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In the dream, it wasn’t my hand, though. In the dream…
Fuck. Stop it.
Gritting my teeth, I drag in a deep breath through my nose. I quit smoking the night I got shot—the smell of menthol makes me queasy now—but at this particular moment, I’m really fucking craving a cigarette.
Something.
Anything to distract me and center me.
I pour the cocktail and slide the drink across the bar, palming the cash the guy lays down on the slick wood. But as I look up to see who else needs a drink, I freeze with the bill clutched in my hand.
Marcus is here. Sitting at the bar like he’s got every goddamn right to be here right now. Like he didn’t just shove his hand down my pants in a library yesterday. Like he’s just a normal, good-looking guy out for a drink with his buddies.
Because he’s not alone either.
He’s flanked on either side by two men I recognize. Ryland sits on his left, staring at me with the same level of animosity as he did the last time I saw him.
The other guy is Marcus’s other shadow. I don’t know his name, and I’ve never really gotten a great look at his face, but I’m sure it’s him. Like bad fucking news, these men always come in threes.
The third man was there the night I got shot. He was there the night they beat the shit out of my would-be mugger. And now he’s sitting with his elbows resting casually on the bar, sipping a glass of whiskey as he grins at me.
I can feel Marcus watching me intently, the air and earth of his eyes raking over me like a physical touch. Combined with the blistering glare from Ryland, it makes me feel like my clothes are about to be incinerated—and maybe the top layer of my skin too.
So I ignore both of those men, letting my gaze settle on their friend instead.
The guy whose name I don’t know looks… different than the other two.
There’s something almost alarmingly laid back and charming about his bearing. It’s alarming because it makes me want to relax around him, and I know that would be a huge fucking mistake.
Just because he doesn’t seem to be made of pure fire like Marcus or of stone like Ryland, it doesn’t make him any less dangerous than his friends.
I scan the room again, looking for anyone else who needs a drink, but of course it’s died down. I could just ignore the three men watching me from the end of the bar, but I know it won’t make them go away. And their steady focus on me is making my hand shake. Trying to pretend I don’t know they’re here isn’t going to work for shit.
So I pour myself a shot of tequila, down it, and then walk toward them as the burn creeps reassuringly through my chest.
Marcus’s eyes track my movement, the light blue of his right iris reflecting the colorful neon lights of the signs behind the bar.
I refuse to even acknowledge him though, bracing my palm on the smooth dark wood of the bar as I cock my head at the man I don’t know.
“So, what’s a guy like you doing hanging out with these two assholes?”
I jerk my head to his left, indicating the other men, and the guy throws his head back and laughs. He’s got shaggy, dark blond hair that’s swept back away from his face, though a few pieces flop over his forehead. Blue-green eyes glitter in the light as he looks back at me, a crooked smile curving his lips.
“You know, I ask myself that same question every damn day, Rose.”
His last word makes me tense slightly. Rose.
He knows my name. I’m sure of it. Given how closely I’m starting to realize Marcus and Ryland have been watching me, it’s impossible that this man who seems to be the third part of their triad wouldn’t know just as much about me as they do.
But he called me Rose, a reference to the tattoos that cover my truncated arm.
It’s familiar and intimate in a way that makes my heart beat faster.
He’s not just friends with these guys. He’s one of them. A part of this—whatever the fuck this is.
“Never mind.” I shake my head, taking a step back as goose bumps break out across my skin. “Forget it.”
“Hey.” His voice stops me, the softness in it catching me by surprise. His brows pull together, and he looks at me with what appears to be genuine confusion. “Don’t be scared. It’s all right. We won’t bite.”
