Chapter 22 Juliet
JULIET
The next few weeks go by in a blur. Football season comes to an end and there’s no more practices before or after school for the guys. College applications go out, tests are taken, and we fall into a waiting period to find out if any of the scouts are interested in offering the guys scholarships.
We meet up with Abel and Viks to discuss Detective Lann suddenly showing up at my job.
Abel is pissed and launches a campaign against the man by calling him and every single person he can get hold of in the Silverwood justice system to get the man suspended.
All the while, Viks reminds us that there’s nothing to worry about gaining acceptance to Eastpoint.
According to him, we’re already accepted.
While we trust him, without a physical acceptance letter in my hand I can’t help but stress about all of the what-ifs.
Nolan picks up more shifts at the garage and Gio ends up following along to help them now that they’re not running errands for Darrio Vargas anymore.
Lex, however, joins me at The Dionysus Lounge every time I’ve got a shift, and no amount of trying to convince him that I don’t need a bodyguard will change his mind.
It’s on one of my less busy shifts that Mads and I get a moment alone to just talk and breathe.
“Have you seen Roquel lately?” she asks, rubbing her fingers over a spot on the bar’s counter as the bartender, Tracy, heads off for her smoke break.
“A few times,” I admit, “but not for any considerable length of time. Just here and there in the school hallways. I think she had a pretty rough breakup with that Hudson guy.”
Mads’ big blue eyes widen. “Is that what happened?” She frowns. “I didn’t think they were serious.”
I shrug. “She was pretty heartbroken, so it must’ve been more serious than either of us thought.”
“What an asshole,” Mads mutters as she turns away and reaches for one of the wet rags under the counter.
Hearing Mads curse is like seeing a kitten roar. I’m sure she means to sound tough, but really it’s just cute. She starts scrubbing a rough spot on the counter as if needing something to convert her energy into.
“How are all of your extracurriculars?” I ask. “Did you already start applying to colleges?”
Mads’ quick back-and-forth slows and she peeks up at me, biting down on her lower lip. “They’re fine, and I… did.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? Where to?”
She fixes her eyes back on the counter and this time, her movements are distracted. I swing back and forth on the stool, legs dangling down, my foot hitting the lower rung every so often as I wait for her reply.
“A couple of places,” she finally confesses. “Stanford… Yale… St. Augustine… and Hazelwood.”
Sticking my foot between the rung and leg of the stool, I bring myself to a stop. “Hazelwood?” I repeat. “Like Eastpoint’s sister school? That Hazelwood?”
She nods without ever looking up and I release a slow whistle. “That’s pretty impressive.” I can’t help myself from smiling as she decidedly keeps her gaze averted and scrubs at a nonexistent spot of dirt on the bar. The blush rising at the tops of her cheeks is cute.
I open my mouth to tease her when Lex appears at the end of the bar. Mads nearly jumps out of her shoes, gasping and slapping a hand over her chest, the wet rag plopping onto the floor. “How do you move like that?” she whisper-hisses at him. “You’re, like, a ninja or something.”
With a push of my foot, I send myself spinning towards him on the stool and hop off. “What’s up?” I ask. “Need another refill?”
He shakes his head, his expression closed off. His phone is clutched tightly in his fist. “I need to step outside for a bit. Are you going to be okay?”
Rolling my eyes, I gesture to the nearly empty club. “I don’t know, I’m not sure I’ll be able to survive without you here to watch me,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “But I suppose… if you have to…”
The corner of his mouth tips up, just as I’d intended, and in response, he closes the distance between us with two long strides. One arm binds around my waist and yanks me closer as he bends to press his mouth to mine. The kiss is over far too quickly.
“I’ll be in the parking lot,” he tells me, lifting the phone to his ear and pointing at me and then the back hall. “Stay here.”
All of the lustful heat he’d stoked disperses and I scowl at him as I flip him the bird. “I’m not a dog!” I call at his back as Lex turns and marches down the hall, disappearing around the corner.
“Those guys are really protective, aren’t they?” Mads asks, eyeing me as I slip back onto my stool and spin it towards the counter. She ducks beneath the bar and picks up the wet rag to drop it in the sink to be cleaned later.
“They’re guys,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I think it’s in their DNA or something.”
