Chapter 8 #2
“Hey—” She skidded to a stop in front of me and bent forward, her hands braced on her hips, breath coming out in short bursts. Her bright blonde hair had fallen slightly out of place, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks.
“I heard—you won—congra…tulations,” she managed to huff.
That same slimy feeling I got when I watched Manshu pass the finish line had me looking away from her.
“It’s not like I won,” I said, my tone dry as I made a show of looking around her. “And where the hell is Nathan?” My gaze snapped back to her. “And what are you doing here?”
She took a deep breath and straightened, waving her hand in dismissal like I was being ridiculous.
“I’m out with some work friends. No biggie.”
My arms folded across my chest as I raised a brow, letting the silence sit just long enough to make the question clear without repeating it.
Eventually, her eyes rolled upward in exaggerated annoyance before she stepped closer and looped her arm through mine, squeezing like she could physically drag me out of whatever mood I was in.
“Why are you such a worrywart?” she huffed. “I’ve been to this club a hundred times—even without Nathan. I’m fine.”
“Famous last words after you're dumped in an alleyway and murdered,” I grumbled.
She stopped so abruptly it yanked me with her. My feet planted as she turned toward me, her grip tightening on my arm.
“Nathan had to meet his maker tonight,” she shot back, her voice sharper now. “And you—”
She gestured at me, frustration flickering across her face.
“—you won’t go out anymore because of that one thing at the Track.”
Her voice wavered just slightly at the end, her expression tightening as she looked at me. Something softer, vulnerable, slipped through the cracks before she added, “You know I don’t like being alone at my place for too long.”
The words landed, and I immediately felt like shit. The way her shoulders held just a little too stiff, the way her fingers stayed hooked into my arm like she needed the contact.
Damn it.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, the irritation draining out just as fast as it had come.
“Shit, Lark…” I let out a breath, my posture loosening as I looked back at her. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
The excuses sat on my tongue. Work. Exhaustion. Anything. But none of it was something I could actually say.
“I’m just—” I cut myself off, then shook my head with a short, helpless shrug as I admitted in full honesty, “I’m an asshole.”
She didn’t laugh or brush it off like she usually would. Her grip on my arm stayed, fingers pressing just slightly into my sleeve before easing again, and I knew why.
Her place wasn’t just an apartment; it was a childhood memory she couldn’t fully shake. The same walls, the same space where her mom had brought in strangers, trading blood for cash. No clinic. No safety net. Just whoever showed up at the door with enough money.
The trouble with that was you never knew what kind of supe was about to walk in… and she’d grown up right in the middle of it.
I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders drop.
“Alright,” I said, softer this time, shifting my weight and lightly nudging her with my elbow. “What are we doing tonight?”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, the tension easing just a fraction as she searched my face.
“Really?”
For just a second, I could see the little girl she used to be shining down at me. The one whose fingers would grip the doorknob that wouldn’t turn all night long. The child who heard her mom’s warning on the other side of her locked bedroom door. Don’t come out. No matter what you hear.
She told me about the sixteen years of nights locked behind a door, listening to all the screams, cries, or moans until she fell asleep.
Waiting for that familiar click of the lock turning, signaling that she could be free, then they would go to the diner down the street for breakfast since her mom had the money.
That was until the morning that her mom never unlocked the door. She cried and begged for her mom to open it for most of the day. She eventually broke it down herself, only to find her mom on the floor, blood pooled around her, eyes vacant, her pale hand clutching two hundred dollars.
I’d told her to leave that place. Pack up. Go somewhere, anywhere else.
She had shrugged as her eyes slid away from me, changing the subject to how the apartment was in the only rent-controlled building in the territory. Any time I pushed her on the subject, she would snap back at me that this was her home and she knew nothing else.
So instead, she filled her nights with fun and excitement, always staying out until exhaustion dragged her home, until she could drop into bed and be asleep before her memories had time to haunt her.
Then Nathan, her knight in stalker armor, showed up and swept her off her feet. That's when she started to spend her nights at his place instead of her own.
Now, standing in front of me, she read the look on my face and tried to brush it off again.
