Page 5 of The Shadowed Oracle
Franky froze mid-sentence.
His mouth was pinched, eyes wide as he stared directly over Ingrid’s shoulder. The uncharacteristic fear evident in his expression felt too foreign for her to fully realize what it might mean, so she didn’t turn at first. In that building, behind that bar, it was difficult to shake her. This was where she was most comfortable. Even when one of the hostesses ran up, out of breath and barely making sense as she muttered the warning, Ingrid didn’t shift her position, didn’t so much as blink.
“He’s here,” the hostess repeated.
“Yes,” Franky replied curtly. “We see.” He grunted through clenched teeth to Ingrid, “Go to the back office. Now.”
Ingrid straightened up, unrushed, and finished pouring the drink she’d been in the middle of mixing. Once it was placed on the well where the servers would pick it up, she wiped her hands on her bar rag, snatched her phone from her purse down below, and walked casually to the back of the restaurant.
She didn’t look back, didn’t break her casual pace, but once secure in the closet-sized manager’s office, sitting in that swivel chair Franky had broken in, she allowed herself a moment of unease. Her thoughts cast off in a hundred different directions at once. What if hewasdangerous? Unwell? Violent? And she was stuck back here, unable to protect her friend?
If something were to happen, she didn’t know if she could handle more guilt in her life. She’d spent most of her twenties stringing together stupid decisions. Her memories were full of rage-fueled confrontations, self-destructive life choices, and things she couldn’t even bring herself to remember. Each one of those memories, as vague and hazy as they were, still took turns visiting her in the night.
She quickly found the number, wasting no time glancing at those terse messages, then hit the call button. After a few rings, she stood at the door and opened it just enough to see the bar.
Where she could seehim.
Kyle Twyker was talking to Franky, standing just a few feet away from him. The discussion didn’t seem heated, and her boss had yet to resort to his infamous “intimidation pose” he used to eighty-six rowdy patrons.
Ingrid held the phone to her ear as it rang, watching them.
No answer. No movement or pause from Kyle Twyker to indicate his phone was ringing. She hung up, considered taking her purse and the gun concealed inside, but left it as she stepped into the hallway and walked through the packed restaurant.
When she was close enough to spit on her alleged stalker, she stopped, studying him with a vicious scan.
And what she found was… unremarkable.
He was so thin, frail almost, especially next to her boss’ considerable size. In the mythification of Mr. Twyker over the last few days, he’d somehow grown in her mind. His sunken eyes were menacing, and his thinning, oily brown hair was grotesque.But now, up close, those only served to make him seem smaller in every way.
“How’s it going?” Ingrid said simply, her expression communicating an entirely different message to Franky.
It’s not him.
Franky returned her searching glare with one of his own, scolding and squinting, almost in disbelief that she was there right in front of him. “It’s, uhh, I was just telling this gentleman…” He gestured to the potential stalker. “I was telling him he’s no longer welcome here.”
“And I was asking him why,” Kyle Twyker barked. His voice was nasally, whiny, adding to the disappointment. “What the hell did I say?”
“You don’t remember?” Ingrid asked.
Kyle shook his head indignantly.
“You stood up there.” She pointed to the scene of the crime. “After I rejected your half-assed advances, you stood on that barstool and you screamed at everyone.”
Kyle Twyker took a step forward. “What…did I…say?” The repetition was sharp, and threatening, but Ingrid jabbed right back.
“It was forgettable.”
Franky jutted one of his elbows into her, reminding her to keep cool. By this point, a small crowd of employees and patrons had drawn in closer, trying to listen in.
“It doesn’t matter what you said,” Franky grunted. “The only thing that matters is that you broke the rules. So you can’t come back. Understand? Sir?”
Kyle Twyker wouldn’t answer, only glared.
“Do youunderstand?”
“What if I don’t?” Kyle replied finally. “What if I don’t understand?” He’d gradually noticed the audience and wastrying to cause a scene. “Would you explain, at least? Or do you just deny service to whoever you want?”
Franky shook his head, calmly stuffing his hands in his pockets. The seasoned manager was well aware of the peculiar effect Ingrid had on certain men. They wanted to be seen. They wanted her time, her energy, even if it was wholly negative.
