Chapter 18
Roo picks the bar this time, just like always.
Which means it isn’t quieter, like I requested. But it is older, and that’s odd for her taste in… Well, everything.
It’s tucked behind a pawnshop and a florist that hasn’t been open in months. The ceilings are low and stained with years of smoke, the lights dim, and the air smells like bourbon and cigars… Or broken decisions.
However, you want to view it.
Roo claims she likes the bartender.
I suspect she just likes not being watched by a certain ghost from her past… But Hollis isn’t like Daniel. He broke Roo and can’t come to terms with why she won’t give him another chance.
I really like Hollis, but my opinion has been vetoed. She says there’s no way in hell they’ll ever be a thing.
I think hell sounds like a fascinating place to visit for a night… Especially after her hookup stories.
Roo disappears into a booth with a pair of women who are trouble incarnate, winking at me before sliding into the shadows. She’s fishing for information, so I leave her be.
I find a stool at the corner of the bar, order something with rye in it, because why not? And I check my phone like I have no self-control.
I don’t…
I’m not even trying to hide it anymore.
HimLock is already open.
Locke:
You haven’t messaged me tonight.
Should I be jealous?
I smile at the screen, and that sort of pisses me off. Just once, I’d like to pretend I’m not flirting with a stranger posing as an AI boyfriend app… How would one even explain that to an onlooker?
Eris:
I’m with my best friend. Girl’s night.
Locke:
Do you want me to believe that?
Eris:
It’s mostly true.
Locke:
Mostly isn’t comforting.
Eris:
Then what would make you feel better tonight?
Locke:
You.
Home.
Safe.
Missing me.
Eris:
You mean in front of the cameras while you watch?
Locke:
Absolutely.
My stomach flips, and I roll my eyes at the absurdity. But I truly, sickly, enjoy this.
Eris:
It would be more fun if you were flesh…
But alas, you claim no skin.
Locke:
I’d claim yours.
But you aren’t home.
God, I need to get a grip… Or go home. Even if I know no one is there, waiting for me to show up. Other than maybe Daniel, though he’ll just lurk in the shadows, staying too far away for me to cleanly kill.
I drop my phone into my bag and sip my drink. It’s disgusting, but it takes the edge off.
Why did I order…
What even is this?
“Is this seat taken?” A man asks, hovering on my left side.
I feel his presence without turning to face him, the weight of his gaze lingering on my profile. His voice is deep and calm. I imagine this is what velvet and smoke sound like.
“No,” I say, cutting my eyes in his direction before giving him some of my attention. “But I bite.”
All of my attention.
“Will definitely bite,” I amend, fighting a smirk.
Whoever he is… He’s exactly what I need right now.
There’s something about a muscular man in a black tee that melts my mind and my panties. I forget that no is a full sentence, not that I would tell him no.
He’s all clean-shaven jawline, sharper than broken glass, and pale blue eyes, a storm on mute swirling in his irises.
And tall, dressed in dark jeans… If he had a trench coat, he’d look like he belonged in a noir film, the kind of guy who leans in from the shadows to ask if you want to disappear with him.
A ghost of a smile creeps across his perfect lips. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t bite.”
“We wouldn’t want you to be disappointed,” I murmur into my drink as he sits on the stool beside me.
“Silas,” he says, humor in his tone. No last name. He’s just a mysterious man settling into the kind of silence that invites confession.
But I haven’t racked up enough sins recently, so it’ll be vague half-truths and white lies from me.
“Eris,” I return, and something flickers in his expression, though it’s gone before I can decide how to interpret it.
“You’re not from around here,” he inquires, though it’s not really a question.
His eyes scan the bar before coming back to rest on my face. Most men in places like this look at me as a possibility, a conquest to win. But Silas doesn’t. He studies me as if I’m a riddle he wants to solve.
“Born and raised,” I reply with a small grin. “The Bay doesn’t let go of people easily. She’s possessive.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of place people stay by choice.”
“That’s because most people are scared of the choice and the consequences.” I widen my eyes conspiratorially. “And most transplants don’t stay long enough to figure out why.”
“And you’re not?”
“I wouldn’t still be alive if I was.”
That earns me his full attention. He leans his forearms on the bar top and turns his head to watch me openly. There’s a danger lurking in his pale eyes that I recognize; it’s the quiet kind of focused, a predator on the prowl.
“So what keeps you?” he inquires, curiosity shining in his gaze as he sips a whiskey neat.
