That she is haunted by a monster I cannot slay.
“There are no more!” The guy replies quietly.
“Then replace someone with me on the next fight,” I slam a hand down.
A hand touches my shoulder and I instantly snap around, hand going to their throat as I slam their body against the booth.
River Sinclair stares back at me.
There isn’t fear on his face as my hand cuts off his air supply, no pleading looks, just a blank, emotionless expression. He doesn’t even try to fight me.
My hand lets go and he stumbles a little with the sudden freedom but I’m there to keep the guy up.
“The fuck is your deal?” He snaps at me.
He’s got a shiner, his left eye practically swollen shut and there’s a fresh cut in his brow. I didn’t notice it before, but this guy is covered in damn scars. There are burn scars up his arms, his neck and chest, more on his hands, a mix of burn scars and scars I recognize to be caused by slamming your fists into something real damn hard.
“You don’t touch other fucking people in a place like this,” I growl at him, “It’s a sure way to get fucking stabbed.”
“Well shit,” He deadpans, “Didn’t realize you were carrying a knife. Saw you threw the only one you had into the crowd.”
I narrow my eyes, “The fuck are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” He licks his teeth.
I shake my head, some of the fight leaving me. Thisguy was so fucking young, but those are some dark shadows in his eyes. This guy is haunted. Just like Willow.
“You shouldn’t be here, River.”
He scoffs, “Please. If I wanted advice, I would have asked for it. Just figured you might have needed an ear, but I can see I’m misplaced.”
He turns from me, ready to head off into the crowd but I grab his arm, stopping him from retreating.
“Drink.” I demand.
“Nah, I’m good.” He tries to snatch away from me, but I tighten my grip, so hard it would bruise anyone else.
“It wasn’t a damn request.”
“You think you’re going anywhere looking like that?” He clips, “You’ll be arrested the moment you step outside and if you think I’m drinking this piss water they call beer you have another thing coming.”
“Clean up,” I clip, “Meet me at the stairs in ten.”
River grunts noncommittedly and storms off.
“So, no fight?” The guy in the booth asks with a shake to his voice.
My nostrils flare, “Obviously not.”
He nods and blinks rapidly and then pretends to sortpaperwork which just happens to be a bunch of handwritten bets on old napkins and the backs of creased and worn receipts. I grab my shirt where I had left it before the fight and head to the shitty bathrooms at the back of this place.
Once there I go to the grimy sinks, staring at my reflection in a dirtied and cracked mirror. I am covered in blood, my eyes a little crazed but I do feel calmer, and I can’t figure out why.
I turn the tap on and listen as the pipes creak and groan before freezing water sputters from the faucet, filling a basin that has rust around the plug hole and questionable stains. I get the blood off my skin before I grab a bunch of paper towels to try and dry myself off and then slip my shirt back on, a little less put together than when I first came in here.
At the back of my mind, I know Willow is at the apartment, sleeping soundly. I don’t want her to wake alone but I have no idea what time it is right now. There are no windows here and my cell is dead, I left my watch in the car.
Rolling my shoulders, I head out of the bathrooms and through the crowd, exiting through the only door in and out of this place and find River waiting by the stairs.
