Chapter 4

When I'd made it halfway back to the bridge, I felt confident that he hadn't followed. I slowed my pace and allowed my lungs a blissful reprieve. I'd been so close to being caught. What was the point to any of this? I'd never win. Drake had so many, and I was only one. I had nothing. No job. No chance of getting one. No money apart from the mounds of change and single bills given by those who wanted to feel good about themselves. Certainly not what I'd need to make it far enough to have a chance.

The night darkened, and the chill returned. The warmth left over from my pumping blood slowly crept away as my heavy legs fought to keep moving. By the time the bridge broke into sight, I was shivering.

Once more, too late for a spot beside the fire. Too late to warm my bones and give myself a moment of relief. My eyes darted to Main Street, to the open bars calling my name, and I didn't care anymore.

My fate was inevitable. Karma had it out for me, and no amount of effort on my part had ever been enough to defeat her.

I shifted course, allowed my hood to fall back, and set a line towards the busy street. If they found me, I'd die with a belly full of liquor and a warm body. I'd die stuffed with those little shit peanuts they offered. If I was doomed to die, I wouldn't do it cold and hungry and lacking even one drink to send me away.

I pushed forward, through the crowds and into the first door propped open. Thick smoke drifted like fog, and the dim light inside offered a small semblance of safety. I moved to the far side, towards the emergency exit, and took a seat on a stool in the corner.

The bartender stood close enough I was easily able to get his attention, and I slapped all the money I had on the bar between us. "I want something strong and cheap. Whatever this will get me."

His eyes met mine with disinterest before he fingered his way through the change and handed me three shots of amber liquid.

I downed the first, and sucked in a breath as the fire coursed a path towards my stomach. Warmth. The other two sat like precious heirlooms in front of me, and I forced myself to take a moment to savor the first.

I stared at the shot glass for at least five minutes before I gave in and clutched it between my fingers.

I'd just tilted it to my mouth, when a man took the seat beside me. Bloodshot eyes met mine, shiny and full of interest. Stubble coated his jaw, and the red tinge to his cheeks spoke of a life of hard drinking. "This seat taken, beautiful?" His words slurred, and his breath smelled of something far stronger than I could afford.

I leaned back and took the third shot. On one hand, I could keep him there and get more drinks out of him. On the other, I'd have to deal with him to do that. He seemed too drunk to pose any real threat, and his lack of tattoos and plain old worn clothing didn't give the appearance of a man affiliated with any clubs.

Before I could decide, a large hand clasped the man's shoulder, and a voice deeper than any I'd heard before gave an answer. "She's with me."

My eyes shot up, traveling far to take in the massive mountain of a man before me. Long hair hung wild around his face and shoulders, and a full beard obstructed any chance of a good view. His eyes held the glassy evidence of someone who'd been drinking, but not of a person who'd lost focus. They cut through my unwanted visitor, sharp enough to warrant pause.

I swallowed hard as the drunk held his hands up and stumbled from the chair without complaint. "I didn't know," he said as he walked away.

The newcomer took his spot and motioned to the bartender. "Give me my usual, Paul."

He didn't look at me, just focused on the bottle of Wild Turkey as it was placed before him. He opened it up, took a long pull, then set it back down. His expression was blank, borderline guarded.

Nothing about this one seemed harmless. His rough and hardened exterior put me on edge, and while I didn't see any ink on his skin, nor a cut on his back, he didn't need it. He held the look they held. The posture, alert and poised. I'd only seen it in a few men, and all of them had long ago lost any fear of death.

He took another drink and motioned the bottle over, filling my three empty glasses. "That guy that came over to you is a piece of shit," he said, voice smoother than a radio DJ's. "He's in here every night, and while he looks harmless, I've seen him do some things you wouldn't want to be a part of."

I watched him take another drink, then eyed the three glasses with longing. "And you?" I swallowed the nerves his presence brought.

He cut a glance over at me, and those dark, intelligent eyes scanned my face. Like the pages of a book, they cut through every defense I had and read the secrets I kept so closely guarded. The blonde roots just starting to peek through at my hairline, the still healing tattoo. "I came here to drink," he said, meeting my gaze. "That's the only reason. If you want to do the same, in peace, no one will bother you with me here. If not, it makes no difference to me where I sit."

Something about his tone resonated with me. Truth rang through each syllable, and a familiar bitterness echoed through his words.

I looked away and downed another shot. Neither of us spoke for a long time. He didn't try to get at me, didn't even look my way. Instead, he scanned each face within the room, then settled his gaze to his bottle. His hawk eyes lost some of their focus as his thoughts seemed to drift.

He didn't acknowledge me again until my third glass was empty. Without looking at me, he held the bottle over and filled all three. For a span that felt like hours, that was all I got from him. No conversation. No eye contact. Just a steady stream of refills.

