Page 38 of Manacled Hearts

He releases me in a split second and takes a step back.

“Blood money?” he says, raising his voice. “We saved you, Evelyn. When the hell did you get up on your high horse and forget about that fact? This fucking blood money made it possible!”

He doesn’t deny the name I called them by. Anger seeps through my veins like liquid fire, throbbing in my temples.

No. I refuse to entertain this. I had no choice in any of this. His world took everything from mine. Even if he didn’t wield the hand who did it.

“I’m not taking your money, and I refuse to be chased away. You know very well why I can’t return to Fleeton yet. But don’t worry, I will gladly leave you and this place once I earn my way back.”

“Looking forward to it!” he spits back with a sneer.

And with those harsh words, he spins on his heels and walks out.

CHAPTER 8

FINNIGAN

“Two of the same?” the bartender asks.

“Yes!” I raise my voice over the loud music.

“The fact that you called me was a shock, but this mood you’re in tonight is an even better surprise, baby!” Clara, the blonde I probably made a mistake inviting out again tonight, says in my ear.

The need to wipe her breath off of it gnaws at me, but I refrain, turning to her with a reluctant, cold smile. This might not have been a good idea, and it’s gonna bite me in the ass, because I rarely invite a girl out more than twice. It creates an expectation I’m never going to meet. I refuse to. Relationships are not my thing. Dating is not my thing. Fucking is. And I make it clear to all the women I do it with.

But this is the third time I asked Clara out, and she’s perfectly aware it’s out of character. I know I have a reputation. Even if I’m not the only bachelor in The Sanctum, I’m the only one who sees women on a regular and fairly public basis. I think I inadvertently made it into a challenge for women to try to get me past that second interaction. Many have tried, but I shot them down without remorse.

I’m not a dick, at least I don’t think I come across as that, but I have my boundaries and I make sure whoever I go out with is perfectly aware of them too.

Clara, here, might be getting the wrong impression, and it’s my own fucking fault. However, after the day I had, after that stubborn gir—woman—decided to screw over my plan of getting rid of her, I had to get out, wipe my memory of her, and replace her with someone else. I was livid and impatient. There was no time to find someone else, and I picked the first woman I knew is everything Evelyn Shaw isn’t.

Though, I must admit I felt something strangely close to pride at her attitude toward me. Weeks prior, she could hardly make eye contact with others.

The four vodka sours, six Jager shots, and loud music help ease the worries about Clara.

What they don’t do is drown Evelyn out.

When I look at Clara’s brown eyes, I see bright gray seeping into gold. When I look at her dark brown hair, I see blonde like wheat on a cloudy day. When I look at Clara’s voluptuous body, I see slender. And instead of her porcelain skin, I see soft, olive tones, sun-kissed even if Queenscove’s sun hasn’t touched her.

Another shot, along with a fifth vodka sour is slid in front of me, and Clara’s wide smile fills my vision.

“Here, baby!” she shouts, handing me the drinks.

That pet name rakes through my eardrums.

I take the shot, cheer quickly, and down it in the hopes that the spirit will make it sound better.

It doesn’t.

“Another one!” I holler at the bartender who just turned away from us.

He narrows his eyes on me for a moment, but when I cock my head and give him a look Carter would be proud of, he quickly straightens and jumps into gear without question.

“You’re on a mission tonight. Bad day?”

“I just want to have some fun,” I answer.

“That’s what I like to hear. Let’s dance!”

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