5. Chapter five
Chapter five
Max
“ H ow the fuck do you know my name?” Kieran narrows his eyes as he tries to glare at me again. It’s almost cute.
I watch him through the curl of smoke drifting from my cigarette. Want to say I’m surprised by the fight in his tone, but I’m not. Not after watching him for weeks now. He’s far from the cowering fool I dragged off the docks.
I kinda like it, the fire in his eyes. It defies the blue of the ocean his eyes remind me of.
The way it burns quickly, replacing that flicker of something else I just saw there.
Not fear, like so many give me. Not contempt either.
No… it was something different. Something I will not acknowledge. Not yet.
A dark chuckle slips out of me. “Relax, Kieran. Me knowing your name is the least of your concerns.”
His jaw tightens. “My concern right now is that you broke into my room and know things about me you shouldn’t.”
“It’s not exactly breaking in if you don’t lock your balcony.”
“How do you know my name?” he repeats, sharper this time. “My first name, yeah, you could’ve heard that anywhere. But my last…” His hand lifts, fingers brushing the silver tag against his chest.
My gaze follows, caught for a beat. The tag gleams against the shirt I left him. Fits him better than I expected. He fills it out, lean muscle showing through, making him look older, steadier. He’s like I suspected, strong under the surface.
And I’m not the only one noticing. My eyes flick past him, catch the waitress at the far end of the bar, making her own orders since he’s tied up with me.
She throws me the look everyone else does, scared and twitchy, ready to bolt.
But when her gaze slides back to the mop of loose golden curls on his head and then his ass? Different. Assessing. Hungry.
Yeah. Definitely not the only one noticing.
His brows draw together as I take another drag, suspicion tugging at his features. “Did you…”
I tilt my head, exhale smoke slowly. “Did I what?”
He scrubs a hand down his face, muttering, “Did you read my tag?”
“And how would I have done that?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t there documentation at the registration office? I’d assume you’d have access.”
I cock my head, let my smirk cut sharp. “Well, that would’ve been easier than scaling three stories to look at it while you were asleep.”
His cheeks color and he blinks. “Wait.” He looks dumbfounded, searching the room with his eyes but not finding any answers there whatsoever. It makes my lips tuck up in a half smirk. “What? You sneaked a look while I was asleep?”
“Sneaked a look, watched you for a couple of hours… same difference. But that’s not important right now.”
“The hell it isn’t.” His voice spikes, fire flaring in his eyes again. “You creep into my room to read my tag while I’m…” His gaze flicks to my chest, to the chain gleaming there. “Yours is gold.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Then he does something I don’t expect. He reaches out. Fingers hovering, hesitating just long enough for his eyes to dart to mine, searching for permission he shouldn’t even think he has.
And I don’t fucking move, don’t respond, as the entire bar seems to hold their breath. The few conversations stutter, laughter dies down. They’re watching, waiting to see if I’ll snap, if blood will hit the floor.
No one comes close to me. Not like this. Not without blood spilled first. Tass maybe, but even she knows where the line is, when to back the hell off.
Not this boy. No. He doesn’t back off. His fingers brush the tag, then catch the edge of the metal, tilting it just enough to read. Those ocean eyes skim over the words etched there, so close I swear I feel the whisper of his breath on my chest.
“Immune…” he breathes.
I arch a brow, force my voice steady. “You didn’t already figure that out?”
His gaze doesn’t lift, doesn’t answer, still tracing the letters.
“Your name is Maximos Skarlatos.”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” I drawl as I finger the cigarette. “Been answering to it my whole life.” But the sound of my full name in his mouth makes something twist in me. Something dark, dangerous, and not unpleasant. I don’t mind it when it comes from his lips. Not at all.
He cocks his head as he lets the tag go, gaze finding mine again. Curious, bold, unfazed. “You’re from the former Greek isles?”
“You’re educated,” I say, more surprised than I mean to sound. Most here wouldn’t know Greece from godsdamn Gondor.
Yeah. Tass made me sit through those old movies a hundred times, burning them into my skull. I can’t wait for the day those scavenged DVDs finally give out, scratched to shit, so I never have to hear her swooning about elves and warriors again.
Sure, Aragorn has moves, mine are just better.
His eyes follow the cigarette as I bring it to my lips, track the ember flare, the curl of smoke I push out slow. He blinks, that flush reappearing. “Uh. Well, yeah… my mom tried. I used to read a lot.”
And there it is again, that fire, that stubborn streak under the nerves.
I nod once. “To answer your question… yeah. I’m from the Greek Isles. At least that’s what they suspect.”
His brows lift. “You don’t know for sure?”
“Not like anyone keeps family trees anymore,” I mutter, not mentioning that I was found as a babe, abandoned at the docks at the mainland, a piece of paper with my name on it stuffed between the blankets. “Doesn’t matter. Home’s long gone either way.”
He studies me, head tilted, like he’s trying to piece me together from scraps. Very bold, considering most people don’t even hold my gaze.
Look at me, spilling my past. Shit. This is not why I’m here. Tass might joke about me sniffing around him, but I do need him for something. I’m not here to bare my scars, I’m here to use what he knows.
And he must see the shift in my face, how I’m closing off, because his tone drops and he changes the subject. “Why do you need my help in particular for this so-called investigation?”
