“Come on.” The second his hand touched mine, I felt it. The butterflies. Something I hadn’t felt in years. It caught me off guard, and I froze, unable to move, or speak, or even fucking think.
“You okay?”
I blinked, shaking my head lightly. “Yes. Yeah…I’m fine.”
He gave me a reassuring smile before we made our way across the bar to the others, hand in hand.
Granite was leaning back in his seat, arm draped over his old lady’s shoulders. “Wraith, right?”
“Yeah.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as I took a seat, Onyx slipping in next to me. “And you’re Granite,” I looked at his old lady, “and you must be Alyx, right?”
She smiled warmly. “That’s right. How do you—”
“Oh, everyone knows who Granite’s old lady is. You’re like the first lady of New York City.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she diverted her eyes. It was true. She really wasn’t from this world, clearly still adjusting and learning that confidence was key when it came to survival.
Onyx shifted next to me. “That’s Dutch, next to him is Ink.” Both nodded. “And that’s Neon.”
The woman sitting next to Alyx gave a half-smile. “Nice to meet you, Wraith.”
“So,” Granite settled in his seat, “where you from?”
“I’m…uh—”
“Around,” Onyx interrupted. “She’s from around town.” He looked my way, his eyes filled with reassurance as he squeezed my hand. He knew personal questions would make me feel uncomfortable.
I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders, determined to act the part. Looking over at Neon, I smiled. “Are you someone’s old lady?”
Ink coughed—loudly. Very loud. Uncomfortably loud.
Did I just pick up on some sort of vibe between these two?
Neon glared at him with a frown. “No,” she replied slowly, like she was trying to get a message across. “I’m no one’s old lady, and I don’t plan to be.” Funny, she was answering my question, yet she was looking directly at Ink, who seemed really fucking uncomfortable, chugging down his beer.
“Well, that’s not awkward at all,” I remarked under my breath, and Onyx snickered.
“So,” Alyx’s soft voice broke the uneasy tension, “what do you do for a living, Wraith?”
I grabbed Manic’s beer and took a large gulp, ignoring the what-the-fuck look on his face. “I’m a…” I swallowed, “I’m currently between jobs.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either. There was a thin black line between telling the whole truth and just a smidgen of the truth—I was currently tiptoeing on that fucking line.
“I’ve never seen you around here at The Hanged Man before.”
My gaze caught hers, her eyebrows furrowed. Was she trying to figure me out? Trying to dissect every word that came out of my mouth?
I sat back, tapping my finger on the table, not taking my eyes off her for a second. “I don’t get out much.”
Ink snickered. “Now, that’s bullshit I refuse to believe.”
Neon slapped him across the chest with a backhand, shooting him a warning glare. Immediately, he zipped his lip.
I noticed her hand was bandaged, and it was clear she was missing a digit. “What happened to your hand?”
All at once, the atmosphere slipped from casual to grim, like everyone was two seconds away from choking on the air around us.
Neon placed her bandaged hand in her other palm. “Some psychopath cut my finger off.”
I snorted, glancing from her to Onyx, only to notice that she wasn’t fucking joking. “Holy shit. Are you serious?”