Chapter Twenty-One #2
Gatsby let out a low breath beside me. “Well, that’s new.”
From the other end of the bar, Chain looked up, surprise cutting across his face. “Well, hell, it’s been a fuckin’ year since he showed up here.”
That hit just as fast, my stomach tightening, because something told me Mystic didn’t do anything without a reason.
“What do we owe the pleasure?” Gatsby called, his hand settling more firmly at my back as he stepped away from the bar.
I moved with Gatsby automatically, my gaze flicking back toward Ruby without thinking, and this time I didn’t just see it, I felt it.
The hatred on her face hadn’t gone away.
If anything, it had sharpened.
Her grip tightened around the tray again, harder this time, her fingers pressing in like she needed the pressure just to hold herself together, and even when she forced her gaze away, forced herself to keep moving, she couldn’t stop looking back, her attention snapping toward Zeynep in quick, almost compulsive glances that came faster the longer she tried to fight them.
It wasn’t just anger anymore, it had twisted into something tighter, more dangerous, something that looked a lot like fixation, and it was slipping through the cracks no matter how hard she tried to hold it in, and someone noticed, because the second we got close enough, I saw it in Mystic, the way his attention didn’t drift but locked in, deliberate and exact, like he was stripping the room down to what mattered, his gaze landing on Ruby for just a second before it disappeared again, smooth and seamless, like it had never been there at all.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I was reading too much into something that wasn’t there.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Gatsby said.
Mystic’s mouth tipped slightly. “Figured it was time I stopped by, see if anything’s changed.”
Zeynep smiled, softer, easier. “Lucy never stops talking about this place.”
“Only the good stuff, I hope,” Chain called. “You never know with Lucy.”
I stepped in beside Gatsby, forcing my expression into something normal, something steady, even as my pulse started to climb for a completely different reason.
What if this wasn’t random?
What if Mystic knew something?
And Ruby—God—she was walking straight into it, and I saw her before I heard her, moving toward us with the tray balanced in her hand, her posture straight, her face set into something that might’ve passed for calm if you didn’t know her, but I did, I knew exactly what I was looking at, and it had my chest tightening before she even got close.
“Ruby,” I said low, just enough for her to hear as she approached.
Her eyes flicked to mine, and I didn’t even try to hide it, didn’t soften it, just pushed the warning straight at her, don’t, don’t do this, don’t draw attention, and for a second, just one, I thought she understood, thought she might keep moving, pass by like nothing was wrong, like this was just another night and none of it meant anything more.
Then her gaze shifted.
Not to me.
To Zeynep.
And everything in her went tight.
“Sorry—coming through—” she said, her voice perfectly pitched, just loud enough to carry without pulling focus, but there was something underneath it now, something strained, something stretched too thin.
Her hand moved with the tray, but it wasn’t steady, not anymore, it was just slightly off, just enough that the balance shifted, the tray tipping in a way that wouldn’t be obvious unless you were watching for it, unless you were looking for the moment it went wrong.
The glasses slid.
And then everything unraveled at once.
Liquid spilled forward, cold and fast, soaking straight through the front of Zeynep’s top as the glasses clattered, the loud sound cutting clean through the noise around us, turning heads without anyone fully understanding what had just happened.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry—” Ruby rushed out immediately, too quick, too smooth, already reaching for napkins like she’d practiced it, like she’d known exactly how this would play out.
Zeynep startled, stepping back more in surprise than anything, her hands coming up instinctively as she looked down. “It’s okay—really—”
But Mystic didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
He just watched, his attention shifting first to Zeynep, quick and assessing, making sure she was fine, and then to Ruby, where it settled and stayed a second too long, not like someone brushing it off, not like someone who thought it was an accident, but like someone who had just gotten exactly what he’d been waiting for.
My stomach dropped.
And Ruby… Ruby had just handed him exactly what he needed.
I felt Gatsby shift beside me, his hand tightening at my back as his attention moved between Ruby and Mystic, something in him already picking up on it, already reading that something wasn’t right.
And that, that was worse than anything.
Because if Gatsby started to see it too… there was no stopping where that would lead.
***
“LET’S GO OUTSIDE for a minute,” Gatsby said, leading me down the hallway and out the back door, and my thoughts were already racing ahead of me, because I couldn’t stop wondering if this was it, if this was the moment he confronted me, if he’d picked up on what Mystic had just done and was about to push for answers I wasn’t ready to give.
I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before his hand closed around my wrist, not rough but firm enough that I stopped without thinking, my breath catching as he pulled me back just enough to get my attention without dragging me fully out of sight, the movement controlled in a way that made it feel deliberate rather than reactive.
“Evie,” he said, low and close, his voice hard in a way that told me he wasn’t letting this go.
I turned toward him, my pulse already climbing as I tried to get ahead of it. “Gatsby—”
“Something’s wrong,” he cut in, not mean but direct, his hand sliding from my wrist to my arm in a grounding hold that kept me there without making a scene, “and it’s not just tonight.”
I shook my head, forcing a breath that didn’t quite steady me as I tried to deflect. “I told you, it’s just been—”
“Don’t,” he said, quieter this time, but it stopped me just the same, because there was no edge in it, just certainty.
His eyes stayed on mine, searching, not accusing, not suspicious in the way I’d been bracing for, but focused, like he was trying to understand me instead of catch me, and that somehow made it worse.
