Chapter 3 Eris
Who am I talking to?
I know it’s not Whisper. But which of the other two is it? I can’t yet be sure. The tone of the messages are low and deliberate, quiet like someone holding their breath because they don’t trust what might come out if they exhale.
Still, I keep flirting.
I like the edge of it. Safe enough to know I have both feet on the ground, but close enough to danger to feel alive.
I stand in front of the mirror, brushing my hair out of my face as I admire my form in the fitted green dress Roo swears makes me look like a knife someone would beg to be cut with. And I can’t disagree. It hugs me in a way that makes me feel powerful and provocative.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I smirk as I open the HimLock app.
Locke:
Still thinking about me?
Eris:
You’ve got a one-track mind.
Locke:
Only when it comes to you.
Are you really going out tonight?
I’d rather you stay home so I can keep watching you.
I hesitate, but it doesn’t last more than a moment. My best friend is dolled-up, all glitter and leather, and she won’t let me back out.
Eris:
Roo is dragging me out into the world. Apparently, I need expensive tequila and touchable regrets.
She wants me to stop “sexting the algorithm.”
Locke:
How dare she…
Where are you going?
Eris:
This place she loves. Something about cushy velvet booths and the best kind of poor decisions.
Locke:
There’s no name in that reply…
Shall I just follow you there?
Goosebumps crawl across my arms as I actively ignore the tightening in my core. It’s such a fucked up thing to get excited over… The hunt. Even more than finally putting a face to usernames.
Eris:
You talk as if I’ll know who you are if I see you.
What if I leave with someone?
Locke:
You will. And I’ll watch you go…
Have your fun now, Eris.
Because once I get you, you’re mine.
I stare at the message, pulse jumping in my throat, before finally typing the question that plays on repeat in my mind.
Eris:
Who are you?
Locke:
Not Whisper, though he’ll give you the same answer.
Eris:
Yeah. I figured that out myself.
But thank you for the confirmation.
Locke:
How about I give you more than my name?
Eris:
I’d rather you keep it simple… But if you must continue to overcomplicate matters, then by all means, Romeo… Please proceed.
Locke:
That’s not my name. I would never put you in such a situation where tragedy is your only way out.
But I am the one who will crawl over broken glass to see you safe.
I’ll do it willingly and without complaint.
I’ll let you ruin me, Eris. With a kiss, a look, or a single word.
I’m the one who hears what you don’t say and listens to your silence.
The one who knows what you hide and still wants more.
That really shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. I even have these seriously warped butterflies hosting aerial assaults in my stomach, taking bites out of my flesh to remind me of the equally warped reality I live in.
These men have no idea what I hide.
That’s one thing I’m sure of right now.
We get to the bar a quarter after ten.
The music is loud, muffled by the steel doors, but once inside, the bass seeps into my bones. Dim lighting hangs overhead, creating shadowy corners. Sconces line the walls, illuminating the booths and artwork. The air is thick with heat and liquor.
Roo orders the first round before I’ve even found a stool. The bartender flirts with her as he makes our drinks, and I instantly miss Hardy. But he doesn’t drink, so he won’t come out with us bad influences.
I can’t blame him.
We are pretty terrible sometimes…
“Tonight,” Roo declares, voice raised as she holds out our shots. “Tonight, we forget everything. Stalker ex? Fucking dead. Creepy app? Just horny code. Us? Hot as hell.”
I laugh as I clink my glass against hers. The vodka burns all the way down, leaving a fiery path in my chest.
Roo spots someone she knows and nods her head in the direction she’s about to disappear in. I just smile and shoo her away to conduct business. There are too many eyes on me right now; I can’t help her work, even if I am one half of this partnership.
By the time I finish my second cocktail, a decently handsome guy sidles up beside me a little too closely. His elbow brushes mine; his eagerness to grab my attention is annoying. It feels like he’s testing how far he can invade my bubble before I move.
I turn in his direction and give him an exasperated once-over.
“You look like you could use a refill,” he says, pointing at my empty glass just as the bartender brings me a fresh drink.
“I’m good.”
“How about I buy the next one? And in return, you tell me your name?”
“I’m good,” I repeat, keeping my tone and expression bored.
He leans in, mouth twisting like he’s used to hearing yes. “Come on. A drink for a name, then I’ll go back to my buddies…” He trails off, as if he’s waiting for me to cut in.
