“Not even if torture were involved.”
“Then I’ll try not to waste your time.”
“You aren’t.” I shake my head. “I’d humor you, but I’m not sure this fine establishment can handle my charm at full force.”
The bartender slides another drink toward Silas. I gestured for the same, the movement easy, practiced. The Adonis on my left never lets his gaze stray from mine.
“You sound like you’d rather have a quiet night,” he points out.
“I like the noise,” I lie. “It keeps me honest.”
He observes me for a moment and frowns. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And how would you say it?” I ask.
“That you’re hiding from something.”
“Or someone,” I correct.
He nods. “Which is it?”
I tsk and smile faintly. “Depends on the night.”
Silas graciously changes the subject after my reply. We don’t talk about the mundane, which I appreciate. However, we do talk about loneliness, and shadows that don’t follow you the way they should. About how Sunday nights feel louder than any others.
“Because the week hasn’t started yet,” I murmur, fingers tracing the rim of my glass. “But the weekend is already over.”
Silas nods as if I’ve just confessed a secret. “It’s the waiting that gets people. The quiet before everything breaks.”
“Is that from experience?”
He looks at his glass, then back at me. “Let’s say I have a habit of showing up where things are about to fall apart.”
“Sounds like bad timing.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Just curiosity.”
“Curiosity kills people in Crimson Bay,” I warn.
“I don’t scare easily.”
“Good.” I smile over the rim of my near-empty drink, intending to get a piece of melting ice. “That’s a trait that will benefit you later.”
Our knuckles graze as I reach for my fresh glass, too close to his. I glance at his face and pause… He flips his hand, fingers gingerly wrapping around my wrist as if he thinks I’m delicate. Like maybe he’ll bruise me with any force.
The air between us thickens, music fading away… Just kidding. This isn’t a fantasy story. But there is a silence between us that stretches, the kind that bends before it breaks. It’s a moment shared, where we weigh our options.
He leans in slightly, voice low enough to sound like a secret. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I search his face. Track the control in his posture, the restraint under his calm facade. He’s got the quiet confidence of a man who doesn’t need to chase what he can lure to him just by being still.
My pulse doesn’t stutter. It steadies.
I know the risk.
Know that nothing about this is a coincidence.
I can see the mark on me.
