AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m still lucky, I just need a reset. I haven’t grifted in Devil’s Cove in years. Maybe the unspoken rules are different around here, and it’s actually the men sitting in the shadows that make better marks. Looking right, I lock eyes with an older, less athletic, man in the corner.
He reaches up to scratch his nose and his wedding ring glints.
That’s more like it.
I flash him a smile and arch my back to reach behind me for my whiskey glass. As I bring my drink to my lips, the typing beside me stops.
“That whiskey is a hundred bucks.”
My eyes slide to my discarded mark. He’s still staring at his cell, and if it wasn’t for the way his deep drawl drizzled down my spine, I’d have sworn I imagined him talking.
“A hundred bucks?”
“Not including VAT.”
“I—wait, a bottle?”
His gaze finally comes to me, irritation and amusement fighting for space in its shadows.
“A glass.”
I stare at the amber liquid in disbelief. In response, it calls me poor in four different languages. Perhaps it was a little…forthcoming of me to assume my first mark would play ball, and that he’d pay for my drink. It usually works. But then again, I’m not in Atlantic City anymore.
The worst part is; I hate whiskey with a passion. I glance at Dan, who’s busying himself with wiping down the other side of the bar, but by the tight line of his shoulders, it’s obvious he’s listening. I wonder if he’ll tip it back into the bottle for me and give me something more in my budget?
Like water.
From the tap.
I can feel hard, green eyes taunting me, and the quiet enjoyment that simmers behind them grates against my pride. I’m impulsive to a fault, stubborn like it’s a disease, and before I can latch onto any common sense, I plaster on a sweet smile and clink my glass against his.
“Cheers to not being interested.”
His smirk is the last thing I see before I toss my head back and slam the whiskey in one.
Fuck. My nostrils burn, my eyes water, and, as the empty tumbler clatters against the bar, I suddenly remember why I hate whiskey so much.
It was the last thing my parents ever drank. Not because they finally got sober, but because they got their heads blown off with a revolver before they could pour out another glass.
The hundred-dollar acid fizzes in my pipes and claws at my box of memories, trying to pry open the lock and bring me back to that day. When I squeeze my eyes shut to stop them from watering, I can hear my father’s gargled pleas and feel my mother’s warm, wet blood on the backs of my thighs from where I slipped in a puddle of it.
You know how lucky you are, kid? You’re one in a million.
“Don’t choke.”
Gasping for air that doesn’t taste like bleach, I pop an eyelid and glare at the man. His expression is as impassive as his tone, and it’s clear he couldn’t care less if I turned blue and keeled over beside him. If I did, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about how I’m going to afford the poison that killed me.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Why do you care? Thought you weren’t interested.”
He lazily checks the time on his expensive wristwatch. “I’m not. It’s just what you say to someone who’s choking.”
He lifts his own glass to his lips and sinks the remaining liquid in one, without so much as a flinch. I hate how my eyes are drawn to the thick trunk of his throat as it bobs. He slides the empty tumbler across the bar with a sharp flick of his wrist, and a few moments later, Dan comes over with another whiskey and a glass of water. He places the water in front of me, and I gratefully gulp from it.
I hope to God it’s free.
For a few minutes, we sit in blistering silence, but there’s no doubt I’m the only one to feel its heat. From my sporadic glances at his reflection in the mirrored wall, I can tell he has already forgotten I’m here. He answers texts and emails on his cell, stopping only to sip whiskey and rub his jaw with the palm of his large hand, as if it helps him think.
My heart drops lethargically to my stomach, like a balloon leaking helium. If I wasn’t such a stubborn idiot, I’d have left a long time ago, but now it’s too late. I’m chained to this joint by a hundred-dollar tab—not including VAT—and trying my luck with one of the other patrons in here would just be embarrassing. They’ve all just witnessed me choke on two ounces of liquid, for God’s sake.
