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But when it comes to Emily, I’d tear him apart.
I’d cross a line.
And I’m not risking that.
Not risking what it would do to Emily.
What it would do to Ezra.
Or what it would do to me.
Instead, I break free of my own cage. Fuck what I promised myself, and to hell with self-control.
I’m pulling into Myth’s parking lot within twenty minutes of all the bullshit going down.
I have these feelings I need to burn.
And I know the perfect outlet.
I shut off the engine of my truck then spend five minutes staring up at an old, out of business feed store. The walls look like they’re crumbling, but I know they’re solid, the parking lot barely illuminated except for just enough light to keep from tripping and falling. Patches of grass grow out of the concrete, and Patrick sits on his usual stool by the front door looking more like a lone, rental cop than a bouncer for a bar.
Really, the entire scenario is hilarious because nothing about this place explains the amount of cars in the lot. But then, unless you’re looking for chicken feed in the late hours of the night, a person would have no reason to come down the two-lane side street that leads to Myth in the first place.
I don’t want to know how much money it takes to keep this place hidden, but that’s not my concern.
Climbing out of my truck, I don’t waste time pulling my wallet from my pocket, Patrick already shaking his head and laughing as I amble forward, not really in a hurry to walk inside and fall back on a habit I know I shouldn’t be developing.
But the escape is needed.
There’s that.
I’ll lose my mind if I go home tonight and face Ezra.
It gets to a point where you need to choose the lesser of two evils, and I’m starting to believe Blue has pulled the short straw in this fucked-up situation.
What’s worse is she doesn’t even know it.
“One week, my friend. Is that all it took?”
Patrick eyes me with his dark brown eyes, a genuine smile stretching his lips. He doesn’t mean any harm, and I can’t blame him for finding this shit funny. If the tables were turned, I’d laugh my ass off just the same while emptying some idiot’s wallet.
“How much tonight?” I ask, knowing damn well I’ll pay it.
For the first time, concern rolls behind his stare.
“What’s so important in there that you’re willing to go broke for it?”
I ignore his question. He’s here to rip me the fuck off, not talk about my hopes and dreams.
“Will eight hundred do, or is inflation out of control again?”
Instead of allowing me to slap the bills in his palm, Patrick crosses his arms over his bulky chest, one brow arching. He might as well just call me a dumbass instead of aggravating me with the expression.
“What’s so important?”
Heat slowly drapes my skin, the aggravation already crawling closer to the very thing I’m trying to avoid.
“How much?”
