Page 5

“Maybe I’ve changed,” I argued. “These are difficult times we live in. You need to roll with the punches. He who stands still ends up dead. Or worse.”

He narrowed his eyes as he studied me some more. “No. You’re a dirty little conman who lacks the moral fortitude to feel even the smallest iota of remorse for the damage you leave in your wake, but murder?” He shook his head. “No way. Which brings me back to my original point. You should hightail it out of here before someone discovers that every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

“Not every word.”

“Most. Your name. Whatever backstory you’ve fed the people here to make them feel sorry for you. Which one did you tell them? The one about being brought up by slavers? The one about having to fend for yourself from the age of ten? Did you tell them you killed your first biter at five with your bare hands? Or did you come up with something new this time?”

I took a sip of my whiskey and stared him down. He was the first to look away, letting out a snort. “I’m just jealous. If my face were as pretty as yours, and I had people falling over themselves to believe every word that came out of my heart-shaped lips, I’d probably spin a few yarns myself.” He heaved out a sigh. “How long have you been running this con? I’ve got to admit that even for you, it’s pretty inventive.”

“Since I stumbled over the abandoned laboratory and found the injectors. I filled them with water,” I clarified. “Purified water. So you’re right about me not being a murderer.” I snatched the bottle back from him and refilled my glass. “And to answer your earlier question, people are so desperate to believe what you tell them that it’ll be at least a week before they become suspicious. Maybe even longer. By which time, I’ll be long gone.”

“And what about when you come back here?” Ellsworth asked.

“Then, it won’t be Tobias Breeze returning, will it?”

“Ah, but you know what the downside to having a pretty face is, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s a damn sight more memorable. People try to forget my ugly mug as quickly as they can. But you… How many people in that audience tonight do you reckon were thinking about fucking you?”

“Before or after I stepped into the rain?”

“Oh, definitely after,” Ellsworth said with a smirk. “That shirt went transparent enough that you may as well not have been wearing it.”

I held my glass up in a toast. “Then they were lucky I didn’t charge them extra for the view.” I’d changed my shirt for a black one before coming to the bar, making it the only thing I wore that was dry, my hair still curling damply around my neck.

Ellsworth propped his chin on his hand and stared at me inquisitively. “How did you do it?”

“How did I do what?”

He clicked his fingers. “Muster up the necessary emotions just like that?”

“Necessary?”

He rolled his eyes at my obvious obfuscation. “The anger? I assume you thought about someone who’d done you wrong.”

“My father,” I supplied. I hoped the look in my eyes told him that digging any further wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Sure enough, after a protracted stare, he moved on. “It’s the lust that was truly impressive. You got yourself hard without touching yourself.” There was something close to awe in his voice as he asked, “How?”

I shrugged. “We all have a wank bank we can delve into when required.” I leaned forward, my lips curling up into a smile. I knew Ellsworth could see down the front of my shirt, and I let him. “Even you must have someone you think about who gets you hot under the collar. A memory you can recall, whether recent or from eons ago. Silky skin stretched tight over muscles. A willing body. Legs wrapped around you. Grunts and moans. A hot mouth wrapped around your cock.”

Ellsworth swallowed, the action seeming to take effort, his gaze still fastened on the bare skin he could see.

Tiring of the game as quickly as I’d started it, I sat back and laughed. Probably not a friend if I took such delight in tormenting him. Bright flags of color appeared in Ellsworth’s cheeks, and it took him a few moments to collect himself, his gaze scouring every corner of the bar we sat in before returning to me. “Is there anything real about you?”

“Real?” I contemplated the question before answering it. “What does real even mean?”

“Honest. True. Not seeing everyone you come into contact with as a means to an end.”

A fight broke out on the other side of the bar, two men erupting to their feet and facing off chest to chest. I took that as my cue to leave before things really kicked off. I pushed the glass of whiskey in Ellsworth’s direction while I swiped the bottle. “Have a good night.”

“Tobias?”

I almost forgot to turn. The name game became more complicated after half a bottle of whiskey. “What?”

“One day you’ll meet someone that matters to you, and that hard veneer of yours will crumble like chalk.”

“Me?” There was no feigning the laugh that rumbled from my chest. “Don’t think so. Weak people crumble. I…” Inspiration brought a smile to my face. “I calcify. Give me a few more years and I’ll be a fucking diamond.”

I was still shaking my head as I left the bar. I paused for a moment outside it, taking inventory of the fact that the rain had stopped, and trying to remember which direction my lodgings of a few nights lay in. I’d get a good night’s sleep, and then in the morning I’d sneak out without settling my bill.