Chapter 21
Hemlock
It has to be Jericho in my head that has me questioning everything I convinced myself to believe, but there's no arguing the facts.
I got to the bar just in time to see Zara lead that young woman to the back of the bar. She chatted with her first, smiling as if she was trying to convince the woman that whatever she was facing in the back would turn out okay.
My skin is still crawling like a million ants are shuffling over it when she spots me.
Somehow, caught in her line of sight, more doubt sets in, certain corners of my mind trying to convince me that there has to be a valid reason she would send a young woman back there to face God-knows-what at the hands of Tommy Wilkinson. There isn't always something nefarious about a young woman in a bar. Some would argue that lots of young women go into bars either looking for a good time or some trouble to get into.
I see her eyes dart in the direction of the hall before she hangs up her apron and makes her way in this direction.
My raging pulse begins to calm with every step she takes toward me, to the point that it beats a normal rhythm once she's right in front of me.
There are more people in the bar than normal, but I knew that the second I followed Tommy from his house a few miles up the mountain half an hour ago. For being nothing but a seedy bar owner, he sure does have enough money for a private gate and enough security cameras to put a big box retail store to shame. That's why it's weird that he doesn't have anything in the form of security here at the bar. Hell, he doesn't even have an alarm system to notify the police if someone kicks in the front door.
When her hand runs over my shoulder, I know I should've listened to that voice in my head telling me to stay away from her, the one who knows she's nothing but trouble.
I should've tied her to a chair that very first night I came in here and demanded she tell me what she knows. I have no doubt she would've easily disclosed any and all information she had. Now, everything is beyond fucked.
I catch sight of Jersey, the asshole who always whispers to her when I'm near, looking over his shoulder from the bar, and I want to rip his fucking eyes from his sockets with the way he frowns at the sight of her touching me. From the information I've gathered, the man is fucking married with kids at home. He shouldn't even be in here right now.
"I lied to you," she says over the din of folks getting ready to celebrate the New Year. "And I think I need to confess."
She dips her head before I can look into her eyes and attempt to try and guess at what she's going to tell me.
Jericho's "I told you so" echoes around in my head. Then, her other hand sweeps up my chest, and I'm locked in her gaze, nothing but the sounds of my slow pulse in my ears.
I should hear nothing but sirens, a volley of alarms telling me to get her out of here and take her to a place where there will be no witnesses when I have to do what I do best.
Having a connection to a trafficking ring and saying nothing, especially as a woman, is, as far as I'm concerned, lower than low. I know just from the time I've spent with her that she has more freedom than anyone who would be coerced into doing something illegal. If she's been lying.. .
"At first it was true," she says, her words barely loud enough for me to hear. "I just wanted to have a little fun, but I think I started to like you a little."
I blink down at her, waiting for her to tell me about her involvement, but it never comes. Instead, she chances a peek up at me, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she waits for my response.
I imagine myself kissing her, feeling the softness of her lips pressed against mine. I picture allowing myself to suck that lower lip into my mouth until she whimpers with need.
"What?" I manage instead.
"I like you."
"You like me?"
I attempt to take a step back, knowing I'm not hearing her right. Where's the lie? The confession I was certain was coming.
She clings to me for the briefest of seconds before her hands disentangle from my clothing, falling to her sides.
"I know." She huffs, throwing her hands up in frustration when I simply stare at her. "It's not very after-divorce hoe-phase of me, but there it is. I have feelings for you. I can't help it."
I open my mouth to speak but she shakes her head.
"I know what you're going to say," she says, her next words coming out in a deeper tone as if she's trying to capture my voice. "This can't happen, Zara. We were only meant to be fucking."
I fight the twinge in my cheek, knowing now isn't the best time to distract her with my need to smile.
When she speaks again, her voice is back to normal, making it a little easier to control my reaction.
"I know it's not ideal, but I also know that if you keep coming around, then I'm going to convince myself that maybe you like me a little too, but yeah I fucked up and caught feelings."
"That's your secret? That's what you've lied about?"
"It wasn't a lie when I said it," she mutters, looking down at her fingers as she tangles them together in front of her body .
Her face changes when she looks up at me, and I don't realize I'm smiling until the tip of one of her fingers traces the curve of my lip.
"That's fucking devastating," she says, stepping in closer to me.
The smile fades as quickly as it showed up, and instead of making her upset, she chuckles. I'll be damned if it isn't the most precious thing I've ever heard.
"I'm going to get a drink," she says, taking a step back, as if she somehow understands that I need a minute to myself to wrap my head around what she just told me. "You want one?"
