Together, hand in hand, we walk into the mist.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
STORM
Rain beats against the windowpane of the second floor of The Veil and Sloane gazes at its downpour and gray-purple skies with something like fondness. Her lips are turned slightly up and her fingers drum lightly against the glass in her hand, double shot iced latte with whipped cream and sprinkles of chocolate chips in the whip. I half-expected her to order from the “Spooky Section” of seasonal drinks but I guess I don’t know her that well. Just like I’m surprised she likes the storm, but maybe it’s the location, instead. The Veil is a bar and lounge but they’ve started early morning breakfast too, closed for lunch, open again at dinner. This early, we’re the only ones in the place, so we ducked into a blacked-out booth upstairs, the curtain cloistering us off from everyone else, all the decor in our section the same shade of midnight. It gives the illusion of privacy, and for me, being on the second story feels more secure.
Then again, I don’t know who owns this place. Allegedly, it’s used for moonshine and coke, but I’ve never known if those are rumors or based on any facts. I’m a mid-level dealer for people with money; they want coke, I’ll get it to them. Weed is a lesser business; it’s too easy to score. Pills I don’t like but if the payoffis good, I’m not opposed, like the clientele I have based on Dad’s introduction. It’s new recipes I want, though. Like the one I’m working on with Grey. Personally, I think he needs to scrap the formula entirely. The paranoia has strangely increased for me and it was one dose. In two days, on Friday, I’ve got a meeting with him. Little does he know I’m going to ask a lot of fucking questions and none have anything to do with teddy bears, the formula we’re testing. If he knows who the hell is sending these messages, we’re going to have problems
I glance down at my empty plate. Bacon, eggs, biscuits…it’s all gone. The apple juice is drained too. I should get coffee; I’ve been up all night but I’m wired as is.
It’s the texts.
Unknown
Did you fuck her good?
It came in the middle of the night, almost morning. At first, I didn’t know what they meant. Same number who said I might be in trouble. But if they were really following me, they’d know I haven’t slept with anyone since the summer. Since after the hotel.
It’s not that I don’t like sex. It’s not that I don’t need it. I feel like I’m going to explode just looking at Sloane’s lips right now, the way they’re parted a little, shiny with what must be gloss.
Fuck.
Yeah. It’s not a lack of desire.
It’s something else.
I ignored that text because they seemed like less of a threat since they don’t really know what’s going on.
But then more came through.
Unknown
Sloane Stevens gets around but only if she doesn’t really like you. I guess you’re on that list, huh?
Those words got me out of bed.
I crept down the hall and checked on Cort, Remi, and Lyle. Then I left, setting up the security alarm as I did and shooting Cortland a quick text to let him know since we don’t always use it. I told him it was because I had to be at the marina extra early. That’s a lie. I’m not working for Jeremy today.
Because of my paranoia, I got in the WRX, drove to the warehouse in the middle of the woods, up in the mountains, then switched into the blacked-out Jeep after I parked the Subaru in the building. Sloane asked me how long I’d had a Jeep. I told her I just got it which isn’t true either, but I don’t trust her. Not like that.
It wasn’t until I made it to Sloane’s apartment and saw the coffin nails littered on her pastel purple doormat that I knew I had to find her. I knocked on the door, pounded the damn thing so loud a neighbor came out, silently gave me her middle finger, then slammed the door as she retreated back inside.
The coffin nails are in the console of my Jeep.
I haven’t told Sloane about them yet.
I told her I’d answer her questions here.
But now she’s across the table from me in her lilac set with her white manicured nails tapping on the glass of her latte, her pink lips curved upward and a lock of light blond hair tumbling around her pretty face and all I want to do is see her naked.
The hoodie has a deep V and I can see her cream colored sports bra under it and her clavicle bone and I flex my fingers on my lap to stop from imagining what it would feel like to bite her.
I need to get laid.
And not by her.
