Page 45 of Veil of Dust
I don’t look up. My hands stay on the crate, fingers brushing the rough wood.
“I’m paying you in survival,” I reply, voice low, steady. “Yours and mine.”
She pushes off the beam and walks forward. Her boots hit the floor in slow, precise steps, each one echoing in the confined space. Not threatening. Not friendly.
Just direct.
“You come down here with cash and crates,” she says, her tone biting, “but all I see is another secret waiting to blow.”
“I’m managing the fallout,” I say, keeping my eyes on the crate, though every nerve tracks her approach.
“No,” she snaps, voice cutting sharper, “you’re dumping it on me and hoping the floor holds.”
I finally look at her. She’s close now, standing just beyond arm’s reach.
She’s wearing dark jeans, her hair tied back, and a thin sheen of sweat glistens at her collarbone where her shirt pulls tight. She’s been running this bar, holding it together while I build an empire beneath it, and somehow, she’s still standing, fierce and unyielding.
Her eyes narrow, locking onto mine, searching for something I haven’t given her.
“You ever gonna tell me how many bodies this place is holding?” she asks, her voice quieter now, but no less heavy.
“No,” I say, the word final, closing off that path.
She doesn’t laugh. Her jaw tightens, just enough to notice.
She steps closer.
“You’re neck-deep,” I warn, closing the crate with a firm push. “The less you know, the safer.”
“In your shit,” she cuts in, flat, her words a blade aimed at my chest. “That’s where I am.”
Then her hand grazes mine.
Barely.
A flash of contact, nothing more. Her fingers brush the back of my knuckles, quick and fleeting.
But I feel it.
Sharp, like a spark that could ignite the whole damn basement.
Too fast to chase.
Too warm to ignore.
She doesn’t pull away. Her hand lingers, just for a heartbeat, her skin rough from work but soft where it meets mine.
Neither do I. My hand stays still, letting the moment stretch, letting her warmth sink into me.
Her eyes meet mine. Not soft. Not angry. Just there, raw and present, holding me in place.
Present.
She blinks once, breaking the spell but not the weight.
Steps back.
And just like that, it’s gone, the air cooling where her touch had been.
