“Yes, I think you’re right, Jill.” He smiles down at her. “Can I offer you two any…party favors?”
“No, thank you,” Nina says, sounding calm and sure. “I have a big day tomorrow. Need to keep my head about me.”
Harlan bows his head, turning toward me.
“Unfortunately, I’m with her tomorrow, and will also need to refrain from party favors. But thank you for the hospitality.” The words are acrid leaving my mouth.
I wasn’t born yesterday. Jill the idiot suggested that he offer us drugs, and she finds herself far too funny, if the expression she’s attempting to hide is any indication.
“Billiards?” Jill asks, eyebrows lifted and face pinched with unmasked humor.
I roll my eyes, grabbing Nina by the elbow and steering us in the direction of the curtain separating the billiards from the poker tables.
We spend the next hour playing darts and watching as Jill takeson other women from The Communes in various card games that I’m not familiar with. This room has remained free of the men, our own little female sanctuary, and I have to admit, I’ve had fun.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Nina suggests, and I nod.
“Grab me one too, would ya?” Jill calls out, never taking her eyes off her cards.
We head back into the mayhem, the place more packed than it was when we first arrived. I have to wonder how many people know about this place, and how it remains a secret from the police. When this many people are privy to something, it’s only a matter of time before the news is slipped.
My eyes scan the area, landing on Harlan. He’s speaking to the bartender when a mysterious figure approaches him. The guy looks like a corpse, devoid of any hint of color in his pallid complexion. His jet-black hair accentuates the starkness of his appearance even further. Nina moves us closer until we’re standing at the bar, right next to them.
They’re speaking in a low murmur while surreptitiously glancing in our direction. Is it to shield their discussion from eavesdroppers, or does it pertain to us directly? I can’t help but feel a smidgen of curiosity, wondering what secretive conversation is taking place.
Harlan’s demeanor shifts subtly as he listens, his expression growing more serious with each passing moment. Whatever the stranger is saying seems to carry weight, and I find myself straining to catch even a snippet of their conversation.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Harlan mutters in response, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency that sends a ripple of unease through me. The stranger nods curtly before slipping away into the shadows.
Turning toward us, Harlan offers a strained smile. “Are you enjoying your night, ladies?” he asks, though his words seem streaked with distraction as he glances around the room keenly.
“Yes, thank you,” Nina says. “It’s been a lovely night.”
He nods, not bothering to look at Nina as he rolls up his shirt sleeve, uncovering a tattoo on his forearm. I’m fascinated by the symbol etched into his skin. My eyes narrow as I take in every detail, a wave of recognition washing over me. It’s the exact symbol from my dream: a labyrinth of interconnected triangles, a vigilant eye dead center. A chill tumbles down my spine as the significance dawns on me.
“What’s that tattoo?” I ask, before I’ve thought better of it.
He turns toward me, chewing on his cheek, seeming to contemplate my question.
“Just something I did as a stupid teenager.” He brushes me off with a dismissive wave of his hand, but I’m not buying the fabricated nonchalance.
He took too much time to consider me before I witnessed the mask drop into place.
“It’s quite detailed,” I say, deciding to double down and see if I can get him to talk about it.
“The ideas of a drunk teenager.” He shrugs. “Nothing special.”
Lies.
It’s not hard to detect when he refuses to meet my eyes, and the moment I made mention of it, he lowered his sleeve, covering the marking, making it feel even more mysterious. A brand of secrecy he’s uncomfortable discussing.
“Please excuse me. I have some business to attend to,” he says, voice low and menacing.
Nina slides in closer to me. “Why do I get the feeling like this business might include roughing someone up in a back room?”
I turn toward her, eyebrow lifted. “Or worse.”
Her mouth drops open into an O.
