Page 9 of Stolen
The door swings open behind her, flooding the alley with light and the sharp scent of cheap beer and violence.
More drunken men stumble out, one already shouting.
Jules—yes, that’s her name, I know it now, like I know every piece of her—flinches.
I’ve had enough interruptions. So, I step forward and let the illusion fall.
Seven feet tall, eyes glowing silver-blue, magic wrapping around me like a cloak of wind and intent.
“Go back inside,” I growl at the humans.
They do. Without a word. Without understanding why.
When I turn back to Jules, her breath catches, but she doesn’t run. She blinks once, twice, like she’s trying to wake from a dream.
“You should come with me,” I say.
She hesitates. “Why would I do that?”
I smile.
“Because,” I say, eager for reasons I’d rather not acknowledge, “I’m about to make all your dreams come true.”
Chapter2
Jules
Hoboken,New Jersey–On The Waterfront Bar & Bites
This is not the life I wanted.
But it’s the one I’ve got.
Another Friday night, another round of overpriced cocktails for Wall Street rejects with trust funds and zero personality.
I slide two tumblers of whiskey down the bar, plastering on a smile I don’t feel as the guy who ordered them snaps his fingers at me like I’m a dog.
I don’t flinch.
Not anymore.
That muscle’s been dead a long time.
“Maybe smile more next time,” he says, his buddies laughing behind him like they’re all part of some mediocre sitcom.
I’m already walking away, jaw tight, heart numb. If I don’t move, I might say something I can’t afford to. And I need this job.
It pays just enough to cover my shitty rent and my never-ending student loans for a degree I don’t use.
Art.
What a joke.
My name’s Jules, and I bartend in Hoboken for people who think suffering is when the bartender puts too much ice in their drink.
I’ve got no family.
No boyfriend.
