Page 49 of Invisible Bars
“I—I used to tell people I felt safer there than anywhere else.”
“That’s the first trick,” Imanio commented quietly. “Real predators don’t hunt in the dark; they build the light around you so you stop looking for shadows.”
I leaned back, staring at the remaining food on my plate. I let my fork clatter against the plate.
“So Blu was another predator, huh? I lived next to the boogeyman for three years, and now I’m forced to live with another one—serial killer hospitality! What’s the difference?”
I didn’t apologize for what I said that time; I just stared him down.
Imanio’s jaw flexed. “I never said I wasn’t,” he replied. “I’m just not thepedophile-traffickerkind.”
“And what i-if I tried to run… from you?” I whimpered.
Imanio’s stare dropped to his glass. He took a sip—slow, savoring it like it was wine instead of water.
When his eyes returned to mine, they were colder.
“Then I’d become the version of me youshouldbe afraid of. Not the man feeding you breakfast… not the man answering your questions… but the one I keep locked in a cage deep enoughIdon’t even like visiting it.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering to something lethal.
“Thatversion of me, doesn't explain, doesn’t negotiate, and damn sure doesn’t leave bodies behindintact.”
Imanio didn’t smile nor gloat. He just sat there like he was reading off facts—like he wasn’t threatening me, just warning me.
“Lying sack of expired cereal milk!” I exclaimed.
My face pulled tight, nerves prickling just beneath the surface. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him—like something in me needed to see how he’d react, even if I wasn’t ready for the outcome.
“Finish your food,” he instructed, not demanding, in a charming way. “I pay Ms. Shirley good money for her services.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes out loud. Internally, though? They spun like a slot machine.
Imanio dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin, set it down, then leaned forward, elbows on the table like we were having brunch and not a psych-eval-slash-interrogation.
“So, since you clearly know a little about my personal life, let’s talk about yours for a minute. What do you do for work? Do you work?”
“I work at the aquatic center,” I replied.
His brows lifted, slightly intrigued. “What’s your position there?”
“Stocking,” I answered. “I’d… I’d love to be out front g-greeting guests or giving tours or something. But… with my condition, it’s probably not the best idea. So, I stay in the back—quiet, solitary.”
Working in the stocking room at the aquatic center wasn’t glamorous, but it brought me peace. I handled inventory, restocked filters and chemicals, prepped food for the reef and predator tanks, logged water tests, and double-checked theenvironment settings before anyone else clocked in. I liked the quiet hours, the hum of the tanks, and the routine of it.
He nodded slowly, watching me. “Were you supposed to work this past weekend?”
“No. I have weekends off. I supposed to go in today, though… and if I don’t show up, I’m sure they’ll be looking f-for me.”
“Do you like working there?”
My shoulders rose a little. “Y-Yeah. It’s peaceful. Nobody bothers me. The animals don’t care if I twitch or blurt random things; they just swim.”
“If you’d said no, I was going to tell you that you weren’t going back.”
“Hell no—fuck a sea sponge sandwich!” My hand flinched off the table, nearly knocking over my cup.
“Still thinking on it. But I will make sure you get this week off. Don’t ask how.”