Well, at least he’s not still bitching about me breaking into his room. Progress and all.
I lean back on the stool, stub the smoke out hard before I speak. “Let’s just say I don’t like loose ends. And you kind of owe me.”
He glares, stubborn little bastard, and his voice sharpens. “I could’ve been somewhere else if you hadn’t butted in at the docks. Not staring down the fate of getting fucked in the ass every night.”
My brows lift. Didn’t expect the crude honesty. Then my face ices over when the weight of his words sinks in. “Did Joyeus violate your underage status? Did she send men to your room?”
His eyes widen at the wrath in my tone, the look I pin him with, something between fury and a fucking promise. “What? No. Fuck no. She hasn’t. I just meant… in the future.”
I throw back a long swallow of my drink, the burn tearing down my throat, and set the glass down hard enough to rattle against the wood. The storm in my chest settles by a fraction before I speak again.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” My gaze cuts into him, holds him there. “I need you because you have access here. To the rooms and the people. Always tinkering with that little medical kit of yours. Fixing cuts, stitching flesh. No one notices you slipping in and out.”
His lips part, shock flickering across his face. “How do you know—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”
The corner of my mouth twitches, the closest thing I’ve had to a smile in weeks. “Good, he’s learning.”
He stares at me for a beat, eyes dropping to my mouth, face warm, then…
fucking bails. He’s grabbing orders, moving down the bar like he can outrun the heat between us.
I track his movements anyway. The way his fingers push his golden hair back when it falls in his face.
The way he bites his full bottom lip when he’s focused on pouring a drink.
The way he keeps glancing my way, cheeks going red when he realizes I’m still watching.
Always watching.
Fuck this bullshit three ways to hell . I shouldn’t have gone to him when I got stuck digging into Joyeus. Maybe Tass was right, I do have a thing for the bartender. For his lips at least. And the eyes. Maybe the ass.
Nope. Not happening. Not this. This doesn’t happen to me. Never has.
I throw the rest of my drink backward, welcome the burn down my throat, and slam the glass on the counter again.
Maybe I should just fucking visit Noura, irritate her a bit, let her toss me into the Pit for a night.
Feed me to Walkers until this fucking hunger in my chest is nothing but blood and bone dust.
But no. That’s the coward’s way out. Too easy. Too quick.
“So what’s this investigation exactly? Does it have something to do with this place?” he asks when he finally comes back, voice edged like he knows he kept me waiting.
He’s curious at least. Another step in the right direction.
“Let’s just say your handler isn’t as pure and polished as she looks to the outside world.”
He snorts, sharp and bitter. Then his gaze darkens. “Oh, she’s not pure at all. Everyone here knows it. I’d gladly help bring her down. Most of us would.”
I tear off a piece of bread, drag it through olive oil and sea salt, shove it between my teeth, and wave for him to go on.
“What’s in it for me?” he presses.
Simple enough. “Your freedom.”
His eyes go wide, mouth falling open. “What?”
“You heard me. Your freedom. My commander sits on the council. He has the power to grant it.”
I expect him to jump, to latch on. Instead, he swallows hard, something fierce flickering in those ocean eyes.
“I have conditions,” he says, steady, sharper than before. “If I do this—if I help you—then the others need to be safe too. Can this place change? Can it become somewhere only the willing stay in these jobs? Where no one gets dragged into this life without a choice?”
My brows rise. Didn’t expect that kind of backbone. I lean in, elbows on the bar, let my voice drop low enough only he can hear.
“You want to bargain with me, pretty? Fine. Here’s the truth: nothing on this island changes overnight.
But if you give me what I need, if you help me nail Joyeus to the wall, then we get leverage.
Leverage means power. Power means I can push.
Maybe not for everyone all at once—but for you?
For the ones close enough to matter?” My grin cuts sharp, dark.
“Yeah. I can make sure they’re safe. I can make sure you’re safe. That’s the deal.”
His bravado dips, just for a second. Ocean eyes flick past me, toward the waitress collecting a tray at the far end of the bar.
Toward the boy stocking shelves, knuckles scraped raw.
He lowers his voice, almost a whisper. “You’ve seen how they treat us, right?
How hard they push? Some of them barely make it through the week.
They keep us upright with coin and chemicals, and when that runs out, they just… replace us.”
Replace us.
There it is. The slip I was waiting for. Proof of what I already suspected. My hunch in asking him pays off. It’s confirmation that Joyeus treats her staff like coin to be spent and tossed aside, to be replaced by others. But who? This is exactly the kind of leverage Roe needs.
“Good,” I say, pushing my empty glass forward. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Be ready at noon.”
He actually fucking pouts. Lips pressing, eyes narrowing like I’ve just told him I’m dragging him into the Pit. “Where?”
I can’t help the grin that curls my mouth. I pull another silver coin from my tin and set it beside the one already on the counter. More than enough for the drink and bread. Too much. But that pout? Yeah, it deserves a tip.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur, low enough only he can hear. “I’ll find you.”
His spine stiffens, cheeks coloring as he glares.
“Stay out of my room, Max.”
I get up off the stool to leave, light another smoke, and let the corner of my mouth twitch. “No promises.”