Who was he? In that moment, he felt like an angel. A bar angel. Do guardian angels sit in bars and offer free drinks? I could imagine, if I'd ever been granted one, they'd be down for that.

The more the alcohol loosened me, the more interesting he became. I couldn't figure him out. Men didn't offer free booze to women unless they wanted something, and in my current state, he didn't seem anywhere near drunk enough to want what I had to offer, nor did he show even the slightest interest in it. I leaned forward and peered up at his profile. "I don't like people," I said, gaging his reaction. "Especially men."

He took another drink, then lazily tilted his head in my direction. "Neither do I."

It wasn't the answer I'd expected, and the way he said it made a foreign smile flicker across my face. "If you don't like people, then why are you giving me all your Wild Turkey?"

His eyes darted down to my smiling mouth, then averted to the task of, once again, filling my glasses. "You seemed like you needed it."

"You don't want to sleep with me?"

He didn't even flinch at the accusation. He settled back, took another long drink, then studied the faces in the room once more. This time, he motioned to an older woman in the back corner. "That woman comes here every night. She sits in that same spot and drinks Jim Beam until the bar closes." Each word was forever smooth, a caress against my eardrums. While he wasn't particularly attractive, not with his rough and ragged appearance, his voice was something to behold.

It made me want to listen.

"She brings a photo with her." A frame sat on the table top, and her eyes seemed fixated on whatever picture it held. "She sets it out on the table and just looks at it while she's drinking. I think it might be of her husband, but I've never actually seen the picture." He took another drink and looked over to the end of the bar. "And the man down there, the one at the end." He nodded towards his target, a white haired man who sat slumped forward, elbow to arm rested against the bar, his other hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle as if it were the only thing holding him upright. An embroidered Larry graced his blue jumpsuit. "His uniform is from a factory that closed down last year. He still wears it every night when he comes here."

His attention turned to me. "Some of these people just want to get drunk. But some... some come to forget things." His eyes sharpened once again, seeing far too much. "It's easy to spot the difference if you take the time to look."

I swallowed hard, then bitterly downed the glasses in front of me in quick succession.

He filled them again. "What's your name?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

His lip twitched. "Alright. No names."

I studied his hint of a smile, unsure if I could even call it that. "So why do you come here?"

He took a drink, sat the bottle down, then whipped his body around to face mine. "You ever see a hillbilly wind-up toy?"

My brow furrowed. "What?" His sudden change in posture and expression made me lean back an inch. It was as if a block of ice had thawed before my eyes, and he watched me with an open expression as I tried to adjust to the sudden change.

"A hillbilly wind-up toy." His lip twitched again. "You ever seen one?"

I shook my head slowly.

His eyes danced. All business, he placed his large hand down onto the bar and looked at me. "Put your hand over mine."

I paused. "Do what, now?"

He nodded towards his hand. "Hold my hand down."

I took another drink, puzzling over the request, then with an odd look in his direction, did as he asked.

His skin felt rough, and coarse hair scratched my palm. My smaller hand was barely able to cover what could have almost passed for a baseball glove.

His brows lifted. "Hold it down tight, now."

I pushed down, then looked on in confusion as he gripped his own thumb and started to twist it, over and over in a cranking motion. He pretended to strain, forearm flexed as his shoulder shifted.

Finally, he released his thumb and straightened. His eyes danced as they met mine.

"You ready?" He looked down to our contact.

"For what?"

His lip twitched again. "Lift your hand up."

I did, and the moment the pressure I'd applied released, his hand went ape shit against the bar. Flipping, jerking, bouncing movements.

A wind-up toy. I laughed. A genuine one. I laughed like I hadn't done in a long time. Laughed so hard, tears filled my eyes. I tried to stamp it back down, but each time I'd think I'd managed to calm, I'd envision it over again and lose the fight.

"Pretty neat, huh?" He took another drink, watching me with light eyes.

This time, I sobered, but the smile didn't leave my face. "You're crazy."

His lips lifted against the bottle, and he lowered it to reveal the first real smile I'd seen from him.

I stared, catching a glimpse past his rough and wild appearance. Perfectly straight white teeth and laughing eyes did something to his face. Made it less harsh, gave a peek of what may lay beneath the mess of hair that shielded him.

I cleared my throat and turned back to the bar. "That was funny." Another drink, then two more. The time was slipping away, and I knew I needed to go. I was enjoying this now. I hadn't come for company, especially the company of a man. There was enough danger in my life without me adding more to the pile. "Thanks for the drinks," I said as I slid from the bar stool. "I better head out."

His eyes met mine with knowing. He nodded once, then took another drink as he watched me move around him. "I'm here most nights," he said. "If you find you need to forget."