Page 38 of The Devil's Thorn
The connection?
It’s there.
Alive. Breathing.
And as the dealer begins shuffling again, Rafael finally speaks.
“Tell me,” he says, quiet enough only I would catch it, “do you always whisper in Russian, or only when you want something?”
His voice slides through the space between us like silk-wrapped steel.
I freeze for a half second behind him. Just a beat. Not enough to register to anyone else. But he’d notice.
He always notices.
My voice is low when I answer, careful, calculated.
“Only when the table’s too loud.”
He doesn’t look at me. But I feel his smirk more than I see it.
He downs the rest of his drink in one smooth tilt and sets the glass back on the table.
“Get me another.”
Not rude. Not demanding.
Just certain.
Like he’s not making a request.
Like I already belong to the rhythm of his world.
I nod once and turn, spine straight, heels clicking softly against the floor as I head back toward the bar.
I don’t look back.
But Ifeelhim watching.
The noise returns as soon as I step away from the magnetic pull of his table. Cards shuffle again. Laughter erupts from a few seats over. A glass breaks somewhere in the distance. It’s like the world breathes again once I’m not near him.
But my pulse still isn’t steady.
“Iz,” Kellan’s voice comes through the earpiece again. He sounds tense. Clipped. “Do you need me to come in?”
I reach the bar and exhale, keeping my eyes on the shelves. I don’t answer.
“You’re too close. Too fast. I don’t like it.”
I pull a clean glass from the rack, slow and methodical, like my hands aren’t tingling from the memory of Rafael’s voice.
Still, I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
Itistoo fast.
And I’m not walking away.
