Page 24 of Was I Ever Here

His eyes shine with intent and my skin heats with anticipation while I squirm under his gaze. “You shouldn’t fear me, Sunny,” he finally says.

I scoff. “That’s a laugh. You’re kidding right?”

Shit.Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But how else am I expected to feel? The man oozes dominance and—oh right—killed Gary.

He grins. It’s a feral rise of his lips that makes me lick my own. The silver rings ornamenting his tattooed fingers reflect the candle still lit between us on the table. The ice lightly clinks in his glass as he takes a casual sip of whiskey. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows and my eyes dip, following the movement and then linger on his scar.

I must have stared for too long because he reaches up and slides the pad of his fingers across his scar. Quickly, I glance down at my own drink, considering just downing the whole thing in one large gulp.

“Are you wondering where I got this scar?” he asks. I can feel Byzantine’s eyes on me but refuse to match his gaze.

“Maybe once or twice,” I mumble.More like all the time.

“Look at me,” he orders sharply.

I train my attention on him and find his eyes flitting across my face as if trying to memorize it. My mouth suddenly goes dry.

“It involves Gary,” he admits and my heart drops.

Wait, what? My mouth falls agape, the words melting on my tongue before I can speak them.

He looks slightly amused with my reaction and continues, “Five years ago, your previous boss tried to kill me, and almost succeeded, but Connor—” He stops, fixing me with his enrapturing stare. “You’ve met him actually.” And then waves his hand around as if to say ‘oh you know? The one who scared you half to death last time you saw him.’

I’m still shell-shocked by the Gary admission and barely react. He grins and continues, “Connor found me,” he states, his tone even but his eyes darkening as if remembering something troublesome. He takes a quick sip of his drink and continues, “Brought me to the hospital, but I had lost so much blood that they said I was dead for several minutes before they were able to restart my heart.” He absentmindedly strokes his scar as if to soothe the memory out of his skin.

My mind is on fire and I don’t know which thought I should land on so instead I blurt out the first thing that comes to me.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he says thoughtfully, staring down at the table, but then continues, “When we finally went looking for him, Gary had erased himself from the city. All of our trails were dead ends.” He pauses, and looks me straight in the eyes. “Until a few weeks ago, when we heard he was back in town, moonlighting as the owner of Sammies.”

I don’t know what to say or think, desperately trying to merge the two realities I’m currently straddling into one.

Gary tried to kill Byzantine? Did he deserve it? Who the fuck was he involved with? Did I even want to know?

Scrounging up any leftover courage I’m still holding on to, I push out the question burning on my lips. “Did you deserve it?”

Byzantine shrugs, all fucking casual and nonchalant as if we’re not talking about him getting brutally attacked by none other than fucking Gary.

“Maybe,” he deflects with an unnerving grin, making my stomach flip. I kick myself internally for finding him even remotely hot, especially now while we’re deliberating if someone I knew had it coming.

“I’m just trying to make you understand why you shouldn’t fear me, little sun. Gary deserved what happened to him. He wasn’t a good guy.”

My lips part ready to cut in but he raises his hand and I snap my mouth shut.

“No, I’malsonot one of the good guys. I think that’s been established already.” He leans back against the booth, his green eyes sparkling as if he’s getting off from admitting he’s no saint. “My point is, I might have killed before,” he continues, his voice dipping lower, causing my throat to go suddenly dry. I know this about him already but hearing him say it still makes my heart lurch and my stomach sink.

Abruptly, he leans over like he’s about to tell me a secret, his arms resting on the table, a searing look on his face that makes me squirm in my seat.

“But I wouldneverhurt anyone who didn’t have it coming.” He stays silent for one second too long while I attempt to merge with the booth behind me. I wait for him to continue while he locks me into place with his smoldering gaze. “Especially you.”

My heart quickens and my mind goes suddenly blank.

I blink at him, unable to move or respond. Finally, Byzantine breaks the tension, and slides out of the booth as if he didn’t just say what he just said.

“Come, I’ll drive you home,” he says.

“Oh no, that’s okay. I live—”

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