She hums quietly and we fall into a companionable silence until our break ends and Tracy returns from her smoke break to take over the bar once more.
Unfortunately, even with Tracy back, that doesn’t mean we have anything more to do.
So, we end up just drifting from the bar through the club and the hosts on duty to double-check tables and back again.
Thirty minutes pass and when Lex still hasn’t returned, I contemplate heading out back to see if he’s all right. That’s when the front doors open and a large group of guys enter. Turning, I snatch a fresh tray from the pile of clean ones and then halt when I spy the man leading the others.
Darrio Vargas.
Margo, one of the hosts, shifts towards him, her hips swaying in that come-hither way she’s perfected.
Tossing a long tendril of hair over her shoulder, she pauses next to Darrio.
“Hey there.” I can hear her sultry tone from where I’m standing—stock-still and half tempted to release my tray like a Frisbee right for the motherfucker’s throat.
“Jules?” Mads steps in front of me, her face blocking out his for a brief moment. “Are you okay?”
No sooner has she asked the question than Darrio lifts his head and pins me with a look. He says something that has Margo turning her head and glancing over her shoulder at me. Then she nods and leads them down the two steps into the main hub of the building and to one of the booths.
Fuck.
I glance down the back hall. Where the hell is Lex? Did he know that Darrio was coming? Is that why he took that phone call?
I take a step towards the hall when it’s no longer Mads in front of me, but Margo. “Darrio Vargas is asking for you,” she says, all traces of her seductress act gone.
“What?”
She pinches her lips together and I recall what she told me before—Darrio and Morpheus had been meeting each other before his death.
Maybe I can ask him about it, get some information as to what they could have talked about.
I glance over to the man in question and realize he’s still looking my way, watching me. I grit my teeth.
“Ma-Ri might’ve rehired you, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore him and his men,” Margo says. “He specifically requested you as his server.”
“Not his host?” I clarify.
She shakes her head. “No…” Her eyes drift over to him before she continues. “His usual girl isn’t here today, though.”
I don’t hold back my glare, letting Darrio see just how not fucking scared of him I am. “Fine,” I tell her. “Did you already get his drink order?”
Margo shakes her head. “No.” Her eyes flick to Tracy behind the bar. “Tracy knows what he likes.”
I shake my head. “I’ll make sure to get his order first.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mads asks, her tone hesitant as she reaches for my arm, her cool, small hand trembling on my bicep.
“It’ll be fine.” There’s more confidence in my voice than I feel, but I’m not going to show them that. “This is a semi-public place,” I remind them. “And Lex is right outside. He can’t do shit.”
Mads’ hand falls away from me as I begin the slow march towards Darrio and his men. Each step feels like I’m heading towards the gallows, but I keep my head high and my gaze trained on him. When I arrive, I reach into my apron pocket and withdraw a pad and pen.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I click the pen. “What can I get you to drink?”
The four or so men accompanying Darrio all remain silent, their eyes moving to him deferentially. I wait for a beat before letting my attention trail all of them. I wonder if they wear the same set of clothes—dirty jeans and black t-shirts—because they want to all look alike.
Two of them are clearly older, middle-aged if I had to guess, with gray at the temples of their dark brown hair and wrinkles stretching their tan skin.
The other two, however, are as different as day and night.
One appearing like he popped straight out of an Irish fairy tale with bright red hair and a burst of freckles across his face and the backs of his arms. He’s the youngest, though certainly not the sweetest considering the harsh-looking scar that runs down the length of his face, his neck, and disappears into the collar of his black shirt.
The fourth and final man almost looks like Darrio in that they’re both of similar stature and skin tone.
His nose is slightly bigger with a hookish end and he has eyes that are closer together than Darrio’s.
I turn my gaze back to the man in charge and arch a brow. “Are you drinking?” I ask.
“Yes,” Darrio finally says. He holds up two fingers. “Mezcal. Two bottles. Six glasses.”
My pen hovers over my pad before I write down the amount of glasses. There are only five of them. I scribble it anyway before casting him a flat look. “Be right back.”
I return to the bar and put in the order.
Tracy already has it ready and all she has to do is grab the extra glass.
I stack everything on the tray and head back to the table.
There’s a hush around the club; even the other guests are watching, and I hate the sensation of creeping eyes along my spine. I should be used to it by now.