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My call to Kit would have to wait. At least for now.
I shut the door behind me, maybe a little too forcefully, as I could feel Corvus’ eyes burning a hole into the back of my skull as I stalked around the building towards the front entrance. The smells of greasy bacon and home cooked chicken soup drew me in, and my stomach twinged in hollow discomfort.
I should’ve eaten more at lunch, but Becca had about a million questions and I wound up leaving with my plate still half full. A waste of perfectly good food. Enough to have fed Mom, Dad, and me once upon a time.
I wanted to tell her the truth of everything that was going on, but wasn’t sure what exactly the rules were. Not that I was averse to breaking them...more like I just didn’t want to deal with Corvus’ bullshit if I did.
The bell atop the yellowed glass door jingled as I stepped into the diner, the humidity kicked up a notch from the dry heat outside. I inhaled deeply, reveling in the greasy scent. I wondered if I could eat a burger fast enough to keep my ice cream from melting.
Sounded like my kind of challenge.
I ignored dirty looks from an older couple seated in a booth to my right and approached the counter, sliding between two tall pleather coated bar stools to flag down the waitress at the other end.
She caught sight of me and gave an apologetic smile to the man she was working down at the end. He looked like he was about a minute away from asking her to marry him. And from the look on her face as she turned away from him, she knew it, too.
If he looked beyond the pound of makeup on her face and her big tits, he’d have noticed the slight swell of her belly beneath her apron. The way her pupils were more dilated than they had any right to be given the lighting.
She had a nice body, I’d give her that. But in less than, maybe about six months, she’d lose the belly and trade it for the babe growing inside. If she had her way, though, she’d be one baby daddy richer, too.
Poor bastard.
Men could be such idiots. Only seeing what we wanted them too. Not bothering to scratch any deeper than the surface. I wished the three bozos out back were as stupid as the man in the plaid shirt at the other end of the counter.
“Can I get you somethin’, hon?” The waitress asked as she walked up, her shuffling steps giving away sore feet.
“Yeah. I need a few things to go.”
“You need a menu?”
I shook my head as she dipping her fingers into the apron of her faded pink uniform and drew out a notepad and a pen. “Name?”
“Evangeline.” The response came automatically, my nom de guerre rolling from my lips almost easier than my own. Another thing dad taught me. If they don’t need to know your name, don’t give it to them. Everybody could be a mark someday. Give nothing. Take it all.
“Pretty. What’ll it be, then?”
“A clubhouse sandwich with fries and gravy.”
She nodded.
“Two of whatever your best burgers are, with fries and one chocolate milkshake. A salad. Don’t care what kind. And an ice cream, what flavors do you have?”
The bell jingled behind me, and I didn’t have to turn to know it was Rook. His footfalls gave him away, and I cringed inwardly at how I’d somehow already memorized the sound of each of them. Their mannerisms. Fuck, they even breathed differently.
Like air wasn’t a necessary thing for them. Like it was lucky to enter their lungs at all.
I rolled my eyes. They couldn’t leave me alone for even five fucking minutes.
The waitress lifted her head from jotting down my order. “We have chocolate, strawberry, and va—”
Her words choked off, eyes widening at Rook just behind me with a gasp.
Yeah...he had that effect.
A startled cry from one of the patrons by the door sank into the pit of my stomach.
Maybe it wasn’t Rook, maybe it was…
I carefully ran my fingers down the side of my leg, ready to make a grab for my blade.
