by Wendy Cole
“All set?” Zeke asked. He hopped down from the table without waiting for a reply and turned to the mirror. For a moment, he simply stared, his eyes scanning over every detail.
“Holy shit, girl,” he said in a low voice after what felt like an eternity. “That is impressive.” He lowered his arm and turned to me. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
I shrugged. “Just practice, I guess.”
“Just practice.” Boe rolled over and pushed Zeke’s arm up, and the moment his gaze ran over the piece, his whole expression changed. This time, when he looked back at me, the teasing had fallen away from him. “That’s not practice. That’s talent.”
Zeke pulled away from Boe then scratched his beard as he stared at me. “I need you on my team, girl.”
“Yes, you do.” Boe rolled back to his spot.
A new reluctance hit me. Only this time, it wasn’t fear for myself.
I believed this man. He wasn’t affiliated with the club. His story, the people here, his family…
If Drake found me, he’d destroy it all.
“You come back tomorrow,” he said, “and I’ll give you some work to do until we can get you licensed.”
“A license?”
My heart stuttered. Legit. A legal trade. It was just the step I needed to take if I wanted to have a life. It was what normal members of society had. Guilt for a tragedy that had yet to occur gnawed my gut, but it wasn’t enough. I was too selfish. I couldn’t pass it up. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Zeke smiled. “Good. Now, Charlene has been staring at us this whole time just dying to mother the hell out of you.” His smile widened as he chuckled. “You look like a lost kitten.”
For a brief second, my lips curved into a smile―an actual smile. How long had it been since my lips had curved on their own?
The stranger from the bar.
With everything that had happened, thoughts of him had gone away. Now that they returned, however, that brilliant flash of white behind that scruffy face and worn appearance dominated my mind’s eye.
“Jessie?”
I snapped back to focus. “Alright. Thank you. I’ll…yeah, I’ll be back.”
He gave me a strange look as I walked away. I didn’t stop to see Charlene as he had asked. I had no desire to be mothered. I didn’t want a mother. I wanted a drink.
I kept my head low as I met up with the old man outside and tracked my way back to the bridge. The lights down Main Street seemed to call louder than they usually did.
I stopped walking. “I’ll catch up, old man.”
“It’s late,” he said. “Where do you think…”
“I took the job like you wanted. I’m going to celebrate. You go ahead before the warm spots disappear.”
His mouth thinned as he watched me turn, but, thankfully, he didn’t follow.
My stomach fluttered, but I insisted to myself it was in anticipation of a drink. I needed to commemorate this moment, and the only way I had to do that was a dark and mysterious stranger with a hard-on for giving out free booze.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Once again, the warm air and smoky atmosphere enveloped me in welcome. Only this time, as I walked through the opening, I noticed more. The man in the uniform clung to the neck of his bottle. The woman sat with her photo.
But it was the man at the end, sitting as if he hadn’t moved, that caught my attention. His hair still hung in disarray all around him. His beard still touched his chest, and his eyes…
His eyes latched on to me the moment I walked through the door. They exposed me. I’d forgotten the way they seemed to cut past every defense I had. Could he see the scars across my back? The ones that were etched deeper?
I slowly approached him how a hungry stray would approach a dinner table, and I had a momentary pinch of shame to be back for more of his charity.
Despite this, I took the stool beside him and waited.
He drummed his knuckles against the bar. “Another glass over here, Paul.”
Without looking at me, the bartender set one down and turned away.
The man tilted his bottle over, filled the glass to the brim, then went back to his study of the room. No greeting. No questions. Just free alcohol and…silence.
He was a blessing; a generous man with booze to share that didn’t speak and didn’t ask. But I didn’t want his silence. I should have. I should have sung my praises to that bitch karma for finally doing me a solid, but what felt like a gift from the heavens also felt like a ticking bomb. He had to have a reason, and I needed to know what it was he expected to gain.
I emptied the glass and set it down with more force than I’d meant to.
He turned then with one brow lifted said, “Something bothering you?”
I paused and focused on the burn worming its way into my belly.
Don’t be a bitch. Don’t be a bitch. He was giving free drinks. He was keeping his distance.
He had to have a reason.
“What’s your deal?” I laid my arm across the bar and tried to peer past his mass of fur. “Why aren’t you…normal?”
His lip twitched. “Is it normal you came here for? Or Wild Turkey?”
He had me there, but still. I couldn’t understand him, and something about that mattered. It shouldn’t have fucking mattered. “Why aren’t you asking for anything? I know enough about this world to know people don’t give away free shit. Nothing is free. So, what is it?”
He turned away and took a long drink, his eyes back to scanning the room.
I waited until it was obvious he’d snubbed me then I picked up my own glass.
Oh…right. I emptied it.
I looked at the stranger. He made no move to fill it back up, and I cursed my own self for what I’d done. “I’m sorry.”
His attention stayed glued to a man stumbling towards the bar. “Why?”
