Her pain called to his and… to me. There’s something kind and yet toxic about her, and brokenness recognizes broken pieces. I stand in the doorway and take inventory, and I know he can’t handle her—or maybe that’s what I want to believe, because that truth would be easier to swallow.Especially as my eyes linger too long on this creature that believes she belongs to the light, but something draws me in to make her see my night.
The way Joe brushed me off when I asked too many questions about Sara, about life, about work on saving the girls. He carried weight I had not seen, and he seemed to always land on his feet. But now he’s gone, and I’m left piecing together scraps of a life I should’ve noticed while he was still breathing. I didn’t lose him; I failed him.
I thumb my phone and send a message to the guy Mateo hired, Riviera.
Keep an eye on her.
His replies come seconds later:
Riviera: Understood.
It doesn’t make me feel lighter, it makes me feel like I’ve handed her a rope she can hang herself with, but I control the rope, and that makes all the difference. I take another drag, taste ash, swearing it's my last cigarette, and mutter into the dark,
“Joe, if you can hear me, I hope to Christ you forgive me, because I’m already breaking every promise I ever made.”
Twenty
Sara
Artemis and Anne walk in front of me, led by the host who thanked us for coming on the big opening night. Apparently, our presence will make a difference in the future of this place, and maybe it will. I don’t really care.
Two months have passed since I last saw Liam; I ache for Joe and shamelessly hate that Liam left me as if I mean nothing.
Someone has been following and watching me, which you could define as stalking. The concerning part is that I have grown accustomed to it. It all feels like there’s a gathering storm of dark clouds and ferocity rolling through me. Maybe this isgrief's next phase, but whatever is brewing inside me now, is ready to explode.
The host attempts to slide his hand down the small of my back, but I flinch and shoot him a look sharp enough to speak for itself. He immediately removes his hand and steers us ahead. I’ve grown paranoid, I’ve already scoped the exits, the bathroom, even looking for windows. Luckily, there aren’t any, which means fewer chances of lurking eyes. When I received the invite, I was hoping it was for one of those poker games I’ve been patiently waiting for, but there’s no word on that front, as frustrating as that is.
“Here you go. Your server will be right with you. In the meantime, we’ve got a bottle of Dom on the house coming.” The host says once we reach our table.
As we nod thankfully, Artemis sits in the booth like a feline about to rule her throne. She’s in a red mesh tutu, a crop top, and high heels. As always, she's breathtaking and unapologetically herself. Anne is in a tight black dress that clings to her every curve, looking like an exotic treat as she flicks ash from her thin, very-Vogue cigarette. Brown hair falls across her face as she takes a drag and exhales smoke through her signature red lips.
I scan the room, loving to people-watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a security guard scowling at her for smoking. Before he can march over, the owner whispers in his ear, and the guard stiffens, eyes flicking to Anne with irritation and fascination as if he wonders why she can bend the rules.
My dark red dress crawls up my thighs as I cross one leg over the other. I usually avoid color, but a blood-red dress suits my mood tonight. Private rooms line the perimeter, some with frosted windows revealing only silhouettes, others with clear glass showcasing couples in passionate embrace that leave nothing to the imagination. This club is beautiful; I’ll give it that. It’s a temple of indulgence, sophisticated in its immorality.
“Artemis, is this a sex cl—?” I murmur, trying to hide my unease.
“Yup. A fancy one,” she purrs.
“Sara, breathe,” Anne says, blowing smoke in my face and locking eyes with the security guy.
“I’m breathing just fine—” I cough from her smoke.
“You’re the one who needs to breathe. Are you snacking on him tonight?” I tease.
“If he wanders into one of those rooms and keeps looking at me like that… I might give him more than lip stains,” she replies, scanning me up and down. “Wanna join?” Her grin is wicked, and she knows how quickly I get uncomfortable, but this place feels strangelyliberating.
“I need a drink before I make any bad decisions.” I swallow and scan the room for our bottle to arrive. Just as I ponder being too sober for this, hands cover my eyes and my heart jolts.
“Guess who?” A deep voice asks. I recognize the scent at once, and my stomach twists.
“Tyler?” I whisper.
His hand tightens, warm breath tickling my ear. “Good answer.” He rumbles. He whisks his hands away and stands before me—tall, green-eyed, dark brown hair falling on his forehead, sleeves rolled up. He looks handsome, though everything in me screams to stay away.
“How are you?” I force a smile.
“I’m great, Babygirl. I didn't expect to see you here... out of all places.”
