Chapter 11 #2
Bronwyn loves this bar. The crimson lighting mixed with her hair always made her look like a deadly firefly. Men would practically fall out of their chairs as she strutted past with her deliciously curvy body, and she made sure to flirt with every single one to get us drinks for the night.
Talon looks at me once more. “Shaw is letting you have some space. Today was intense, Mara, but he’s telling the truth. His finger slipped.”
I gaze at Talon’s hard face. I knew he would defend Shaw—I’m glad he would defend him—but I just don’t know if I believe either of them.
“He could have killed me,” I respond.
“And you could have killed him.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip.
Talon sets his drink down. “How many times have you two almost killed each other?”
I let the memories overtake my thoughts—there are many times we’ve been in fucked up situations where one of us could have died, but I would never let that happen. I’d kill myself before I’d let Shaw die. However, today felt different—darker—as if something else were at play.
I study my drink, swirling the ice cubes in the glass. I inhale deeply, holding my breath, and take another large gulp of the burning liquid.
I can’t help but grimace, and Talon laughs as I set the cup back down with a thud.
“It’s been a while since you had a drink, I imagine,” he yells over the loud music. “You struggled with that one.”
I pick up the glass again and drink it back in a gulp, leaving only a little left. My eyes water as the liquid fills my stomach, and I lean back in the chair, wiping my mouth—feeling victorious, yet slightly like I may vomit.
“I have some catching up to do, then.” I smile, “I’ll have another.”
Talon nods, slams his drink back to match mine, and stands up. “Well, it looks like I can be of service here, my lady. I’ll be right back.”
He moves through the growing crowd, towering over most who fill the space, and heads back to the bar to place another order for a drink that will probably make me hate myself tomorrow morning.
I sit back and prop my feet on the empty chair that Talon left behind.
I remove the cherry from my glass and pop it off the stem, the sweet juices from the cherry flowing into my mouth as I observe my surroundings—the mix of humans, angels, and demons mingling together—before I look back toward the railing.
I feel the effects of the first drink creep in, and my body relaxes.
One more drink, and the aches in my muscles will also begin to dull.
A man stands alone at the railing, leaning forward on his elbows to watch the crowd dance to the heavy beats of the music below.
The bass reverberates through my body, and with each thump, I feel my heart flutter.
I watch him intently, feeling as if the back of his head is both familiar and unsettling.
The crimson fog begins to rise around him, and his hands grip the railing so tightly that I fear he’ll snap the metal.
He turns slightly, and my entire body goes rigid.
I catch a glimpse of the wing of a large butterfly inked on the man's neck, and a surge of anger rises in my chest as the image of Shaw being strangled flashes in my mind in time with the strobe lights around me.
Crew Bannermin catches my stare, and a wicked smile blooms on his devilish face. He turns, setting his drink down, and moves in my direction. My body tenses.
No way he is…
Oh, fuck, yup, he’s walking this way.
Crew approaches with his hands tucked into his black jean pockets, his oversized white T-shirt hanging from his toned body. He removes his hat to place it backward on his head before leaning over my table. His silver eyes shine in the bar lights, and I curl my nose.
“Mara fucking Castten,” he says, his deep voice floating around me. “Back at last.”
“What do you want?” I lean forward.
“It’s been a while.”
“Not long enough.”
“You are hilarious,” Crew laughs. “Need a drink?”
“No,” I bite. “I don’t accept drinks from assholes.”
“Ouch, that’s hurtful.” He smiles, raising his brows. “But you do, I just watched you take one from that guy.”
“Talon?” I question.
He nods with a sly grin.
“He isn’t an asshole.”
“Well.” Crew shrugs. “He’s a guy, so probably.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “So, you agree with me? That you’re an asshole.”
He laughs and grabs my glass off the table, putting the brim to his mouth. I watch as the remaining clear liquid flows past his lips, and he slams the cup down.
“I’m not agreeing,” he responds.
I’m going to punch him.
“But either way, Mara, you’re shockingly out of a drink, and I’m offering.”
I place both hands on the table. “Get away from me, Bannermin. I am not in the mood.”
