Page 8 of Hidden

“Yeah. Usually by you,” she said, and then paused before walking closer to me.

“Actually… it was Dante who was the worst this time. Remember, he named her snake after you.”

“Yeah, and he paid a hefty price for such insults,” she said, a scary smile on her face. “Anyway, what’s this I hear about you smelling like beer?”

Her eyes scanned the bar, her lips thinning slightly when she saw the half-empty pint glass.

“Vienna… it’s not even eight in the morning. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what,” she said softly.

I saw the hurt in her eyes. I could see she was worried about me. I knew she was concerned that I was here, every single morning, pissed as a fart.

But she didn’t know everything.

She didn’t know I spent every night watching, waiting, needing the reassurance. She didn’t know every night I was in Rough Rider territory, needing just a glimpse of the woman I craved like oxygen.

She didn’t see any of this. None of them did.

They just saw the drunk bum at the bar, following in his mother’s footsteps.

“I know, I know… I need to change my ways. And I have the perfect idea.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rachel asked, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Well… you know how I’m starting a band?”

“Ye-es?” she said slowly, her look of suspicion only becoming heavier.

“I’ve had a brilliant idea!”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Oh, ye of little faith! You, my dear little hair buddy, you are going to be the lead singer.”

“In the nicest way possible, Vienna, no the fuck I am not. But you go live your dreams, you hairy weirdo.”

She pushed away, knowing she wasn’t getting any further with me.

No one was. They didn’t need to see the madness behind the mask. They didn’t deserve for my darkness to be their burden. They could have my humour and my light. The rest I’d shoulder alone.

“Oi, oi, oi,” I called out to her, frowning as I finally took in her attire. “You lecture me about the time of day, where the fuck are you going at this hour dressed like a streetwalker?”

“First of all, I look fucking iconic, bitch. Second of all, none of your business,” she said over her shoulder, raising her middle finger behind her back and not bothering to turn around.

“Vienna, would you like to explain why Rachel has just shoulder barged me on her way past?” Dante asked as he came into the bar, shrugging into his leather cut.

“Fucking hell, is there a revolving door back there or something? What’s with the one-at-a-time entrances? Can’t a man have a drink without all the questions?”

“You’re drinking atmybar…” Dante replied, raising one eyebrow at me.

“Ourbar.”

“For the last time, Vienna, you’re not a co-owner.”

That was my go-to lately. Ever since Dante had made a pact with the Rough Riders to get weekly updates on Gabriella, things had felt too heavy between us. And so, I had made up a story about wanting to be a co-owner. It started as a way of deflecting the conversation. I kept it going because I knew it annoyed him.