Page 8 of Was I Ever Here

Was I destined to find them in this lifetime?

Him? Her?

Considering my current sexual orientation, I was hoping for the latter.

Hell I didn’t fucking know.

It’s not as if I had instructions given to me when I came back from the dead. I’ve been trying to make sense of it ever since. When I was finally released from the hospital I even bought a book about reincarnation.

I must have looked so out of place in the small crystal shop, grunting about past lives and looking like a thug with my scowl, scars, and tattoos. I got the fuck out of there as soon as the clerk handed me back my change. Half embarrassed, and the other half secretly hoping I could finally find some goddamn answers.

I didn’t.

Not for the questions I had anyway. All this metaphysical bullshit was confusing. All I knew is what I had seen and what my gut was telling me.

Bastian’s voice pulls me back from my drifting thoughts. “He did a fine fucking job erasing his identity, I’ll give him that much. But he’s not as good as me,” he boasts, rare for him, his eyes twinkling. “Goes by Gary now.”

“Gary?” I repeat, pinching my lips as if the name tastes as foul as the man himself.

“Yeah,” Bastian continues, looking smug. “He made one crucial mistake though. He came back to Noxport. Owns a hole in the wall near the water now.”

Connor sits up from the long chair, his muscles corded with anger. “The fucking rat was dead the second his fat fucking toe crossed the city limits,” he growls, his lip curling in disgust while he looks over to me, his eyes almost as black as his hair. “So what’s the plan?”

He wouldn’t typically give me free reign on something like this. But this is different. It’s personal.

He inherited The Sin Eaters when his father was gunned down near the docks while brokering a drug deal worth millions. Connor was only twenty-one at the time, but he stepped up fearlessly. Eleven years later, he’s become one the most respected drug and arms dealers on the west coast. I’ve been his second-in-command for as long as I can remember, primarily responsible for laundering money through the bars and clubs we own around Noxport.

Bastian is Connor’s cousin and our resident hacker. The family resemblance runs deep between the two, both having broad shoulders, dark features, square jaws and roman noses. However, Bastian keeps his hair bleached almost white, a stark contrast to his black eyebrows and dark eyes. And as loud and boisterous Connor is, Bastian is quiet and observant. They’re more family than my own blood.

I look over to my brother-in-arms, a thirst in my throat that won’t be quenched until I get my hands onGary.I run my hand over my throat, the scar still thick and raised even after five years. I’ve considered covering it up with a tattoo but something always stops me. Maybe it's the subconscious need to keep the reminder of why I’m still here.

“I want to make him bleed,” I sneer, baring my teeth.

A sadistic smile creeps across Connor’s face. If I didn’t know him my whole life, his way of slipping from casual jokester to ruthless killer would unnerve me. But I smile back instead, knowing exactly what he’s thinking behind his cruel stare. And I am right there with him.

“I think it’s about time we gave dear ol’ Gary a visit, don’t you think?” he says.

“I think you’re right,” I respond, standing up, my muscles buzzing for what’s to come. “Our reunion is long overdue.”

Chapter 4

Sunny

IwalkintoSammiesfrom the back door with Lenix following right behind. I’m greeted by the same odor as yesterday. And the day before that…and the day before that. A mixture of sweat and yeasty stale beer that wafts up from the decades old carpet lining the front of house.

Sammies is a run-down pub close to Old Town. It’s a popular hangout for the locals but far from a tourist attraction. The proximity to the water makes the rats fat and not the least bit shy. They mostly come out after hours when the bar is quiet, staying close to the dumpsters and making me yelp anytime I catch one sprinting across the kitchen floor.

I inhale deeply—despite the smell—and swallow my rising anxiety back down into the pit of my stomach where it belongs. I don’t exactly hate my job, it’s more like a general dislike of my entire existence. A low throb that follows me around anywhere I go. I never want to be here—wherever here is—at any given moment.

We cut through the kitchen, waving a quick hi to the cooks. Stifling a yawn, I push my way into the employee room.

The thought of pouring pints for the next eight hours is making my stomach lurch but I change into my work shirt anyway, pulling my shorts over my tired legs. The leftover shame from last night still coursing through my veins, I internally wince at the memory of Hunter grunting into me. Steadying my shaky hands, I gather my hair into a loose top bun.

“I’m like, already over it and I haven’t even started,” I whine.

“Such a gloomy baby,” Lenix teases, winking at me before she pulls her shirt over her head, her pink lacy bra on full display.

I roll my eyes. “You know I hate it when you call me that,” I shoot back.

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