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“So,” I began casually, “I’ve not seen you here before. Where’s the regular bartender?”
The redhead shrugged but I caught the way she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Not sure.”
“A cute blonde. Wasn’t her name Tricia?”
“Uh, yeah. She still works here from time to time. Haven’t seen her in a bit though. Can I pass your name along when I see her next?”
Right. “Just tell her the Royal Bastards say hello.”
That was the end of our discussion since she ignored me after that and made sure cleaning was the most important thing to occupy her time. I saw it for what it was, but I didn’t expect her to come outright and say she knew Trish. A friend would keep their silence and these girls usually protected one another. I’d find out what I needed to know sooner or later, and it wasn’t that far to ride back again once the weather decided to cooperate.
Restless, I couldn’t quite explain my unease. Perhaps it was that ‘sixth sense’ ability that my brothers and I all shared. When your soul was sold to the devil, you gained unnatural insight into the world around you. The things I could do . . . well, they were dark, deadly, and absolutely sinful.
Maybe that was why I loved the club. My ass was on a one-way ticket to Hell, but I had plenty of company. Nothing like a group of badass motherfuckers to spend all of eternity with. Throw in my bike and the Devil’s Ride and shit, I was as fucking contented as I could ever be. Maybe once, a long time ago, I could have wanted or needed more but that was before I accepted this way of life and my part to play in it.
And it was long before Suraya.
A slight tingle traveled up my spine and I carefully set down my glass as my gaze fixated on the front doors. I felt the movement of the other men and could hear the steel barrel of their guns, the smell of tightly packed gunpowder, and the deadly desire to inflict harm long before they entered. Lifting the skull print bandana over my face was like second nature. The drunken patrons would wonder if what they saw later was only a figment of their imagination. There would be no proof of my transformation. Naked eyes couldn’t see beyond the filmy haze that separated life from death.
Only Reapers held that coveted skill.
“Let’s dance,” I rumbled with an enthusiastic tone, taking a wide stance. “I was bored anyway.”
Chapter 2 – Sasha
Hawthorne, Nevada had a population of 3,269. A small town with about a thousand more people than Tonopah, the other city I called home from time to time. I chose them both for a reason. You could say it was the stargazing or the frequent ghost tours or the historic mining park and you’d be partially right. But it was the obscurity that I liked the most. No one knew who I was or my past and I could hide in the crowd without worry or shame.
At least, everyone but Trish. A victim of the same foolish choices, we both lived in a carefully constructed house of lies. As they say, misery loves company. So does desperation. She was my one saving grace and my only true friend. Without her, there was no doubt I would be dead.
“Sasha?”
“Over here,” I called out, smiling as Trish walked out the employee entrance and shivered, pulling her heavy winter coat tighter around her slim frame.
“Aren’t you cold?” She slid next to me on the wooden bench left for the smokers along with a sand filled birdbath that long since faded to an obscure salmon in the brutal Nevada sunshine.
“A little,” I admitted, “but the snowflakes are pretty, and the stars are so bright tonight.”
“You and those stars,” she chided.
“Hey, don’t give my twinklies a hard time.”
Trish sent me a look that said whatever, babe. “It’s gonna be a bad storm. I can feel it in my bones,” she joked, jumping up and holding out a gloved hand. Snowflakes fell onto her upturned palm and melted as she shrugged, turning my way. “I’m gonna get out of here before the roads are shit. Need a ride?”
I was tempted but Shelly was working the bar tonight and she was
the one putting up with my ass for the time being, so I decided to stick around until her shift ended. “Nah, I’ll go with Shelly. She’s closing.”
“You know you could stay with me. I don’t mind.”
“You’ve got enough to worry about,” I argued, refusing for the third time. She’d been asking all week. “No unnecessary attention. Remember? We both have to lay low and it’s better if we do it apart rather than together.”
Trish leaned in and gave me a quick hug, squeezing a few seconds longer than needed. Tempted to ask if something was on her mind, I opted to keep my mouth shut. It was far easier than standing in the freezing wind and dredging up the past. “I worry about you. Suraya asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed, shooing her away with my hands and ignoring the painful tug on my heart. “I’m not so sure you aren’t the one who needs more supervision.”
“True that,” she snorted, shaking her head. Her smile wasn’t quite as full as it used to be, not for about six months now. We both knew the cause was a certain biker president that had severed all connection since that fateful night when Suraya lost her life. In the months that followed, we had to watch our backs on a daily basis and prepare for the worst. Trish packed us each a getaway bag with cash, extra clothes, snacks, and fake I.D.s stashed in case of emergency.
We both should have left this town a long time ago. Problem was, we were stuck in the past and trying to move on from our mutual loss, but it was far easier said than done. Trish kept hoping Grim would come back and welcome her with open arms. I refused to leave the area until the murderous asshole who killed Suraya faced justice.
