Page 40 of Hemlock

Despite the shower I took with Zara this morning, I still climb the stairs to my room, making sure to lock the door behind me before going into the bathroom and taking another one. I need the scent of her soap and her body off mine. I need to wash away every fucking reminder of her and get my shit together. There isn't a person on this earth worth the sacrifice of all the people I could save, and that includes Zara Hailey.

I don't think she's involved with Wilkinson past her working for him at the bar, but her existence in my life will only complicate things. I have to work. I have to help Ace and Cerberus track down and eradicate these sex trafficking rings, and I would never be able to do that and stay in any sort of relationship with her. She can't know about my job, and what woman would bother sticking around when questions can never be answered?

I scrub at my skin, knowing she's already more than skin deep. I have no doubt it's going to take a number of precision cuts to excise her from my body. I can only hope that after it's done, there's enough of me left that's capable of continuing this job.

Chapter 20

Zara

Expectations are a slippery slope.

More often than not, someone's expectations are something they formulated without regard to the person or situation involved.

I could argue that I didn't expect Owen to show his face ever again at The Lost Kitten, but I also didn't expect him the times before. Then he came sauntering in like he hadn't been gone for days and days.

Knowing it would be best for my heart if I never saw him again didn't keep me from expecting it to be him every time the damn door opened.

I give the young woman a smile as she looks around the bar before approaching me.

Edith is busy arguing with Jersey about why Sharon still isn't back with the kids, and I'm grateful the woman doesn't mind sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. I've worked every day since Christmas and the man is growing sappier and sappier by the damn day. Yet he still doesn't seem to even be attempting to be proactive in trying to put his family back together.

"Hi," the woman says, her eyes darting to the side when someone pulls out a bar stool causing the legs to make a god-awful screeching noise.

She seems a little scared, definitely not a local.

"I'm here to see Tommy."

I look her up and down. She can't be a day over seventeen.

"Do you have ID?" I ask her, watching as her smile fades away. "After six, it's twenty-one and up."

Her nose scrunches as she pulls a Minnesota license from her pocket, handing it over to me. I have no idea if the thing is a fake or not but it declares her to be a couple of months over twenty-two, making me feel old to have thought she was much younger.

"Have a seat," I tell her, handing her back the license. "I'll go see if he's back there."

I walk past Edith who is working the closing shift tonight since I worked the whole Christmas shift alone. I feel a pang of guilt for leaving her with all of it on New Year's, but she said she'd be fine.

I make my way down the short hallway, the sound of an angry voice stopping me from connecting my fist to the office door in a knock.

"I don't give a shit what she said. The money is still due. I'm not running a fucking camp for orphaned girls here, Carl."

A shiver runs up my spine, very similar to the one I've been getting when I think about the redhead he had in his office earlier in the week. I'm not one to kink shame anyone, but there just seemed to be something off about that entire situation, namely the age gap between her and Tommy.

When the man on the other side of the door releases a long line of curse words, I knock.

"What?" he growls, making my hackles go up.

I shove the door open, wondering just how fake this man has been to me with the smiles each time he sees me because he doesn't even try to hide his snarl. It doesn't have the same effect on me that Owen's angry scowl does.

"Something wrong?" I ask, knowing the man isn't going to tell me his problems. Hell, I pray that he doesn't. I don't want to know shit about what he's up to, although I can't help but feel guilty for not speaking up right now. For not questioning why a young girl would be on her knees, sucking his dick the other day and why another one, no doubt fresh from a fucking farm in Minnesota, is sitting at the bar waiting for him.

"Nothing you need to worry about. What do you need?"

An internal battle rages inside of me as I try to decide if I should tell him never mind and go tell that girl to get as far away from this place as possible or if I should mind my own damn business.

As he glares at me, I opt for the latter. It's not my place to get in the middle of anyone else's shit. That girl walked into this bar of her own free will, and I don't get a say in how she lives her life.

I wouldn't want people getting in the middle of mine. I know that for a fact because Jersey has no shortage of advice each time Owen walks up to the bar.

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