“It’s fine,” she said, flashing a quick, crooked smile. “I know you didn’t mean anything.”
Her fingers tightened around my arm just a little before loosening again. My gaze dropped to the pavement as shame filled my soul.
“Come have a drink with me,” she said, already tugging me toward the club behind her.
My head snapped up as I remembered Manshu was going to be there soon. That thought alone made my feet lock in place. I shook my head, pulling back just enough to stop her forward momentum.
“No.”
“Come on,” she whined, giving my arm another tug, but I didn’t budge.
The music from the club thudded behind her, lights flashing through the open doors as bodies moved inside.
“No,” I repeated, firmer. Nothing good was waiting for me in there tonight.
She huffed, then shifted tactics, stepping back just enough to face me fully. Her expression changed—less playful, more focused.
“You told me we could do what I wanted tonight, and I want to celebrate your win.” That damn award-winning pout she’d mastered as a kid followed it, her bottom lip pushing out just enough to make it hard to ignore.
I pointed at her, narrowing my eyes. “That’s not fair, and you know it.” Rolling my shoulders at my own discomfort, I gave her a small shrug. “And it’s not my win.” Even though he’d needed my brain and hands to make it happen.
“Olivia.”
My name landed sharp, and I stilled. She didn’t use my full first name unless she meant it.
“You made that happen.” She locked eyes with me, making sure I heard each word clearly. “You don’t get to pretend it’s not yours.”
Before I could argue, she hooked both arms through mine and started pulling me along, steering me away from the supe club and down the sidewalk.
“You’re having one drink with me,” she added, moving with purpose. “And that’s final.”
“Lark, I don’t want to go to another supe—”
“There’s a human bar,” she cut in quickly, not even slowing down. “Right around the corner.”
She glanced back at me, a quick grin flashing.
“Well, mostly human. Most supes don’t want to go in unless they have a human partner.”
“Or they're looking for one,” I casually added, which earned me the stink eye.
How much harm could a mostly human bar be? I let her drag me along.
The building came into view. The old, worn down wooden sign above the door was hanging slightly crooked, the name—Rokwood Bar—barely readable under the chipped paint.
Without hesitation, she pulled the door open and stepped inside, dragging me with her.
The space was smaller than most clubs, tighter, warmer, but that would make sense with all the human bodies filling up the space.
Along one side stood a long wooden bar. Behind it, two bartenders moved as fast as they could, filling orders for the crowd pressed around it. A handful of uneven tables sat scattered through the room, their chairs mismatched and worn.
Booths lined two other walls, their seats cracked but occupied. In the far corner, a small dance floor flickered under a spinning disco ball, light scattering across the room in shifting patterns.
A few supes lingered here and there, but they stood out—paired off, tucked close to their human companions, not dominating the space the way they did everywhere else.
The tightness in my chest eased as I let out a slow breath. Lark didn’t give me time to think about it.
She wove us through the crowd, slipping between bodies until we found two open stools at the end of the bar. We slid into them just as a bartender passed, and she rattled off our order before I could even open my mouth.
Surprisingly, the drinks came fast. Grabbing hers immediately, she turned toward me with a grin as she lifted it.
“To my ridiculously smart, amazing, mechanic best friend,” she said, her voice bright as the glass hovered in the air between us. “This is just the beginning.”
Our glasses clinked, the sharp sound barely cutting through the low hum of voices around us. Lark beamed at me, her grin wide and expectant, while I forced my lips into something that resembled a smile and took a sip.
The drink burned just enough to distract me.
She kept watching me over the rim of her glass, waiting for me to match her energy, but I didn’t. My fingers tightened slightly around the glass instead.
I had called her the day after Manshu showed up.
She’d answered on the second ring, her voice bright—until I told her. I could still hear the shift, the way her tone dropped, questions coming faster, sharper. Shock, anger, disbelief—all of it was packed into the way she kept interrupting me, trying to understand how it had gotten that bad.
Then she’d gone quiet.
When she finally spoke again, her voice had softened, becoming careful, like she was trying to piece together something that would make it better.
“If you do good for him… maybe someone stronger will notice,” she’d said. “Someone better. You could… move up, ya know?”