hadn’t heard my no . Even though I knew she had. “I just hope she doesn’t try to go down there herself. She tried talking to Sam one time and—”
“Sam.”
The bottle of Redcat I’d been putting up shattered in my hand. The fumes of the alcohol were strong enough that I felt a little dizzy and it didn’t help that the potent stuff was also seeping into the cuts on my hand from the bottle I’d busted.
“Damn it, Kit, that bottle was half full!” TJ snapped, wheeling herself over to me. She went still when she saw the blood on my hand and glanced up.
I felt the skin on the back of my neck crawl but there wasn’t any upward spike in the tension in the air. It was early and no more vamps had come back into the bar since that day a few weeks ago. Still, never hurt to be safe. Swiping one of the bar towels from the counter, I wrapped it around my hand to staunch the blood.
“You can’t do that, kid,” TJ muttered. “You’ll heal with glass in there.”
She grabbed my hand despite my attempts to pull away—wheelchair or not, she was still a werewolf and had the strength to match.
I held still as she grumbled and reached for the first aid kit under the bar. “What are you rambling on about?” I asked. “You said Sam.”
Sam .
I could still hear the sound of her voice in the back of my head. Sorry, honey. He doesn’t want you anymore ...Those were some of the last words I’d heard before I disappeared into darkness. They’d haunted me during those weeks. Even now, even now when I tried to console myself to the empty mess of the life I’d always expected to live, they haunted me.
A prickle of heat danced in the palm of my hand. But it could have just come from the booze. Could have been from the pain as TJ dug out the slivers of glass.
But rage pulsed inside me.
Aside from that night with the vampire, it was the first fiery whisper of real rage that I’d felt.
I’d felt everything from despair to self-pity to disgust and I’d contemplated all the options that seemed to be fitting—staying here with TJ. Leaving and trying to start over elsewhere. Suicide had trickled in a few times during those first few days, but it hadn’t lasted for too long. I’d survived Fanis. I’d handle this; I’d get through it.
Lately, all I’d felt was just listlessness, though.
The burn of anger was almost welcome.
Sam.
Gritting my teeth, I waited until TJ had finished digging the slivers out of my palm. Then I turned, looking out over the bar. A couple of the regulars were tucked in the back, bent over a worn out deck of cards. They were TJ’s men. Not employed by her, but they were hers. Unless TJ said otherwise, they saw nothing. Heard nothing. Said nothing.
“What does Sam have to do with anything?” I asked quietly.
TJ didn’t answer and when I turned my head to look at her, she was watching with a little bit of a smile on her face. “You’re pissed off.”
I sneered. Turning away from her, I headed back to the counter. I needed to get to work on inventory. Inventory—
Something twisted inside me and I felt like screaming.
“Kit.”
TJ laid the paper down on the counter, smoothing out the creases. “She doesn’t need much help...just somebody who’ll run interference with the cats for her. She needs to talk to the boy who used to own the phone. It’s a quick job, although I’m telling you, she can’t pay much of anything. Sam would have been able to tell her, but she won’t and now the girl is too afraid to call again. It’s an easy job, almost as easy as checking inventory.”
I swallowed. “Then why don’t you do it?”
“Because I’m not losing myself here. Because I’m not the investigator.” She nudged the paper. “You are. You’re not meant for working in a damn bar, Kit.”
I picked up a box-cutter. I had shit to do.
Half way across the floor, I turned and stormed back to the bar. I slammed the box-cutter down and grabbed the number. “How the hell do I get in
“Sam.”
The bottle of Redcat I’d been putting up shattered in my hand. The fumes of the alcohol were strong enough that I felt a little dizzy and it didn’t help that the potent stuff was also seeping into the cuts on my hand from the bottle I’d busted.
“Damn it, Kit, that bottle was half full!” TJ snapped, wheeling herself over to me. She went still when she saw the blood on my hand and glanced up.
I felt the skin on the back of my neck crawl but there wasn’t any upward spike in the tension in the air. It was early and no more vamps had come back into the bar since that day a few weeks ago. Still, never hurt to be safe. Swiping one of the bar towels from the counter, I wrapped it around my hand to staunch the blood.
“You can’t do that, kid,” TJ muttered. “You’ll heal with glass in there.”
She grabbed my hand despite my attempts to pull away—wheelchair or not, she was still a werewolf and had the strength to match.
I held still as she grumbled and reached for the first aid kit under the bar. “What are you rambling on about?” I asked. “You said Sam.”
Sam .
I could still hear the sound of her voice in the back of my head. Sorry, honey. He doesn’t want you anymore ...Those were some of the last words I’d heard before I disappeared into darkness. They’d haunted me during those weeks. Even now, even now when I tried to console myself to the empty mess of the life I’d always expected to live, they haunted me.
A prickle of heat danced in the palm of my hand. But it could have just come from the booze. Could have been from the pain as TJ dug out the slivers of glass.
But rage pulsed inside me.
Aside from that night with the vampire, it was the first fiery whisper of real rage that I’d felt.
I’d felt everything from despair to self-pity to disgust and I’d contemplated all the options that seemed to be fitting—staying here with TJ. Leaving and trying to start over elsewhere. Suicide had trickled in a few times during those first few days, but it hadn’t lasted for too long. I’d survived Fanis. I’d handle this; I’d get through it.
Lately, all I’d felt was just listlessness, though.
The burn of anger was almost welcome.
Sam.
Gritting my teeth, I waited until TJ had finished digging the slivers out of my palm. Then I turned, looking out over the bar. A couple of the regulars were tucked in the back, bent over a worn out deck of cards. They were TJ’s men. Not employed by her, but they were hers. Unless TJ said otherwise, they saw nothing. Heard nothing. Said nothing.
“What does Sam have to do with anything?” I asked quietly.
TJ didn’t answer and when I turned my head to look at her, she was watching with a little bit of a smile on her face. “You’re pissed off.”
I sneered. Turning away from her, I headed back to the counter. I needed to get to work on inventory. Inventory—
Something twisted inside me and I felt like screaming.
“Kit.”
TJ laid the paper down on the counter, smoothing out the creases. “She doesn’t need much help...just somebody who’ll run interference with the cats for her. She needs to talk to the boy who used to own the phone. It’s a quick job, although I’m telling you, she can’t pay much of anything. Sam would have been able to tell her, but she won’t and now the girl is too afraid to call again. It’s an easy job, almost as easy as checking inventory.”
I swallowed. “Then why don’t you do it?”
“Because I’m not losing myself here. Because I’m not the investigator.” She nudged the paper. “You are. You’re not meant for working in a damn bar, Kit.”
I picked up a box-cutter. I had shit to do.
Half way across the floor, I turned and stormed back to the bar. I slammed the box-cutter down and grabbed the number. “How the hell do I get in
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