Page 22 of Heartfelt Pain
His arms stretch against the bar as he leans. He’s powerful and deadly. I know because his mother, Nancy, is like Aunt Macy. A legend to fellow triggermen. And she taught her son everything she knew.
“You ever worry about her?” Tyler asks and I feel my brow wrinkle.
Tyler and I know one another, but I wouldn’t say we’re best friends. There’s been times I’ve shown up asking for information. He knows a lot, thanks to his mother and her connections. He’s wise and street-smart. But he never comes across as a snoop.
So I don’t know why he’s suddenly worried about my friend.
“It’s my job to worry about her.” Professionally and personally.
Tyler’s chest heaves with a sigh. It’s just the start of his shift.
“Are you worried about your friend?” I ask. The one that goes around wearing a mask. The Ghost is even more active as a vigilante than Isolde.
“Every day.”
His seriousness takes me aback.
Tyler reminds me of Russet and Ben. Hardworking, practical, and just trying to pay the bills. He flashes smiles and jokes easily. His good looks help him bring in the bartending tips, but he’s also kind.
He doesn’t say it, but a current runs between us. If he’s worried about his friend, the Ghost, then I need to be worried for Isolde.
“What shit do you know?” With my arms crossed over my chest, and my martini glass lifted to my lips, this is starting to feel like a work meeting.
Tyler shakes his head, his attention grabbed by a server coming over. He’s got actual work to do.
“Have a good night.” He’s nice enough to hand over another skewer of bleu cheese-stuffed olives, knowing it’s my favorite part about the drink. I only have a chance to smile in thanks before he walks away.
Red lipstick stains the rim of the glass as I survey my options.
Men and women stare back at me. I should feel satisfaction, knowing I have options. I’m wanted.
But being a wanted woman in my line of work is never good.
Wariness settles over me and the night’s just begun.
Don’t do this, I beg my brain. Just turn off for once. It’s okay to enjoy something.
In some ways, this should be easier than dating apps. Every person in this room is here for the exact same reason. And they’re all vetted by the exclusive club.
It’s safe to play.
I’m having a full-on pep talk with myself at this point. My limbs are already tired. I put so much effort into getting ready but the anticipation has fizzled.
I could grab someone. All it’d take is a look. We’d find ourselves in a private room. I could satisfy all my urges and go home before I turn into a pumpkin.
Or I could just go home now.
A server is by my side offering me another dirty martini. I decide to give myself one more drink before making a decision.
“Your dress is really pretty,” a soft-spoken female says, passing me on the way to the bar.
I ignore her and drink a little faster. Probably would’ve helped if I’d eaten more today.
“She’s right.”
A man leans against the bar, his suit impeccable and his body hot as fuck. His voice is smooth. It’s not smarmy, though, depending on the next few lines of conversation, my opinion might change.
“Your dress is pretty,” he purrs.
