Page 37 of Debt of My Soul

Glimpsing her expression, lips tucked into a thin line and eyes darting around like she can’t decide where to look, I ask, “Do you know him well?”

“Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really. Not anymore. My brother does, though. They used to hang out a lot together. But where my brother stepped into the Jackpot world, Adam steered clear. Don’t think Liam would let him if he tried.”

She smiles, rubbing her arms as a rumble rolls past the road lined with the tents, and several motorcycles pull into the parking lot. I glance around. Everyone’s fixed on the group of five men, each on their bike. One by one, they return back to their work as if this is something they’re used to. River, however, keeps her attention locked on them.

Her eyes are somber and her lashes wet with tears. She stares and stares, blinking only once.

The men get off their bikes and load up a few pre-purchased crates. Crates of fresh produce mostly. In awe, I watch as these large burly men gather food and strap it to their bikes as if they were tricycles with pink baskets carrying their precious dolls or stuffed animals.

A person whips by me, and before I have time to realize River has moved, she’s halfway across the parking lot, determined. With each step, she emphasizes her march, her long legs stomping toward the men.

One of the brawny men—cause aren’t they all—spots her and turns in her direction. He taps his hand over the arm of another man, and he too looks at River charging at them. They both laugh while scouring her body.

Slinging my reusable bags full of my own farmer’s market finds, I jolt into a brisk walk to follow, catching up to her as she asks, “Where is he? Is he here?”

She hasn’t asked anyone in particular, and she scans the tents and crowds where a few of the men have walked off. The two men who saw her coming step into her, towering over her.

River is tall. Well, taller than me, and I’m about average. For them to stare down at her like she’s a bug under their obnoxiously large boots … well, I’m not sure it matters. She meets them stare for stare.

“River. Finally decide to give me a shot?” a tall younger guy with a dark goatee and greasy face says.

She glares at him, while townspeople pass by, ignoring the conversation.

“Bug off, Tilt.” But her eyes soften after her snap back. They flick down to the parking lot gravel, and she kicks at some pebbles before eyeing them again. “I just want to know …”

“River.” A loud voice booms from several feet away.

I gravitate to that voice, motivated to find it. Seek it out. My legs suddenly feel off balance when my gaze lands on him. I find myself holding my breath as he strides over.

Thundering legs take massive steps in my—our—direction, erasing the distance. With each step, the hairs rise on my arms and around to the nape of my neck.

Liam’s black boots and black jeans are standard, but his dark red flannel catches me by surprise and my eyes widen when it blows open, exposing a gray V-neck. All of his long hair is down today, the wind blowing a few strands in his face, which he promptly pushes away. Two rings and a leather bracelet wrap his wrist on the hand he moves to the back of his neck.

I can’t move. Can’t focus.

Why does someone like him have to be so attractive?

Liam stops in front of River, with me slightly to the side. His focus is wholly on her, like I’m not even here. He’s rugged and intense, but that doesn’t stop his sharp expression from lessening when he sees her.

“He’s not here,” he says.

She sniffles, and I move a hand to her shoulder. The movement snags his notice and when his gaze drifts over to me, he bristles.

What the …

He shifts on his boots, the deep treads leaving marks the size of a bear paw in the pea-sized gravel.

“Fleur.” He grumbles my name in a short tone, his posture going more rigid when he says it. If that’s even possible.

“Liam. Tell me, please, how is he?” River brings his attention back to her. She’s folded both of her hands around her mouth and nose as if she’s whispering a prayer to them. I can’t help but notice her trembling hands, and I glare at these assholes, who have her brother so wrapped up in addiction he won’t leave theirside. Won’t get help in order to have a better relationship with his sister.

“He’s okay, River. I’m watching out for him,” Liam says.

The snort that comes out of my mouth actually burns the back of my throat, and a wave of heat rushes through me at his words. Watching out for him? In what universe did he thinkhewas watching out for anyone?

---