Page 83 of Sinful
If you're going to stay somewhere, prospect for that club. Not ours.
You can't outrun grief forever.
Fuck.
When I go back inside, Helle's still at the bar.
She's ordered another beer—and one for me, sitting next to her half-empty bottle.
"Figured you'd need it," she says when I sit down. "That looked intense."
"How'd you know it was intense?"
"The way you walked out. Like you were heading to an execution." She takes a drink. "Your Prez?"
"Yeah."
"What'd he want?"
"Update on the alliance. Timeline for retaliation. The usual business." I pick up the beer she ordered, take a long drink. It's cold and perfect. "Asked if I was getting involved with someone I shouldn't be."
Her eyebrows raise. "And what'd you say?"
"That I'm keeping things professional."
"Are you?"
I look at her. Really look at her.
Blonde hair still damp from her shower, curling around her face.
Eyes that aren't quite as dead as they were when I met her.
Bruises blooming on her knuckles, her arms, evidence of what we survived together.
"No," I admit. "I'm really not."
A smile tugs at her mouth. "Good. Because I'm not either."
We sit there for a moment, that admission hanging between us.
Njal appears from the back, wiping down glasses. "You two need anything else? Because I'm about to get off."
"We're good," Helle says. "Thanks, Njal."
"No problem." He starts cleaning up, saying good-bye to a couple of the regulars.
"Walk with me?" Helle asks, standing up.
"Yeah. Okay."
We leave Bubba's together, stepping out into the night.
The compound is quiet—most members are either eating a late dinner, or still inside the clubhouse dealing with the aftermath of last night.
Helle starts walking toward the back of the property, toward the tree line.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