Why? Wasn’t it obvious? The fact that he, the one who seemed to know more than was natural, had asked me why only served to trip me up more. I didn’t know how to act, and I always knew how to act. I couldn’t read him. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, let alone what his story was. Usually, anyone could get at least something from a person.
But not this man. He was scattered about like a broken puzzle. I never liked puzzles. Didn’t give a shit about what the picture would be. But for reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to see this one put together.
Curiosity killed the cat, inner Jessie purred.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “For assuming you want to sleep with me. It obviously upset you judging by…well…” I motioned to my empty glass. “You stopped sharing.”
He took a long drink, watching the same man for a fraction longer, then sat the bottle down and turned to face me. Dark, sharp eyes locked with mine as he leaned forward. He was too close. They sucked me in, locked me in place, and no matter how much I knew I needed to look away, I didn’t.
He scanned my face, the healing tattoo, the blonde roots at my hairline, then my worn clothes and thin frame, all the way down and back up without an ounce of shame.
“You shouldn’t apologize,” he said, his voice smoother than the amber liquid he tilted over into my glass. His gaze broke away as he filled it, then his eyes met mine again. “If I had you in my bed, there’d be no sleeping involved.”
My stomach flipped and tightened. He was a mess, worse than me. Nothing about him screamed Casanova, but the way he’d said that one sentence awoke every womanly part of me.
I leaned away, shook my head, grabbed the glass, and downed the contents.
Bad news. Very bad. Very, very bad.
He broke away and refilled my glass once again.
“But I’m not the kind of man to bed a woman over a drink.” He turned back to the room. “I’ll tell you again like I did the last time. You look like you need it. I’ve got it. Don’t overthink.”
He scanned the doorway, conversation over.
I sipped my drink and watched his eyes run ove
r each new arrival as if waiting for someone, but I didn’t question him again.
We sat in silence for what felt like hours, and I drank. I kept drinking. Each time I emptied my glass, he’d lean over to replenish it, and the longer it went on, the lighter I became.
Between the heat of the bar, the belly full of steak, and my incredible luck, I felt as if the floor was destined to fall out from under me. It should have been me scanning the door. I should have been watching, but I didn’t. I stared at my glass and studied the stranger’s profile. Something about his presence relaxed me. It was nice knowing he was watching the entrance; each person there. If Drake or any of his men walked in here and saw me, would I make it through the exit before they got to me?
I cast another glance at the man. He was massive, a walking fucking tree. Would he stand between me and my fate? Judging by my encounter with the drunk, I had a feeling that he would.
“I got a job today.”
His eyes cut over at me, scanned my face again, then with the slightest of nods, he tilted his bottle over and clinked it to my glass in mock cheers.
He turned back away.
“I haven’t figured out if it’s a trap yet.”
His whole body seemed to stiffen. I had his full attention as he turned in his seat and leveled that searching gaze on me.
“A trap?”
“Yep, like the mouse kind; only bigger.” I ran a finger across my throat then bent it as if it was broken. “There goes my fucking neck.” I snorted a laugh that sounded borderline psychotic.
He stared at me.
I’d said too much…drank too much. It was time to go.
“What do you…”
I cut him off. “I got to head out.”
The stool wobbled as I stumbled to my feet, and he had to grasp my arm to stop me from falling.
He stood with me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ll walk you home.”
I shook my head. Very bad idea.
“Nope. Not happening.” I stumbled to the left and was caught once again by a pair of the most masculine hands I’d ever been held by. I stared down at them, one clutching each of my biceps. They were strong and tan and rough. The alcohol heated my blood, but his touch made it hotter. It’d been a long time―years―since I’d been held by a man.
All the time I’d done. All the lonely nights behind a set of bars.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, my voice terse.
Not this one. He was too tempting. Too dangerous.
He released one side but kept me upright with the other.
“I’m walking you home.” He pulled me along as if he knew the way, and I was too focused on keeping my feet straight to try and stop him.
When we made it outside, he paused. “Which way?”
A wave of nausea washed over me, and I swallowed convulsively until it passed. Whatever. Fuck it. I waved a hand towards the bridge. “That way.”
He pulled me along, slower now. His body heat pressed into my side, and I couldn’t help but wish I could keep some for the long night ahead. The frigid air was almost enough for me to ask him to prove his earlier claim, but not quite. I knew better. Drake had taught me better.
We reached the end of the street, and the stranger drew to a stop. “Which way?”
I flung an arm forward. “Straight.”
We stood in silence for a long moment. “There’s no road straight.”
I tilted my face up at him. “There is no road to the bridge.”
His eye twitched. That was it. A blanket of stone solidified every other part of his face, and he stared down at me with unreadable eyes.
“You live under the bridge.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, and I’d appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself.”
“It’s cold.”
“No shit.” I shook him away, only to grip back hold as I stumbled.
His jaw clenched. “Come with me instead.”
I laughed a dry sound. “Yeah. Sure. Man, fuck off or help me down that hill. I’ll crawl my ass the rest of the way if I have to.”