“You don’t get like this for no reason,” he said, his voice dropping further, the edge gone now, replaced with something steadier, something that settled low in my chest whether I wanted it to or not. “Talk to me.”
That nearly broke me, because he meant it, not as a test or a trap but because he cared in a way that made it harder to lie than it should have been, my throat tightening as my fingers curled at my sides while everything I’d been holding back pushed up at once, pressing hard against the line I wasn’t supposed to cross.
“I just…” I started, my voice quieter now, less certain, my gaze dropping for half a second before I forced it back up to his, knowing if I looked away too long I wouldn’t say any of it.
He didn’t move, didn’t interrupt, just waited, and I felt it, that space he was giving me, that opening to step into something real instead of dancing around it like I had been all night.
“I don’t know how to say it,” I admitted finally, the words coming slower now, heavier as I let them out. “There’s… something going on.”
His jaw tightened slightly, not in anger but in focus as he leaned into it. “What kind of something?”
I hesitated, just for a second, then pushed through it because I knew if I didn’t say it now I wouldn’t say it at all.
“Ruby,” I said, my voice dropping without meaning to as my body shifted a fraction closer to his, like proximity could make it safer to speak. “She got me—”
The words cut off before I could finish, not because I chose to stop but because something shifted behind him, something I felt before I heard or saw it, a prickle along the back of my neck that pulled my attention past Gatsby’s shoulder without thinking.
And there he was.
Kane wasn’t hiding, wasn’t even pretending to, leaning just enough against the far edge of the building to pass for casual if you didn’t know better, but his gaze was already locked on me, fixed in a way that said he’d been waiting for it, waiting for me to look, like he’d been watching the entire time just for this moment.
My stomach dropped hard, the realization hitting all at once as his hand moved in a slow, deliberate motion that wasn’t obvious unless you knew what to look for, the shift of his jacket revealing just enough of the gun tucked into his waistband before his fingers brushed over it once in a movement that felt almost idle.
Not pulling it or flashing it, just shifting enough for me to see the gun at his side and understand exactly what he meant, the message settling in cold and ugly beneath my ribs like a reminder, a warning, and worse than either of those, a promise of what would happen if I didn’t keep my damn mouth shut.
My breath caught stinging and immediate, every word I’d been about to say dying in my throat before it could make it out, my chest tightening so fast it almost hurt as I forced everything back down.
“Evie?” Gatsby’s voice pulled me back, closer now, edged with concern, and when I looked at him again I could see it starting, the way his focus sharpened, the way his grip tightened just slightly on my arm as he read the shift in me even if he didn’t understand it yet.
I blinked, dragging my gaze fully back to him, forcing my expression into something that didn’t give anything away even as my pulse pounded hard enough I was sure he could feel it through the space between us. “What?” I said, too quickly.
His brows pulled together as he held my gaze. “You were saying something about Ruby,” he said, but his attention didn’t stay locked on me entirely, his instincts already pulling at him as his gaze flicked just slightly past me, following where mine had been a second too long.
Too close.
Before he could turn further, before his attention could land where it shouldn’t, I stepped in, my hand catching lightly at his shirt and pulling his focus back to me in a movement that looked natural but wasn’t. “It’s nothing,” I said quickly.
A lie.
And this time I knew he heard it, because something shifted in him, not suspicion, not yet, but something tighter, something more alert, frustration and concern sitting just under the surface along with something protective starting to edge in.
“Evie, if it’s something I can help with,” he said, quieter now but more intent, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to hold me there long enough to get the truth before it slipped away again.
I forced a breath, shaking my head again, softer this time as I pulled back just slightly. “It’s just… old stuff. It doesn’t matter.”
His jaw tightened at that, the words not landing the way I wanted them to. “If it’s making you upset,” he said, his voice laced with concern, “it matters.”
God, why did he have to be like this, why did he have to care in a way that made this harder instead of easier, especially when I could still feel Kane’s presence behind him, still feel that warning sitting heavy in my chest, choking off anything real before it could come out.
“It’ll blow over,” I said, creating just enough space between us to breathe while not fully breaking contact. “Really, don’t worry about me.”
He didn’t like that, I could see it, feel it in the way his posture shifted, in the way his attention stayed locked on me like he was weighing whether to push again, and for a second I thought he might, thought he might turn and look and see exactly what I was trying to keep from him.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his hand slid from my arm to my hand, holding it there for a second in a steady, grounding way that felt like a decision. “Alright,” he said finally, low and controlled, “but you don’t gotta deal with it by yourself. You get that, right?”
My chest tightened again, but for a different reason this time, because I already knew I wasn’t going to let that happen. “Yeah,” I said softly.
Another lie.
Because there was no way I was letting him anywhere near this, not if it meant putting him in Kane’s line of fire, not if it meant what would come next.
He watched me for another second, like he knew there was more, like he was choosing not to force it out of me right here in the middle of everything, before giving a small nod. “Just remember I’m here,” he said, then added, “You want me to come over tonight?”
I nodded, even as my gaze flicked past him again without meaning to, the space where Kane had been now empty even though I knew better, knew he wasn’t gone so much as finished making his point.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping into Gatsby, my arms wrapping around him, holding on a little tighter than I meant to. “I do.”
Because I couldn’t tell him the truth.
Not here.
Not now.