She keeps rambling. It makes me wonder what she’s had to survive to talk about it so easily.
Someone calls for Sonny and her head snaps up. She excuses herself, leaving me alone at the bar waiting on an order under the watchful attention of the two men I’m thinking I probably need to avoid.
“So you’re from the south,” Shiloh says immediately, sliding into Sonny’s space. “Funny. I haven’t heard the accent. I’m familiar with it.”
“Well,” I reply, snapping my rubber bands, “some parts of Virginia are south and some parts are basically north. And I grew up in Chicago.”
“How old are you, really?” Shiloh asks.
Ever is a dark presence behind the bar, comfortable in the gloom as he moves through duties. Controlled. Multitasking like he’s built for it.
I chew on the inside corner of my lip. “Old enough. Twenty-two.”
“And when did you go into foster care?”
My head snaps up so fast my neck twinges. “Why would you think I was in foster care?”
“I snooped in your bag,” he says, voice low and unrepentant. “There was a DCFS discharge and placement form. Weirdly, it’s a Louisiana state form.”
“You fucking jerk.”
“Guilty.”
For a long minute I stare at him, silent and raging on the inside. I don’t even have words to process how completely…violated…his knowing this about me makes me feel, but I’ve never wanted to hurt someone the way I do right now.
A hand settles over mine, and I tear my attention from Shiloh to find Ever on the other side of the bar, his usually expressionless features troubled. “Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop hurting yourself.”
He moves his hand, releasing me. My fingers curl into a fist at the sight of the nail marks in my wrist. I guess at some point I switched from popping the rubber band to simply clawing myself.
I look back at Shiloh, then pick up the drink order. “You had no right.”
He shrugs, then curls a hand around my bicep, halting me as I go to walk past him.
“Maybe. But here’s the thing…you might be on the run from something, but I’m willing to bet it goes a hell of a lot deeper than some psycho ex.”
I clear my throat. “And if I am? That’s my business. I spent some time in foster care, sure,” I say. Safe version. Honey-coated version. “And then I was taken in by a family friend, and I made something of myself. I worked damned hard to get over my past.”
Over the trauma. Over the darkness. Over being so alone it rewired something in me.
Shiloh nods once. “You sure did.”
“Looks like you jumped right from the frying pan to the fire,” Ever says, monotone and deadpan.
I shoot him a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Means you tried to outrun the system. Did, by your account. Only then you found yourself shackled up with some piece of shit who gets his kicks off preying on the weak.” He leans closer, voice soft. “How’m I doing so far, darlin’?”
“Bout what I’d expect from someone who doesn’t understand the line between boss and employee.”
Jerking my arm from Shiloh’s hand, I stalk away to deliver my order.
It’s well after two a.m. by the time we get the last body out the door and finishcleaning.
There’s no mercy for a newbie. Sweat trickles down my spine as I sweep, shoulders burning, feet screaming.
