Chapter 19 #2
Tayce nods in agreement, for once not a single slither of sarcasm on her face. My gaze narrows on Rory’s wedding ring. It winks back at me purely to taunt me.
“Well, you didn’t do that. You met Angelo, and that was that. Your fingers brushed, sparks flew, and now you’re living happily ever after with your Prince Charming.” I sniff, suddenly feeling defensive. “Now you live in a house so huge you need a compass to navigate it.”
Rory steals a shifty glance at Tayce, who grabs my other hand and takes over. “Yes, but Rory is a peasant. Hers is a rags-to-riches story. But you, you’re already a princess! And you know what princesses do?”
“Hang around in an ivory tower brushing their long blonde hair, waiting for their Knight in Shining Armor to rescue them?”
Rory laughs. “No, not that princess. The other one. The one who had to kiss all those frogs before she met her prince.”
I chew on my bottom lip, my stomach twisting. I know they’re right, of course. Though they couldn’t torture me into admitting it. I must be the only twenty-one-year-old on the planet who’s never been on a date, let alone been kissed.
They don’t understand I can’t go around kissing frogs to find my prince.
Because I learned the hard way: I’m hardwired to be incapable of telling the difference.
Instead of biting, I ignore them. I ignore the “out of use” sign Eddie slapped on the dishwasher too and load it up with beer glasses, then bump it shut with my hip.
Dammit. Speaking of signs. I forgot to check that these out-of-towners are adhering to the rules of my own.
Chest tightening, I glance up at my “No More Than Two Drinks If You’re Driving” sign above the bar to make sure it’s still there, then spin around and frantically count the empty glasses scattered around on tables.
Okay, so the guy fiddling with a cigar has barely made a dent in his first beer, probably because it tastes like dishwater. The one who snapped at me is only halfway through his fancy cocktail—probably because I made it wrong—and David and the two others are all just starting their second drinks.
Phew.
I grab my notepad and pen and head outside.
It’s the kind of blistery December night that makes you want to cancel all plans. The rain has slowed but the wind hasn’t, and the moment the door swings shut behind me, it whips at my ponytail and scorches my ears. I curse myself for not tugging on my coat.
Hugging my notepad to my chest for warmth, my gaze slides over to the gravel where the harsh glow of the neon sign bleeds into black.
The parking lot isn’t usually this dark, but last week, all the streetlamps shattered.
Eddie said it must have been from the explosion, but I think it’s more likely to have something to do with his rant about rising electricity prices and the sledgehammer I saw in the back office.
I step into the abyss. When the ground transitions from slippery cement to rough gravel under my heels, I know I’ve reached the start of the parking lot, so I use the flashlight on my cell to see.
The light washes over shiny cars with fancy logos and leather seats, and I quickly scribble down the license plates.
Having worked here for nearly a year, I’ve come to be real good at guessing what vehicle belongs to which out-of-towner.
The Bentley has cigar man all over it, and the Aperol Spritz dude definitely has the gumption to park his four-wheeler across two disabled bays.
When I write down the plate for the Toyota, a sad smile tugs at my lips.
I just know it belongs to Kind Eyes, which is nice, because this model was voted the safest in the US last year.
Such a green flag.
And such a shame his name is David.
I’m crossing over to the sleek sedan parked in the farthest corner of the lot when my torch cuts out.
I frown. Tap my cell screen.
Nothing.
What the hell? The battery can’t be dead, I’ve had it on charge behind the bar for the last thirty minutes. But now that I think about it, the plug sockets probably use too much electricity for Eddie’s liking too.
The night swallows my sigh. As it snatches the tendrils of my icy breath too, my shoulders stiffen.
I scan the horizon and strain my eyes, waiting with bated breath for the prickle of awareness or the glimpse of a shadow shifting within a shadow.
Even the mere thought the Boogeyman is out there watching me, makes my pulse throb and my breasts ache.
Christ. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but now I’m afraid I’m looking forward to encountering the monster that lurks within it.
Disappointment and self-loathing hang bitter in my chest. I finish scribbling down license plates with a tremble in my hand and head back to the bar.
As I step onto the patio, the door opens and Kind Eyes appears. He doesn’t fill the doorframe like Gabriel does. Doesn’t fill me with the same heat either.
He feels safe.
He makes me feel nothing at all.
Which is why I bite down on my pen, rip the cap off, and grab his hand. “You’re going to take me on a date,” I say, writing my cell number on his skin. “Somewhere romantic. Got it?”
When I look up at him, an amused smirk plays on his lips. “Yes ma’am.” He admires the number on the back of his hand as I brush past him and stomp back inside.
The dark follows me in too.
I fear all the frogs in the damn world couldn’t drag it away from me.
I slide a fresh beer over the bar. “So, what’s it like working for Rafe?”
Penny scrunches up her nose. “It’s like stepping on Legos repeatedly for eight hours a day, then having to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to do it all again.”
I bite back a smile. The flush creeping up her neck at the mere mention of his name tells a different story.
I’m not being dramatic when I say Penelope Price is the coolest girl I’ve ever met.
She’s wedged between Rory and Tayce, flipping through the deck of cards with one hand and twirling her beer bottle with the other.
