Her response comes back fast.
Kayla: Barely. Rogue made me come in early. I have been here since four.
Vero: That is a crime. I would report her, but I don’t know who you report bar owners to. The bar police? Do they exist? I feel like they should
Kayla: How are you feeling?
I smile at my phone. She doesn’t make it a thing; she just asks, which I like.
Vero: Better. Slept all day like a very lazy cat
Kayla: You needed it. Brawley told me you sometimes sleep for a whole day afterwards
Vero: He is correct. My brain uses a lot of power. It needs to recharge
Kayla: How is your nose feeling? I don’t think it was broken, but the cut was nasty
Vero: I can barely feel it. Send me something. I’m bored and the guys are all doing their own thing
A few minutes pass, then a picture comes through.
It’s a photo of her behind the bar, her smile lighting up the screen. I really needed to see her, and the bar looks busy in the background. She seems tired, but is smiling, so my brain doesn’t spiral again the way it would if she looked like shit because of me.
I zoom in—I can’t help it. I want to see only her face. I move the frame around the image, seeing a close-up of her face, the bar behind her, the people sitting at the bar top, and the bottles stacked on the shelf.
Then my eye catches something, and I stop.
In the mirrored panel behind the bar, there is a reflection of a man. He is sitting at the bar, and his face is turned toward her, and he is watching her. Even through the reflective surface, I can see he is staring at her. I zoom in further, then put my phone down on the bed. I need to breathe and tell myself that men in bars normally look at women; she is at work and is completely fine.
My self-control is lacking, and I pick the phone back up. Zooming back in on him, I don’t like the way his eyes are focused on her. I don’t like knowing no one there will be able to help her the way I could. If I wasn’t like this, Clay would probably be there with her now.
This is all my fault.
Jumping out of bed, I don’t make the decision; rather, my body arrives at the conclusion. We need to help her—Ineed to help her. To make sure she is safe.
I don’t know how I reach the back door, but I am already pulling on my shoes, and as I look down at myself, I realize I’m in my orange costume with no recollection of even having changed. I could have sworn I was shirtless last night.
I grab my mask that is hanging on the hook; I might have to scare the fucker, so he never goes back. Thankfully, no one has seen me yet, and I sneak outside into the garage where my bike is kept. The key is still inside the ignition, like always—no one on the island is stealing my stuff.
The ride to the bar is a blur. I don’t fully remember leaving, or even how I got here, beyond the fact that I’m now sitting on my bike and staring at the bar. This isn’t good—I should leave, but I can’t. All I can see is his face as it looks at her.
After getting off the bike, I’m met with stares as I walk across the street. I ignore them and focus on what I need to do, pushing through the doors to find the bar isn’t as crowded as when she sent the picture. I scan the room and find the man in seconds; he is in the same seat and still watching her.
My vision narrows and blurs at the same time.
I cross the bar and jump onto it in one movement. The ambient noise shifts as people notice.
My paper-cut princess spins around and looks up at me and hisses, “Vero, get down.”
“In a minute,” I reply.
“Now,” she says, and holds her hand out to me.
Another bartender signals for the security guard and I laugh. “You really think he could stop me?” I hear how it sounds coming out—the edge to my voice doesn’t sound right. Looking at him, I see the fear in his eyes. I am not your regular drunk he has to deal with, and he is smart enough to sense the danger.
Kayla says my name again, but by now I am skipping along the top of the bar toward the man. When I reach him, I crouch down so we are close to eye level, my elbows on my knees as I look at him. He stares back at me, and it seems as if his brain is catching up with what his eyes are seeing.
“You really think you can look at what’s mine?”
