Chapter 29
Nightclubs. A place where women go to dance with their friends and blow off some steam, and men try to find someone drunk enough to fuck them.
The stench of sweat and spilled liquor makes me nauseous as I shove my way toward the bar.
This was never my scene—all the try-hardness of it, the top forty hits, the overpriced drinks, the obnoxious show everyone puts on.
No, I’d much rather be in a dive bar watching a live show.
It’s been many years since I snuck into a warehouse, but even a rave would be more comfortable than this.
But this. This is where I’ll find an easy target, so I suck it up, order myself a beer, and slip into a discreet corner to watch the chaos unfold.
For over an hour, I stand here nursing a beer and scanning the crowd. For what? I’m not really sure. Disappointed, I return to the bar for water. Throwing a few dollars on the bar top, I chug the cold liquid, chasing away the taste of the shitty beer.
I’m about to cut my losses and call it a night when I see what I’ve been waiting for.
Like a sign, the neon lasers beam down on him—one in a sea of recently graduated finance bros—at just the right moment, leaving no doubt in my decision as I watch the little shit drop something in the drink of the woman to his left.
She’s busy talking to her friends who are ordering another round, and he stays right there like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
No shame. Nothing. You’re not that callous if it’s your first time. He’s definitely done this before.
Cutting through the growing crowd, I make a show of tripping even though my every move is perfectly executed as I bump into them, spilling her spiked drink and his fresh one onto his pants.
While he’s distracted and in shock at the cold wetness now seeping through his clothes, I slip my hand into his pocket and grab his wallet and the little baggie of pills he has stashed there.
“Shit, dude. I’m so sorry. Can I buy you another?” I stumble a bit, selling the illusion that I’m just another guy who had a few too many.
“Yeah,” he says expectantly.
“What are you having?” I yell over the music.
“Vodka Red Bull,” he replies like it’s obvious. I have to hold back the disgust that rises in my throat.
“Got it, be right back.” And because men never have to learn the hard lesson of not letting people order drinks for them, he makes it exceptionally easy to give him a taste of his own medicine.
“Here you go, sorry about that.” I hand off his drink to him as he waves me off, then I fall back and wait.
Without friends watching his every move, expecting him to sneak off with the first girl who pays him any attention, it’s even easier to slip out with him leaning on my shoulder and appearing too drunk to walk.
People see me and think, “What a good friend”.
What they don’t know is that I’m escorting him to his death sentence.
Thankfully, one of the many perks of being ghost-touched means that I won’t be traceable on the cameras, easily interfering with the recording.
I look for that guilt once again, but it’s notably absent.
Is it really kidnapping if he basically throws himself in my back seat? He passes out, putting up zero fight as I cuff his hands and drive off with him.
Back on the road, I take a deep breath of the fresh air that tunnels in through the windows. One step closer to freedom. I’m coming home, baby.
It’s the middle of the night by the time I get home, but luckily for me, my sacrifice is still very much out of it. Half-dragging him into the house isn’t as easy as I hoped, but I’m not about to carry this stranger bridal-style, so struggle it is.
Sweat coats my brow by the time I get him restrained to the chair. Once I’m confident that he’s not going anywhere, I head upstairs to wash the night off of me.
The water rains down on me, rinsing away the decisions I’ve had to make tonight, but it won’t cleanse the wicked satisfaction that courses through me at the thought of finally giving that piece of shit Ivan the end that he deserves. That is, if I can find that fucking knife.
Toweling off, I run through the myriad of ways I could approach looking for the cursed thing. There’s no time to waste with inefficiency, but it seems like the only option is to quite literally search the whole property, which is a huge undertaking in and of itself.
As if she can hear my scheming, Sol enters the bathroom.
“You’re back,” she says with a soft smile before wrapping herself around me. I clutch her against me, needing the reassurance that she’s still here, safe and sound and within my reach. For a moment, I forget that she’s dead, but with our chests pressed together, I miss the beating of her heart.
For a few minutes, we just stand here. The simplicity of it reminds me of better days when there were no greater stakes than making it home by sunset or sneaking her up to my room without waking my parents.
