Threadbare | Arrow

Chapter Ten

"Darlin' can't you see?

I'm a broken man with addictive tendencies

And I think I love you

But I don't ever think I can learn how to love just right"

MATT MAESON - 'Tribulation'

.                        .                       .

Isabel Rochev looked dangerous in red and she knew it.

The colour clung to her skin in a way that would never be unflattering, coaxing the illusion of warmth to those razor sharp features. Her narrow lips painted the colour of blood turned every crooned word into a caress that trailed its way into Oliver's ears. Her eyes, lined with kohl, were dark and bottomless and as threatening as the ocean he'd once drowned in.

She was alluring in a way he couldn't quite resist; the siren song of her cracking wit and dry humour, her refusal to admire him for who he wasn't, the way her legs looked when she wore heels. If he slipped and fell on her, he would cut himself on her edges.

It was exhilarating.

This was a woman who welcomed no emotion, no feeling outside of a cruel, cold satisfaction. She was everything that lurked under his hood poured into a woman and then presumptuously planted in his waking life. He wouldn't have to worry about hurting her, nor did he have to worry about protecting himself. They were just two wolves circling each other, teeth bared, waiting for the other to draw first blood.

She wasn't Cali, or Laurel, or Sara, but she didn't need to be. His heart belonged to others, but Isabel Rochev didn't need it from him. Didn't want it. Didn't care for it. Whatever attraction they shared, it was purely physical. Animalistic. Freeing and weightless in a way that he could never demand from Cali.

"Sorry I'm late," he said with a crooked grin as Felicity ushered him inside the mansion, the party already in full swing.

Isabel tilted her head. "This party is to attract investors for your failing company," she drawled, unimpressed. "Being fashionably late might do well for the club circuit but it does not inspire confidence on Wall Street." Her eyes snagged on his cheek, and her mouth tightened. "Is that blood on your face?"

Quick as lightning, his hand shot up, fingertips brushing over his stubble in an attempt to feel out the incriminating splash. He had been particularly rough with the young gangbangers tonight, despite letting them stay in one piece, and he hadn't been prepared for a party.

Oliver kept his eyes firmly on Isabel as Felicity rushed over, babbling on as she straightened his collar and cleaning away whatever specks he obviously hadn't managed to get rid of. For a second, he could've sworn that Isabel's pupils dilated at the single, damning drop of red on him.

Well. At least they matched.

All too soon, though, Felicity had grabbed him by the arm and led him away from Isabel and further into the party, dragging him over to where Cali lingered by the snacks tables, one hand holding an incriminating amount of tiny meat pies.

"Ollie!" she welcomed eagerly, letting out a low laugh as he swooped forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Hey, what kept you?"

"Was it our masked blond that carries that giant staff that beats the sauce out of attackers?" Felicity chimed in, stealing one of the pies from Cali and biting into it, offering her friend an innocent look when Cali whipped around to stare at her accusingly.