I’m not sure if it’s pride or horror that carries my legs toward the exit. Either way, it’s a miracle I can move at all.
I came here to regain some control over the situation, not to remind myself how powerless I am as soon as he draws too close. It’s agonizing and painful and…
“Mia,” his voice calls out after me.
My hand freezes on the door handle. I don’t turn around, but I don’t open it either.
“You have your own room here. If you ever need it.”
For when you eventually move in,he doesn’t say.
I push down on the handle and escape into the night without looking back.
“We thought you were dead, you know,” Rufin greets me at the back of an Irish bar in New Jersey.
This is an old haunt from a life I swore I’d leave behind after college.
“You have so little faith in me?” I say back, pulling away from the wall to take a measure of the man before me.
I’m not sure if his real nameisRufin, but it’s what he’s always insisted on. He hasn’t changed much since I last saw him—same leather jacket, same burn scar across his face. He must be older than me by a decade or so, but I never learned his exact age.
Seeing his face again ignites adrenaline within me that does wonders for my efforts to forget a certain towering blonde man and all the lies that drop from his mouth.
This is what I need, to do something that I can actually control. Something that I’m good at.
“You stopped showing up.” He shrugs with a smirk on his half-ruined lips. “I poured a drink out for you and everything.”
“Didn’t realize you cared.”
This used to be my life before theCandelabrabecame my domain. But with that gone, it was either waste away at home,staring at the clock until it was time to perform my wifely duties, or this.
Thishasn’t changed. Rufin hasn’t changed. I don’t need to change, either.
He shakes his head. “Something came up last week. I actually thought of you for it, you know. Weird that you would come back now.”
I give him a calculating look. “How coincidental.”
He seems to weigh his thoughts carefully before responding. “Client seemed a little too keen to know about you. I’d say it's just a coincidence, but keep your guard up anyway.”
Rufin digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small notebook. From inside, he extracts a business card and offers it to me.
“I always do,” I take it from him. There’s nothing on it but a number. “Anything I should know?”
“She wanted a woman in her twenties?—”
My eyebrow quirks up. “She?”
Rufin nods. “Private muscle for a couple of events.”
“Babysitting then,” I look back down at the card. I can’t remember the last time I did freelance work for a woman. Not in this particular industry.
“I’m not sure who she's affiliated with, but it’s not the Irish.”
I tap the card against my palm a few times. “Thanks, Rufin. I’ll send you your cut.”
“Can’t accept money from a ghost, Red,” he brushes me off. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
With a wave, I head out of the alley, burner already in hand. It’s already late, so I half expect that no one will pick up when I dial the number.