“Oh, so you are going to acknowledge me?” Crew boasts. “Here I thought I was invisible to you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Crew straightens back up, towering over me and the table, wiping his mouth with his thumb. “Are you always this grumpy?”
“I will kill you if you don’t leave me alone.”
He laughs wildly. “I’ll take that as a fuck yeah.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. I know all about you.” He places his hands back in his pockets. “It’s impressive, the blood on those pretty hands.”
“Good,” I bite back. “Then you should be afraid of me.”
“Afraid of you? Not a chance,” he responds, and I can hear amusement leaking from his mouth. “Attracted, however. Consider me practically drooling.”
“Please, go the fuck away.”
“I seriously hope you are less cranky when we see each other again. Maybe then I can get you a drink. Might help you relax.”
“We will not be seeing each other again,” I snap, feeling my blood boiling.
He steps backward, creating distance and never breaking his stare from mine. “Oh yes, we will, grump ass. I’m excited.”
“Get away from me.”
Crew huffs, moving farther away. “You look gorgeous tonight, by the way.”
“Dickhead,” I shout.
“Whatever you say, Mara.” He winks and turns away from me.
I fucking hate him.
“Let me know when you need that drink, little angel. I’ll be waiting impatiently.”
Crew strides back toward the railing and the stairs that lead into the pit.
He flashes another smile over his shoulder and moves deeper into the bar where he belongs.
With the liquid courage flowing through me, I begin to stand, as if I’m genuinely about to storm over and kick his ass.
I stop myself as Talon approaches, setting both cups on the table. He notices my face and leans in.
“Are you alright?” He places a hand on my shoulder.
I glance at him, seconds away from rushing toward the demon, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I cut my gaze back to the railing, but he’s gone. Crew Bannermin vanished before Talon had the chance to make his presence known.
“Why is Crew Bannermin here?” I ask harshly.
Talon follows my gaze and sits down, taking a large drink. “They’ve started coming here recently, and by ‘they,’ I mean him and his two lackeys. We stay away while they occupy the lower half of the bar. It’s more their style.”
“Shaw told me he hasn’t been here since I left?” I reply.
Talon shrugs. “It’s been a while. He probably just forgot.”
I rein myself in and sit back in my chair, wrapping my hands around the glass.
“Just ignore them, Mara.” Talon relaxes into his chair. “They are typically well-behaved. I don’t know why he would come up here, though. They never do.”
No matter what Talon says, I can’t ignore him.
Over the past two days, my hatred and interest in him have only intensified.
We sit in silence, watching the people around us chug their drinks, flirt, and stumble as the crowd grows and the night advances.
I keep my gaze fixed on the railing in case he appears again, but I know he’s below.
I can feel him, as if he’s trying to pull me over the railing.
As the top angel assassin, and with Crew being my demon counterpart, we’ve certainly had run-ins, and he knows exactly who I am.
The only thing he’s ever done for me is ruin my assignments for pure entertainment.
The demons have fewer rules and thrive in chaos, and although it looks fun at times, he’s a fucking pain in my ass.
One of the first times I saw Crew Bannermin was the night my father was murdered, and I feel in my soul that he had something to do with it.
It's an anger that I’ve carried for years, and I worry that the longer it settles into my soul, the more impossible it will be to control.
I continue to suck down the burning liquid and watch the railing as I place another cherry in my mouth, quickly eating it while clenching my fists around the cup.
Without realizing it, I squeeze, letting the anger drive my force, and the glass shatters around us.
Talon curses and stands as the remaining liquid splashes from the glass, soaking the table.
“Oh, shit,” I shout. “Ouch.”
“Your hand.” Talon points to the blood trickling from a cut on my palm, just above my thumb.
A few people around us watch and whisper things to their friends, and I grab a handful of napkins to apply pressure to the cut.
“I’ll go get some towels to clean this up,” Talon says, as he heads back to the bar for assistance.
I stand to ensure the liquid doesn’t soak my clothes, then remove the napkin from my cut to assess the damage.
Bright red blood continues to stain the towel, but the wound is already healing.
The deep slice on my palm begins to form back together, and I turn away from the humans to ensure I don’t show them something that would confuse them.
What I don’t need right now is to compel someone to forget an angel healing before their eyes.