Page 21 of Ruby Mercy

Now, I’m only seventy-five percent aware of the fact that Kirill is sitting fifteen feet away from me, probably watching this entire interaction, instead of the full-bore one hundred percent he usually commands.

“What was your name?” I ask. “Sorry. I know you said it, but I was nervous when I came over and I missed it.”

He smiles. It’s a good smile, straight and kind with nice white teeth. A kind smile. “Garrett.”

“Hmm… I don’t know any songs with ‘Garrett’ in them.”

He chuckles. “Me neither. But kids called me Garrett the Carrot when I was growing up. Maybe you can do something with that?”

I press a finger to my chin, pretending to consider it. “I guess I could call you Carrot, too.”

Garrett leans in and suddenly, his friendly smile takes on a seductive edge. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I meet his dark eyes. “I think I’d let you call me whatever you want, Rayne. As long as you promise not to go away.”

I tighten my hold on my glass, trying and failing not to think about the man on the other side of the room. The man who doesn’t just give me butterflies, but full-body electrical pulses. Being next to Garrett compared to Kirill is like licking a battery versus being struck by lightning.

There is no comparison.

Still, I try to shove those thoughts aside. I want someone nice. I want to move on.

So I look in Garrett’s face, and I lie. “I promise.”

7

KIRILL

The motherfucker is a dead man walking.

He has his hand low on Rayne’s back, swaying her back and forth on the grimy dance floor in the corner of the bar. The lights are dim, but not dim enough for me not to see every excruciating thing they're doing.

The way Rayne arches against him. His hand on her skin. His lips whispering in her ear.

“We can go,” German suggests.

“You can stop saying that.”

“I’ll stop saying it as soon as you stop looking like that.” He gestures to my face. “I don’t want to clean blood out of my clothes tonight. Let’s not kill that poor son of a bitch.”

“I don’t know what son of a bitch you’re talking about.”

German doesn’t even dignify that dismissal with an answer. We both know it’s bullshit. I haven’t taken my eyes off of Rayne all night.

“You could go say hi. Make friends.”

“With friends like you, who needs more?” I snap.

I toss back the rest of my drink and signal to the waitress for another. She’s been hovering nearby all night. I could say the word and she’d leave this bar with me right now.

“Another one,” I bark, handing her the drink.

She grabs the glass and arches her back. Her chest is pressed forward, straining against the thin material of her shirt. I can make out the detailing of her purple lacy bra underneath. “Is there anything else I can interest you in? You know… if you want to try something new?”

I wave her away. “Another of what I just had.”

She hides her disappointment behind a polite smile and sashays back to the bar.

“Fuck me,” German groans. “She could be throwing herself at me, but nooo. She’s wasting time on sourpussyou,even though you can’t take your eyes off of your ex-girlfriend.”

I ignore him and grind my teeth hard as the man twirls Rayne against his chest. She is smiling, her hair spilling over her shoulders and brushing across his arms. He’s probably wrapped in the lavender scent of her. His shirt will smell like it later. I know from experience.

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