Page 52 of Iron Blade

I could play along. Try to sell it at even higher rates.

But what was that cut?

“Thank you, everyone,” I said, with a shrug. “It looks like the showing is over. Please, take your time and look at the beautiful work we have on display. It does seem like they’re all going to find a good home now, though.”

I stepped towards Eoghan, my hand outstretched toward his face as the grumbling crowd disappeared like the mist burned off by the midday sun.

“Eoghan, what happened?” I cupped his cheeks in my hands.

“Are you concerned for me, my sweet Muse?” He gave me a lopsided grin.

“No!” I retracted my hand as if his skin burned me, which only made him smile more. “But you can’t show up here with your bruised eye and blood dripping down your face. What will people think?”

“They’ll think that the gallery owner was a scrappy little fucker.” Another version of Eoghan materialized. It was like they were twins, apart from the difference in their eye color. Though, that wasn’t the only thing that set them apart.

Despite having the same yellow hair, and square jaw, there was something brighter about this other man. Like they were opposites of the same coin. A good twin, and a bad. “I’m Dairo Green.”

Dairo extended a hand to me, and I almost took it for a handshake, until Eoghan pushed his arm away. “Don’t get fresh with my woman!”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. That was when I caught a whiff of it. The scent of absinthe and sweat. Had he been in a bar fight?

“I’m not your woman.” I tried to squirm out of his hold, but he wouldn’t let me. He tightened his grip, placing a kiss on my temple. “Eoghan, I’m at work. Don’t!”

I tried to push him off, but he refused. His arm was like a vice, keeping me plastered to him.

“Please,” I hissed. “I don’t want people to talk.”

Eoghan rolled his eyes, but he let me go.

He was drunk. But it was a very different drunk from what he had been last night. This was… a happy drunk. A celebratory drunk.

“Come on,” I said, turning around to walk back into my office. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

A woman walked by, wearing a red Versace dress. She bit her lip, looking at both Dairo and Eoghan. Her hips swayed, her red lips up in an inviting smile. I bristled, as she didn’t even spare me a glance. Jealousy coiled up my guts. Why did I suddenly have the urge to hit a stranger?

“Come on,” I said again, grabbing Eoghan by the wrist, making a very public declaration.

He’s mine, bitch. Stay the fuck away!

The woman looked at me with a skeptical brow. She scanned me from head to toe, and rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed.

“Lead the way, love,” Eoghan said, wrapping an arm around my waist, and escalating my claim.

I took them down the hall and Dairo followed us close behind. I wanted to berate him for whatever he did to get bruised up again but refrained.

I took out my kit and prepped the tools to clean his wounds. The makeup, though... I had forgotten how I used to cover my bruises. With shaking hands, I grabbed it, threw it into the drawer and slammed it shut, hoping he didn’t see it.

“Are you going to tell me why you have a full fucking med kit in your office?” Eoghan leaned into me, tilting his head just a little, until our foreheads almost touched. “The first aid kit is just good preparedness, sure. But the cover up? You want to tell me who hurt you?”

Of course he would notice.

I took in a deep breath, my fingers trembled as I pressed the gauze against his cheek.

Memories of a loan shark, his goons. The way I had to dodge them on my way to work. The scarves, hats and sunglasses. The things I degraded myself to, just for a little more time to pay a debt that kept building interest. It was a terrible thing, to be poor.

My hands trembled as the memory of my second missed payment flooded my mind.

An office. An offer. Blood on my hands…

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