Page 123 of Timelessly Ours

I hate lying to him. But I know if I tell him I need to do this, he’ll only stop me. Or insist on coming with me—and that’s not happening. He may be a fairly large man, but they will eat him alive at this place.

Still, when I do eventually tell him about this, that lie is going to make it worse.

That faithful bell rings when I push the heavy door open and step inside.

“Sorry, we don’t open to the public until—” Sylvie stops in her tracks. A large ice bucket in her hands. She doesn’t smirk. She doesn’t even flinch. “You alone?”

“Of course.”

“Come on in.”

I settle on a bar stool and set my keys down. Sylvie reaches for a vodka bottle on the top shelf and settles it in front of me.

My eyes widen in horror and I twist the bottle. “Who put orange peels in here?”

Sylvie rolls her eyes. “New guy.”

“Did he make it out of here alive?”

“Just barely.”

I scoff and push it back toward her. The place reeks and I don’t want to be here long. “Can we talk?”

"Am I taking those keys?"

"No."

She sighs. “Yeah, I guess.” Sylvie’s no dummy. She knows what this is. But she wouldn’t be who she is without offering me a glass. “Just one?”

“None. And I’m serious, Sylvie, just sit with me so we can—” My voice trails off when my eyes land on a familiar face sitting at the far end of the bar. He’s got dark hair, light scruff, and a worn suit. The only familiar feature about him is his eyes. They’re a very distinct grey, almost cat-like, and there’s a small scar on his left eye. “Do I know you?”

The guy looks up and grunts, turning back to his drink.

Then—he does a double take.

And it hits me like a pound of bricks. I’ve seen this man before. In one of the worst memories of my life. I jump out of my stool and move toward him. “You’re one of the assholes from the warehouse.”

He twitches uncomfortably. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do. I never forget a face.”

He glances back. “Look, just go about your business and I’ll go about mine.”

I assess the guy. He’s scrawny, weak and his reflexes are probably shot. Bottom line—easy to take down.

“Nickles, Kyle’s a regular,” Sylvie warns.

“Yeah, well, I’m irrational.” Swinging my foot, I hook his leg and knock him off his stool, watching him drop to the floor.

He groans. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I put my foot on his chest and bend down, whacking his nose, making him cry out. “You still terrorizing innocent young girls?”

“Shit,” Sylvie hisses behind me.

“Look I’ve got nothing to do with those guys anymore, alright?”

I whack him again. The sting in my knuckles sharp and welcome. “Oh that’s okay,” I reassure, gripping his shirt just to lift him off the floor an inch. “I don’t care if you’re the new town Mayor and settled down with a wife and kids. We’ve got a score to settle.”