How times have changed.
“I wasn’t expecting you home so soon.” She steps back to look up at me. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did. We should talk about that, actually.”
“Later.” Her hands massage my shoulders. “You’re so tense.”
“I—”
“You look so tired. Let me do something for you.” Sol brings in the cushioned seat from just outside the door and directs me to sit on it. “May I?” she asks, gesturing to my hair.
I nod and lean forward, resting my arms on the bathroom counter. It’s been so long since we’ve done this, but she slips right into the routine like she’s done it every day of her life.
For some, it might be considered a tedious process, but I’ve always found it relaxing, almost like meditation. Sol appears just as at ease.
Sectioning my hair, she methodically starts applying the defining gel, taking care to avoid catching my earrings. She’s patient as she works from section to section, using pressure as she coats my hair until each curl is smooth.
We sit in amicable silence, me lost in the simple pleasure of being cared for, her focused on the task at hand. I would enjoy my wash days much more if this was part of the routine. Although maybe I’ll suggest that next time she do it naked.
I can’t fight the smirk that reveals the turn my thoughts have taken.
“Don’t even start with that,” she laughs. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you? I’m starved.” I reach around and run a hand up the back of her thigh, but she bats me away.
“Stop distracting me. I want to do a good job.”
“You always do,” I remind her as I tilt my head back to gaze into her eyes.
I could get lost in them, but she pushes my head down and gets right back to it.
She’s always been like this; if she’s committed to doing something, she’s going to do it efficiently and she’s going to do it right.
No distractions. Even to her detriment sometimes.
I can’t even count how many days I’d have to remind her to stop and drink some water or eat something out of fear that she’d go the whole day without doing so if I left her to her own devices.
I guess that’s not really a problem now, though.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s a relief for her. To not have to worry about such trivial things that always seemed to be the bane of her existence. Something to ask her about another time when she’s not so laser-focused. Not that I’m complaining.
Once each curl has been gelled, she sprays all of my hair with water and scrunches it. Eagle-eyed, she finger-coils the curls that need more definition, giving special attention to the one that hangs closest to my eyebrow piercing. She hesitates when she gets to the white portion of my hair.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask when she continues staring, lost in her own head.
“It’s just…I thought you would have dyed it at some point. Didn’t think you’d want the reminder of, well, everything.” She avoids my gaze in the mirror.
“I did, actually. For a bit, but I relinquished my remaining blue dye supply to Jayden, and the rest is history. Covering it up didn’t change the fact that my place in the world had fundamentally shifted.
Something as simple as dying my hair couldn’t make me stop thinking about you and all that I’d lost.” I take her hand and kiss the top of her knuckles.
“Besides, I like it. It suits me, don’t you think? ”
“Everything suits you,” she answers, her smile going shy as she pulls her hand back and twirls my hair in small sections around her finger.
As soon as she finishes the last piece, I swivel around in the chair and pull her into my lap. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around me for stability, and I relish the feel of her against me.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. I like taking care of you, too. You should let me do it more often.” Sol kisses me softly like I’m the one who’s at risk of disappearing.
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
“Thorne, I mean it.”
“I know.” I kiss her permanently plum lips again, but I can’t get lost in them, not when there’s so much hanging over us. “We need to talk about my trip.”
“Oh,” she says, uncharacteristically excited as she jumps out of my lap. “Wait. I need to show you something.” Sol rushes from the bathroom, leaving me with too many questions and too little patience, so I follow her to the bedroom.
When I walk through the door, she’s holding the last thing I would have ever expected…a knife.
“Is that—”
“Yes! It’s Ivan’s knife.” She thrusts it toward me, and I jerk back, survival instincts kicking in.
“Whoa there, one of us is still alive…kind of.”
“I’m so sorry; I wasn’t thinking.” She sighs in frustration with herself.
“No harm, no foul.” I hold my hand out, taking it from her. Lifting it up to the light for closer inspection, it definitely looks like the knife he had Jayden wielding around. “How the hell did you get your hands on this?”