She’s moved on from bad-mouthing her new boss to showing Rory how she can beat him at Visconti Blackjack, and though I’m too stupid to know what card counting means, I can’t help but hang onto every word that slides out of her mouth.
“All right.” Penny shuffles the cards with the finesse of a magician. “Don’t worry about being subtle, because chances are, your brother-in-law will be too busy staring at himself in the closest shiny surface to notice what you’re doing …”
Her arrival tonight was unexpected. Sure, I invited her when I’d bumped into her at the hospital after the port explosion, but I never thought she’d actually come.
I assumed she’d have way more important things to do, like hang out with the likes of Nico Visconti at one of those invite-only bars in Devil’s Hollow or something.
She grew up on the coast too, but went to the other, less desirable school in Devil’s Dip.
The one filled with girls who hiked up their skirts and hung out with older boys until way past curfew.
Even back then, I remember being in awe of her anytime we crossed paths.
With her flame-red hair and an attitude just as fiery, it was like she jumped right over the awkward ugly-duckling phase and straight into being a full-blown woman with opinions and boundaries and perfect skin.
It’s no wonder she skipped town when she was eighteen. No doubt her return is just a pit stop before she heads back out to somewhere cooler than the coast.
The rest of the shift flies by in a blur of watered-down beer and complicated math sums. Thirty minutes before closing, I start my usual wind-down routine, which includes yawning loudly, glancing at my invisible watch, and nudging at stubborn feet with a soaking-wet mop.
Thankfully, even the drunkest of locals take the hint, and by the time Angelo Visconti strolls through the door with ten minutes to go, my friends are the only patrons left, and I’m already counting the cash in the register.
I stop and watch as his gaze finds Rory in half a heartbeat.
He’s behind her in less than three, his hand around her throat, and his mouth nestled in the top of her bun.
I don’t hear what he whispers in her hair, but it doesn’t matter, because when Rory turns as pink as my sweater, I feel it burning through my veins in the way only jealousy can.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t look away. And not just because the PDA is a fascinating glimpse into a foreign world, but because now I’ve seen how Gabriel commands the dark, I’m looking at his brother in a new light.
It doesn’t make sense. Gabriel, Angelo, and Rafe were born to the same parents, they lived the same childhood. They’re woven from the same DNA, and yet, somewhere, somehow, Gabriel’s strand frayed and veered off path into the shadows.
I can’t understand why he’s scarred while his brothers are suited. How they’re smooth small talkers, yet Gabriel doesn’t even crack a smile.
I only tear my eyes away when Penny shrugs on her coat and scoops up her purse.
“Same time next week?”
“If my asshole boss doesn’t schedule me for a shift, sure.” She glances at Angelo and grimaces. “Oops, don’t tell him I said that.”
“Nothing he doesn’t already know,” he states with dry amusement.
She dismisses his offer of a ride home and saves her number in my cell before heading out into the night.
“And what about my ride?” Tayce slugs the dregs of her beer and slams it on the bar. “Is it the same hottie who drove me home last week?”
It’s not, but she reapplies her lipstick anyway, just in case her new driver is cute too. As the door slams shut behind her, Angelo reaches for Rory’s hand, but she snatches it away.
“And what about my ride?” She mocks sweetly. “Is Gio driving me home? Is he going to brush my teeth and tuck me into bed too?”
Angelo frowns. “Gio?”
“Uh-huh.” She glares at the shadowy figure by the tree and sniffs. “He’s been following me around all day. Your orders, according to Gabe.”
Now Angelo’s glaring at Gio too. Then he slowly turns, and suddenly, he’s glaring at me.
I freeze, a fistful of fives in my hand, then glance over my shoulder at the liquor wall. Surely, he can’t be looking at me like that. Like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve pissed him off.
Like he’s his brother.
I swallow the lump in my throat and flash him a nervous smile. He doesn’t return it and instead jerks his chin to the door, his eyes still latched onto mine. “Gio, escort my wife to the car. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay, bye Wren,” Rory chimes, oblivious to the shift in the air. “Love you. Text me when you get home.”
The slam of the door rattles through me. I stare after her, a desperate hole burning in my chest before the silence becomes too uncomfortable to ignore.
I drag my gaze back to Angelo, wide-eyed and waiting.
The floorboards groan under leather loafers as he approaches the bar. He palms it and pins me with an even stare.
“Stay away from my brother.”
His words reach over and steal the breath from my lungs.
It’s an order, not a threat, but my body can’t tell the difference.
A dim spark at the base of my skull tells me to protest, to scoff, to ask him what on earth he’s talking about, but when he raises an expectant brow, I’m too stunned to do anything but nod.
“Good.” His shoulders drop with the release of a breath, and relief softens the hard lines of his face. “Can I drive you home?”
“No, thank you,” I whisper.
He nods. “Stay safe, Wren.”
I stand there, paralyzed, tracking his every step toward the exit. I find a voice when he reaches for the door, though I’m not entirely sure it belongs to me.
“I thought he wasn’t as scary as he looks?”
Angelo pauses, then turns his head just enough to reveal the hard set of his jaw.
“He’s worse.”
The door swings shut just as another raindrop plops into the bucket.