He took my arm once again and muttered a curse beneath his breath. For a long moment, we just stood there, and I breathed a sigh when he finally started forward in the right direction.
His steps were rigid as we made our way through the brush to the underlying concrete. When we finally reached the scatter of bodies and other lost souls, he didn’t let go.
“I can take you somewhere else.”
I shook him away and stumbled to my spot beside the sleeping old man. “I’m sure you could.”
I found my pack; thankful that the old man had the sense to keep it for me and pulled the blanket out from within. The world spun like a carnival ride, and at any moment, I’d pass out.
The stranger filled the gap between us and draped something over my shoulders. It was his flannel.
“Come back to the bar tomorrow,” he said.
He took the blanket from my hands and wrapped it tight around my frame. His eyes sharpened as he knelt down before me.
“Come back tomorrow,” he repeated, his voice rough.
I nodded then heaved a tired laugh. “You’ve got free alcohol. I’ll be back.”
I didn’t see nor hear a response before my eyelids slid shut and the world faded away.
CHAPTER NINE
The old man woke me up with a smack to the face.
I never thought I’d be grateful for someone hitting me, but in that instance, I was. My head was about to explode. My abused stomach finally wanted to run away, and the long and lonely walk to the shop might as well have been a climb Mount Everest.
Regardless, I made it, lacking the bells but still whole. Zeke looked up from behind the counter when I stepped inside. He had a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other . He sat them down and stood when he saw me.
“Hey, now! There she is.” He smiled.
“Charlene!” His smile widened as he turned back to me. “You’re gonna get it, girl.”
I paused, and before I could even process what he meant, Charlene bounded out of the hallway with her hands on her hips. She clasped her chest when she saw me standing there as if she’d been…worried.
My brow furrowed.
She closed the space between us like she’d known me all my life and wrapped me in a hug. “Goodness, girl. You took off before I could get to you.”
She pulled away but left one arm draped across my back. Before I knew it, she was leading me away.
A look over my shoulder revealed an amused Zeke.
Charlene pulled me down the hall and into a door at the end of it. It was a break room of sorts with two couches, a television, and a counter with a coffee maker. Wood paneled walls and unstapled carpet was a good attempt of setting it apart from the rest of the shop.
She left me standing inside the doorway and walked to a small closet in the right corner.
“I got you some stuff,” she said, pulling out a plastic shopping bag. “It’s not much.” She handed it to me. “But you seemed like you could use it.”
She smiled then grabbed another bag from the counter. This time, it was a pouch.
I eyed the bounty she handed me. The plastic bag was packed neatly with clothes, and the pouch had a clear window that revealed the basic toiletries inside. My throat constricted.
Her eyes softened. “Come on. I’ll show you where the bathroom is. You can freshen up before your first day.”
My heart skipped. A shower was among my top ten things to do before I died. It was something I’d taken for granted. The amount of grime on my skin felt solid, and no sink bath would ever be enough to fix it. My hair was a grease trap. A mixture of shame and gratitude tightened my chest.
Charlene took my hand in a light hold then squeezed it. She pulled me back through the door and down the hall. The next door was hidden and looked more like the cover to a pantry, but behind it might as well have been a spa.
A shower was fit within the corner, just big enough for me to stand in one spot, but glorious all the same.
I was going to live in that fucking thing.
Charlene patted my shoulder. “Take your time. There’s nothing he needs you to do that can’t wait.”
“Thank you.” I grinned at her back as she stepped away then closed myself into the tight room. What little space I had to move wasn’t quite enough to get comfortable. I rested the bags onto the toilet lid and opened the larger one.
One by one, I pulled out each item and draped it wherever I could: across the small sink, the back of the toilet, and what little floor space existed around my feet. All in all, I had three pairs of jeans, a sweater, two new t-shirts, and one soft leather jacket. I ran a hand along the jacket and swooned. It would be warm. The fleece lining combined with the thick hide would be a godsend once the temperature dropped. I left it out along with one pair of jeans and the sweater then packed the rest back how it’d been.
When I started to undress, I paused. The flannel. His flannel.
I’d been so rushed to get to work, I hadn’t even noticed it.
But, now…I yanked it off, balled it into my fist, and shoved it inside my backpack, cramming it as deep as I could into the bottom as if by burying it, I’d bury all thoughts of dark eyes and smooth words.
The shower heated as if it’d been waiting all its existence for me, and when I stepped inside, the groan I let out could have warranted some raised eyebrows.
I washed with the soap she’d given me, then rinsed and repeated the action three times, then again with my hair and the strawberry scented shampoo. I stepped out feeling cleaner than I’d ever been in my life. I combed my hair and brushed my teeth.
The clothes were snug despite my malnutrition. It seemed as if my butt would never leave. It didn’t need food to survive. Still, I managed to force them up with a little jumping, and the rest followed easily. I had no underwear, but it didn’t matter. I had clean skin, clean hair, and clean clothes that were warmer than the thinning shit I’d come in with.
I made my way back down the hallway.