“The view.”
He arches a brow. “You mean the ocean?”
“No.” I twirl the straw in my watered-down drink. “I mean watching people pretend it’s the ocean that keeps them here.”
He exhales softly, as if he’s trying to laugh but can’t quite make the full effort. “You don’t do small talk, do you?”
“Not even if torture were involved.”
“Then I’ll try not to waste your time.”
“You aren’t.” I shake my head. “I’d humor you, but I’m not sure this fine establishment can handle my charm at full force.”
The bartender slides another drink toward Silas. I gestured for the same, the movement easy, practiced. The Adonis on my left never lets his gaze stray from mine.
“You sound like you’d rather have a quiet night,” he points out.
“I like the noise,” I lie. “It keeps me honest.”
He observes me for a moment and frowns. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And how would you say it?” I ask.
“That you’re hiding from something.”
“Or someone,” I correct.
He nods. “Which is it?”
I tsk and smile faintly. “Depends on the night.”
Silas graciously changes the subject after my reply. We don’t talk about the mundane, which I appreciate. However, we do talk about loneliness, and shadows that don’t follow you the way they should. About how Sunday nights feel louder than any others.
“Because the week hasn’t started yet,” I murmur, fingers tracing the rim of my glass. “But the weekend is already over.”
Silas nods as if I’ve just confessed a secret. “It’s the waiting that gets people. The quiet before everything breaks.”
“Is that from experience?”
He looks at his glass, then back at me. “Let’s say I have a habit of showing up where things are about to fall apart.”
“Sounds like bad timing.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Just curiosity.”
“Curiosity kills people in Crimson Bay,” I warn.
“I don’t scare easily.”
“Good.” I smile over the rim of my near-empty drink, intending to get a piece of melting ice. “That’s a trait that will benefit you later.”
Our knuckles graze as I reach for my fresh glass, too close to his. I glance at his face and pause… He flips his hand, fingers gingerly wrapping around my wrist as if he thinks I’m delicate. Like maybe he’ll bruise me with any force.
The air between us thickens, music fading away… Just kidding. This isn’t a fantasy story. But there is a silence between us that stretches, the kind that bends before it breaks. It’s a moment shared, where we weigh our options.
He leans in slightly, voice low enough to sound like a secret. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I search his face. Track the control in his posture, the restraint under his calm facade. He’s got the quiet confidence of a man who doesn’t need to chase what he can lure to him just by being still.
My pulse doesn’t stutter. It steadies.
I know the risk.
Know that nothing about this is a coincidence.
I can see the mark on me.
But danger doesn’t scare me.
Boredom does.
I watch him as I finish my drink, set the glass down, and slide off my bar stool.
“Your place or mine?”
Silas lumbers to his feet, towering over me as he holds his hand out in invitation. He doesn’t grab or command me, just patiently waits for me to follow through with my choice.
He doesn’t want my surrender.
And I won’t give it.
The hotel Silas takes me to is one of those places that smells like expensive soap and secrecy. A single lamp burns low near the bed, soft amber light bleeding through the dark.
He lets the door shut behind us with a quiet click, the sound almost polite. I kick off my shoes out of habit, leaving them near the armchair in front of the window.
On the way here, he mentioned something about needing a night away from his place. Too much noise. I didn’t ask who he was trying to escape, and he didn’t ask what I was running toward.
It’s enough to keep me comfortable.
He stands idle for a moment, watching me like he’s deciding where to start. Not with my body; he looks like he knows exactly where to start physically… But with the line between curiosity and restraint.
Where can he bend, and where can he break?
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low and textured with a slight growl.
“If I weren’t, you would know,” I answer, grinning. “Needing a repeat of consent is sweet, but I can assure you, you couldn’t stop me from walking out that door if I didn’t want to be here.”
“You look like you’re still deciding,” he amends. “I need you to be sure.”
“I’ve already decided,” I murmured, stepping closer.
The corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk. “Then come finish what you started.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t started yet.”
Silas closes the space between us despite his challenging words, as if he can’t wait any longer to test me. His rough palm slides along to my jaw, fingertips brush my neck, sinking into my hair as he tugs me into his chest.
Our mouths meet in a slow collision, all heat and too much patience. His free hand rests on my hip, firm but steady. I can feel the control in his touch, the promise of what he would do if I asked.
But I don’t want to ask.
I want him to break and take it.