I just stare at him, rolling my eyes as his gaze dips to my chest for what I’m sure he believes is a super fast glance.
I contemplate telling him to get lost, throwing my drink on him… or slamming his face into the bar top to release some of my rage.
Just when I think about blending all three options, a hand touches my lower back. I stiffen at the intrusion, but the stranger removes his hand just as quickly. He steps between us, effectively blocking my violent outburst.
The new stranger is a tall man, his broad shoulders squared defiantly as he tilts his head and looks down on the unwelcome bar buddy I’ve accidentally acquired.
The stranger doesn’t speak, though he appears to be studying the guy in what must be an unnerving way based on the way his expression morphs. I can’t see my savior’s face to judge the silent showdown accurately.
“She’s not interested,” he finally says. He’s not loud, but the bass in his voice carries all the same.
Bar Buddy leans his head back. It’s not a fast motion, though it is enough for me to witness the hesitation in action.
“You her boyfriend or something?” Bar Buddy asks, cocking a brow as he takes a sip of his beer.
That attitude is all it takes to tighten the air surrounding us. My quiet savior seems to widen before my eyes, or maybe I’ve had too much to drink… Because I swear, if I touch him right now, the sheer amount of static buildup would knock me off my stool.
“Something,” the savior agrees.
The weight of that one word is a threat. We all know it. Bar Buddy holds his hands up as if he doesn’t want any trouble, muttering under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.
My savior rolls his shoulders before turning in my direction, and my breath catches as I meet his intense green gaze.
It’s him.
The one from weeks ago.
My silent stare-down across a crowded bar that made me forget how to breathe because it felt like a physical touch…
Now he’s here.
Real.
Close enough to touch.
I want to touch him.
If a single shared glance can make my knees weak… What else is this man capable of?
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice steady as he searches my face.
“I am now,” I manage, fighting the urge to reach out and flatten my hands against his chest.
His mouth twitches in an almost smile. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I don’t get convinced that easily,” I reply. Then I bite my fucking lip to shut my mouth before I say something about how easily he could convince me if he doesn’t stop looking at me.
I hope this isn’t the business Roo is here to conduct… Because if we have to kill him, I’m keeping his eyes as a memento. Maybe I can put them in resin and tuck them away on the bookshelf in my bedroom.
“Is that a warning or a challenge?” he asks, amusement tinting his question as he hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “I can go find him and see if he’s still interested in talking to you…”
“Mmm,” I hum, tilting my head like I’m thinking about the options he just gave me and not how to pickle eyeballs for a keepsake. “Depend. Which one makes you stay right here?”
This way, I can… keep my eye on him.
Smooth, Eris.
It’s time to stop drinking.
My answer earns me a genuine smile this time, the slow tilt of his lips such a dangerous thing to witness right now.
“Both.” He glances around the bar, then back at me. “He’s gone, though. You can breathe again.”
“I wasn’t holding my breath.”
“Sure about that?”
I shrug. “I’ve had worse.”
“Yeah?” His eyes drag over my face, studying me once more. “You don’t look like someone who lets worse stick around too long.”
“I don’t.” My voice softens just a little. “But sometimes they try.”
Something flickers in his expression—understanding, maybe—but it’s there and gone too quickly for me to interpret.
“Good,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
The tension between us snaps tight as a bowstring as we stare at each other until the bartender interrupts us, depositing fresh drinks.
It should feel uncomfortable to exchange such intensity with a stranger, but his eyes remind me of a dense forest on an overcast day, and I want to get lost as I wander.
He reaches out, brushing his thumb across my wrist where my pulse thunders. “You’re still shaking.”
“Not from fear, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I explain, holding his gaze. “You kind of just stole my kill. Took the wind right out of my sails.”
That makes him laugh, a hoarse sound like he hasn’t done it in far too long. “Fair enough.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks, but it’s not an awkward silence or even two people sizing each other up. We’re just back to an intensity so strong the people and music in the bar fade into a blur of mixed color and white noise.
“I’ve seen you here before,” he says. “A few weeks ago.”
“I know.”
His brow lifts. “You do?”
“You were watching me then, too,” I point out.
“You didn’t stay long,” he notes with wry amusement.
So, he doesn’t deny it. Interesting… I still find myself thinking about that intense moment of eye contact.
“You didn’t give me a reason to,” I divulge, taking a sip of my drink.
“Would you stay if I asked now?”