Page 18 of Muted

Her small step away from me straightens my spine, so I stop and force a smile on my face.

Mouthing, “Thank you,” to her, she gives me another shaky nod before spinning on her heel and hurrying back to her table.

I really hope I didn’t fuck myself by opening my mouth today.

Chapter 5

Soldier

Theo

Every time someone hands me their ID at the door, I fight off a growl. She’s fucking scared, and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it, except make it worse for her as each new person walks into Sonority to find a seat in the already full bar.

After Thad quit, which I’m pissed happened while I was running errands, Vance and Susu spent the rest of the afternoon working through each piece in the set binder.

I’ve spent most of the time since she slipped through the front door for the first time a few weeks ago just watching her. It was a surprise when Chester, whom I knowloveswhen I call him Chaz, hired her. I keep watch; analyzing in an attempt to figure her out. Observing Susanna Walston started off as a personal challenge to see if I could learn to read her body language, but within hours, she intrigued me.

Now, I watch to learn more about her and maybe help her out. So, when I observed her start practice with Vance, I knew immediately her anxiety had a fierce hold on her. There was a subtle tremor in her hands that was only amplified every time Vance snapped, “We’re not doing this one,” after they ran through a song.

I’ve known him long enough that what he meant was that it wasn’t right for the two of them. Susu doesn’t know him well enough, though. With each song removed from the binder, her fingers trembled more, and her shoulders hunched.

The look of hope on her face when he stood up after hours of practice, commenting to Chaz, “This will work out,” was crushed when Vance said nothing to her, except for, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Again, I understand Vance. He was in the zone and actually pleased with how Susu kept up with him. What he’s terrible at is expressing himself to others thatdoesn’tmake him seem like a conceited prick.

Which now brings us to tonight. If she was gripped by her anxiety yesterday, today she looks like she’s being tortured by it. The bright stage lights make her look paler than normal, and there’s a slight sheen of nervous sweat across her forehead.

I tense when Vance walks past her, only to pause and lean down, whispering something in her ear with his hand on her back. The jackass doesn’t notice the way she stiffens under his touch, and keeps his hand there until she nods, before he moves around to seat himself in front of his piano.

Their set starts off a little rocky with small mistakes and fumbling of the keys on her part, but people are talking so loudly in here that no one really notices. Except for Vance,hefucking notices.

Typically, he and Thad would banter with each other between songs, playing up the dueling theme, but tonight he speaks to the crowd, working them up with jokes and razzing some customers.

With no one paying much attention to her, I notice her shoulders relax as she gets more comfortable with each song as they work through their set. Vance also gets more comfortable and shoots approving looks toward her, which she never notices because she’s sits low on the bench.

I thought about offering her something to sit on but realized that she was already stretching her leg to reach the pedals of the piano.

“Hey!” a voice jerks me away from watching, and I turn to face a couple of men who look like they’re barely old enough to be out of high school.

“ID,” I say, holding my hand out. Two of the three guys hand their licenses over, but the one who got my attention pretends like he’s searching his pocket for his.

“Oh, damn. I think I left it back in the car,” he complains, then gives me a sheepish look. “My bad, man. I’m with them though,” he adds, pointing at his friends who are twenty-one and twenty-two years old.

I mimic the way he points, stating, “Then you’ll need to run back to the car and grab it.”

Laughing at me, he quickly swallows it back when I don’t crack a smile. “Awe, come on, man. We’re parked like six blocks away. Can’t you just give me a break? I swear I’m old enough.”

I pride myself on my ability to read body language, so when I let my eyes fall on his friends and they look everywhere but at me, I know this asshole is lying to me.

Irritated that I’m not watchingher, I cross my arms and stare him down. “You can run back to the car to grab your ID, or I can give you a bracelet and hand stamp so you can’t order from the bar.” Then, narrowing my eyes at his friends, I add, “And if I catch your friends supplying you, I’ll have them both detained until the police arrive for supplying a minor.”

Scowling at me, the one without the ID grumbles about not wanting to waste everyone’s time and he’ll just be the designated driver tonight and shoves his wrist in my direction.

Because I’m annoyed, I smirk and say, “The other one, please.” It really doesn’t matter what hand the stamp and bracelet go on, but I feel like pissing him off.

His frown deepens when he drops his arm and holds the other one out, this time less obnoxiously. Wrapping the wristband around, I make sure I catch a few hairs under the glue and then press the stamp a little extra harder than necessary, forcing his tendons to grind under the rubber.

With a fake smile, he forces through his teeth, “Thanks, man.”

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