy photo, taken from a distance, through a window. It was of her own living room, from the outside. It showed the back of Cole’s head as he leaned in toward her on the couch, his hand a blur near her thigh.
UNKNOWN: Choice has consequences.
Jade: Fuck both of you.