Chapter 7 #2
Koen, the Mentalist, and Levi, the Illusionist. They run one of the biggest magic shows in the city, pulling off mind-bending tricks and dazzling the crowds with sleight-of-hand.
And Levi? He’s known for working with pigeons, using them in his performances like they’re more than simply street birds.
I glance at the bird perched on the gravestone.
Shit.
Koen stands closest to me, his shoulder-length, wavy brown hair matching his beard.
His dark brown eyes are intense and calculating as he sizes me up beneath furrowed brows, skepticism written across his face.
The media always paints him as the stoic one, and he certainly looks the part, dressed in dark jeans and a worn leather jacket.
However, he doesn’t exude the brooding aura they love to hype up.
Instead, his energy feels more controlled, watchful.
My gaze wanders to Levi, who is the complete opposite of his twin.
His brown eyes are lit up, his broad smile disarming and playful.
His shimmery shirt is open, revealing a tattooed chest—most notably, a large mourning dove inked across his pecs.
His shoulder-length blond hair falls messily around his face, and he wears more jewelry than I do, including snakebite piercings and a septum ring.
His glitter rivals mine, with his carefree air that practically screams party.
“Uh… hi,” I stammer, still processing the fact that the fucking Lane twins are standing in front of me. And with that, the pieces click together in my head—pieces that should’ve connected long before now, but my grief had clouded my senses.
Rose Lane.
Lane, as in the magic twins. Lane, as in Oscar Lane, the legendary magician who made headlines when he died three months ago. The same Oscar Lane who’d been plastered all over the news after his heart attack, leaving a legacy behind that stretched far beyond Vegas.
I glance at the gravestone next to the one I was sitting at before, and my heart sinks as I take in how fresh it looks. I noticed there was a new one when I arrived, but I hadn’t read the engraving. I hadn’t been here in months before tonight.
Three months.
Fuck.
Levi’s smile widens, his brow raising. “Why are you drinking with my underage sister?” His question is lighthearted, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that makes my skin prickle.
“I can’t really tell… is this peer pressure?
Or is she actually participating? ’Cause, Rosie girl, I gotta tell you…
you’re so not twenty-one. And no, angel years don’t count. ”
“I-I’m so sorry,” I sputter as the wine and shock hit me all at once. My balance wavers, and I feel myself swaying.
This isn’t just embarrassing, it’s a disaster.
Could they get me arrested for this?
Is this like… trespassing? Or worse, providing alcohol to a minor, even if she’s dead?
Koen steps forward, concern softening the skepticism in his eyes. “Are you okay? Should we call someone? The police?”
I freeze, but Levi chuckles, shaking his head with an easy grin. “Oh, shut up. She’s grieving, brother. Had a little too much, maybe, but she’s not causing any trouble. You’re not some kind of stalker, right?”
“Not a stalker,” I blurt out quickly, rushing to defend myself. “And I haven’t had too much.”
Koen raises an eyebrow. “If you’re not a stalker, then you’re at the wrong fucking grave. So… maybe it was a little too much,” he mutters, his gaze scanning me once again, staying on the empty bottle of wine in my hand.
Levi’s smile fades as he watches me squirm under their gazes. “You sure you’re okay, girl? Should we call a friend?”
I have to fight back a snort.
Yeah, let’s call Hottie.
Oh wait, I don’t even have his number.
“No, thank you. I’m fine. Really,” I say, my words a little unsteady. My head is swimming, and embarrassment is a heat rising up my neck. “I’m sorry for the confusion… I don’t need help. I’ll… go.”
“What’s your name?” Levi asks as I take a step closer to walk past them, making me hesitate.
“Glitter.”
Why did I tell him that?
Levi’s eyes light up with amusement. “Oh, we’re using stage names? Nice, nice, okay. Mmm.” He throws a sideways glance at his brother. “Hey, why don’t we have stage names? Anyway, nice to meet you, Glitter. My friends call me Dove.”
“Levi…” Koen grumbles a warning under his breath as if he’s not happy that his twin shared that with me.
“This is Koen. He doesn’t have a nickname… kinda boring like that. You could call him Ko, though. I do sometimes, but it’s not that exciting, is it?”
I manage a smile, trying to push through my growing discomfort. “It was nice meeting you. Sorry again. Please don’t call the police.” I try to slip past them, but my foot catches on some pebbles, and I stumble forward.
Koen’s hand shoots out, steadying me with a firm grip. “Careful.” His fingers wrap around the neck of the wine bottle in my hand, effortlessly taking it from me. “Don’t need you falling and hurting yourself on the shards.”
His touch is brief, but as his wrist brushes against my hand, a familiar sensation takes over—automatic, instinctual.
My fingers move before my mind can catch up, slipping beneath the leather strap of his watch and undoing the clasp with ease.
It’s muscle memory, and it happens so fast that even I’m surprised by it.
My breath catches in my throat as the watch slides off his wrist and into my palm. I don’t have time to think, only to react, so I straighten up, my cheeks flushing with heat as I quickly mumble, “Thanks,” barely able to meet his eyes.
Without another word, I turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier as the weight of what I’ve done sinks in.
My fingers tremble as I pull out my phone to order an Uber for my shift at Euphoria, but when I slip the phone back into my pocket and glance down, my thumb traces the polished surface of the Patek Philippe nestled in my palm.
Holy shit. I stole Koen fucking Lane’s watch.
The rush hits me hard, a dizzying blend of exhilaration and panic that has my pulse racing.
Maybe tonight wasn’t just another mistake. Maybe it was a sign. A nudge to wake up, stop drifting, and start taking back control.
Or maybe it’s just another fuck-up I’ll add to the pile.
Either way, it’s mine now.