Page 7 of Hemlock

"Thank you," I tell her, the words coming a little too late to seem natural.

But instead of calling me on it, she simply dips her head before grabbing a bowl of lemons.

It's going to take a lot more than just sitting at the bar and staring at her to be able to come back here and not raise the suspicions of everyone around.

Her skill with the paring knife is no better with the lemons than they were with the limes, and I fight the urge to give her directions on how to do it correctly.

"I like the silent type."

I pull my eyes from her hands when they stop moving, looking up to find her watching me.

The thrum of my pulse slows, my breaths coming a little easier as we lock eyes.

"Excuse me?"

The voice is mine. I recognize it, but the direction to speak didn't come from a command I thought of before it happened.

"I've been told I talk enough for everyone," she says with a wider smile, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. "So it doesn't bother me that you're not filling in the silence with small talk."

I sense the edge of irritation in her words, knowing there's more to it than she's letting on. Whoever has told her that in the past did it in an unkind way. It was an insult rather than her being praised, as if it were a good character trait. She annoyed someone or spoke when she was expected to stay silent.

Irritation for her rather than at her catches me by surprise. I should probably tell her whoever said that was an asshole, but I also worry she'd think I was digging too deep into the situation, and that would be suspicious.

Social interaction and knowing what to do and when to do it is fucking hard. I always seem to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It's why I value solitude so much. I could go days, probably weeks, in utter silence, with nothing but the whispers in my head to keep me company and be just fine. Others talk out loud to themselves when they're alone to stay sane.

I give her another quick dip of my head, unsure of what else she expects from me.

Like she has done several times before, her smile widens before she goes back to cutting the lemons.

I watch her as she works, the evening ticking away. The limited sunlight that was trickling in from the handful of transom windows on the front of the bar fades out, casting shadows everywhere. A sense of familiarity embraces me, but sitting here with her has already taken the edge off the anxiety that is normally chewing on the sharp points of me, so the difference isn't as vast as it normally would be.

I spend an hour formulating a way to speak with her. Knowing I'm going to use someone for my own personal, or with this situation the organization's, gain wouldn't bother me as much, but I'm finding it nearly impossible to come up with a topic of conversation that wouldn't leave her running for the hills rather than leaning in and wanting to get to know me better.

I pull in a deep breath, well aware that I might've jumped the gun by telling Ace that I could handle situations like this.

I'm better suited for being the monster in the corner. The one who people with morals need to extract information. I can easily get what I need with the help of a knife or a strategically placed electrical current. Hell, a thick towel and a bucket of water can make some of the toughest people open their mouths and spill all their secrets.

Talking to a woman in a bar should be easy. It should be natural.

Right now, for me, it seems an impossible task, but failure isn't an option. Failure here in Tennessee means I'll no longer be connected to Cerberus at all. That connection, the one that Hound helped me establish, is the only thing keeping me from being on the same side of the law that this woman might possibly be. I'll be damned if I end up like Tommy Wilkinson and all the evil men that came before him.

Think of the devil and he shall appear. Isn't that close to the saying?

I watch, my scowl back in full force, as the man of the fucking hour slips out of the door at the opposite end of the bar from me.

Of course, he would show his face right when I was on the brink of garnering the confidence to speak with her.

She greets him with a smile, the same one she gives everyone else, not a special one, as far as I can tell. They have a short conversation on the opposite end of the bar from me before he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her temple.

I swallow down the bile that threatens to rush up my throat, uncertain why his touching her bothers me in the first place.

She disappears into the back room with him a moment later, and I use the opportunity to get the fuck out of Dodge, slapping a twenty on the bar top and making my way to my bike in the parking lot.

Chapter 4

Zara

"This is supposed to be fun," I whisper to myself as I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, a little annoyed at how much traffic is congested in this very poorly planned parking lot.

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