I shake my head, hand reaching up to cup her face.
She bats my hand away. "That's the shit that's going to convince me that you like me. Quit being nice."
"I'll be mean to you later," I promise just as I drop my hand.
"You'll be here when I get back?" The concern in her voice claws at a soft spot inside of me, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes.
"Right here," I promise.
I watch the sway of her hips as she walks toward the bar until I sense someone else's attention where it shouldn't be. I look toward the bathroom to see a man in green, who I don't know, glaring a hole in my direction. Several people shuffle around, the bar growing more crowded, and when I try and find the guy again, he seems to have disappeared into thin air. I walk along the perimeter of the bar, but he's nowhere to be seen.
Then I spot Zara, looking forlorn, eyes shining with what appears to be fresh tears, and I'll be damned if she doesn't think I made her a promise and then left. Is this how she acts every time I have to ghost? Fuck me if that doesn't hit me in the chest like a shotgun blast.
"Hey," I say when I step up behind her.
She spins in my direction, relief in her eyes. "You moved."
"It's getting crowded in here. Wanna leave? "
She shakes her head, lifting a bottle of water to her lips and taking a long pull on it. Of course, I'm entranced by the way her throat works on a swallow.
When a couple gets up to dance, she rushes forward and takes a seat on one of the stools, patting the one beside her. I eye the stupid thing, knowing it's in one of the worst places, making it impossible to see both the hallway and the front door at the same time, but I take a seat anyway, loving the smile it brings to her face.
Music rolls from the jukebox, the atmosphere in the bar jovial and excited as we near midnight. But time still crawls by.
I notice the girl first, but instead of watching her leave the bar, I watch Zara's face when she spots her, wondering exactly what the relief I see flowing out of her body means when she sees the girl leave the bar.
I turn to face her, the question on my tongue when the bar erupts.
"Ten, nine, eight..."
Zara stands, the countdown lost in the roar of the crowd, and I stand in front of her.
I swear I see every resolution the woman has ever had reflected in her eyes, and if I allow myself a little ego, I'd say that some of them involve me.
I know it's going to happen. It's how you ring in the new year, with a kiss, a promise of sorts. For the very first time in my life, I want to make a promise. Not one of vengeance or retribution, but one of something more personal. I don't know how things will work out. I have no fucking clue if it's even possible to make things work between us, but as I lower my mouth to hers, I vow to fight for what this is.
I'm jostled, finding it nearly impossible to keep from toppling on top of and crushing Zara.
I turn to see who the fuck had the nerve to interrupt such an iconic moment in my life, and that's when I feel the sear of heat in my side.
I look over her to make sure she's okay and simultaneously reach for my side, my eyes drilling into my palm when I lift it and notice the blood on my hand.
"Owen?" Zara screeches, her voice barely audible over the cheering and spray of beer starting to coat everyone.
I shake my head, and pull her toward the door, doing my best to ignore the flash of green to my far left.
"We have to get out of here," I growl when she tries to dig her feet into the floor.
"We have to call the cops. What happened? Why is there so much blood?"
With one hand gripping her arm and the other covering the firearm in my waistband, I usher her toward the door, the pain in my side growing exponentially with every step I take.
She's damn near hysterical by the time we make it outside.
"Owen!" she yells as she tries to escape my grasp. "Stop! You're hurting me!"
The roar of vengeance is loud in my ears, and it only grows as I realize I'm hurt more than I initially assumed. I stumble a step, feeling the wetness of blood running down my thigh and pooling in my boot.
"This is fucking bad," I growl.
"We need to call the cops. Give me your phone."
"No cops," I growl. "Promise me, Zara. No fucking cops."
"Owen," she pleads, tears running down her cheeks.
"Jericho," I tell her, my eyes growing heavy. "Call Jericho. He'll know what to do."
I manage to pull my phone from my pocket and hand it over to her.
"Take this," she says, pulling her sweater over her head. "Apply pressure."
I want to cuss her, unclothing in an area where anyone can walk out and see, and then I realize the insanity of that.
"We need to get out of sight," I urge, curling my fingers to get her to follow me into the shadows.
I still don't know where the man is who knifed me, and more scarily, I don't know why I was stabbed in the first place.
"Call Jericho," I manage once again before I drop to my ass on the ground beside my bike.
I pull my gun out of my waistband, needing it close in order to defend her if the man who stabbed me had the intention of getting her, but then my head swims with dizziness.
I only have a second to open my mouth and warn her before my vision fades to black.