SLOANE
This is absurd. I’m absurd.
I’m sitting in the lobby of the Cunningham Inn, trying to focus on the same page on my e-reader that I’ve been stuck on for the last five minutes as I deliberate between making a run for it and staying.
What the fuck am I doing with my life?
This is dangerous.
And stupid.
Absurd.
But I can’t seem to make myself leave.
My lungs fill with the scent of Pine-Sol and bad decisions as a deep, nervous sigh passes my lips. Giving up on my book, I sit back and take in the quiet lobby where my only company is a morose gray cat who glares at me from a leather chair next to the unlit fireplace. The room is dated but comfortable, with dark oak paneling and an ancient patterned carpet that was once burgundy. The antique furniture is mismatched, but polished and gleaming. A pair of taxidermied owls in mid-flight stand guard over the sun-bleached reproductions of Rodin paintings and heirloom railway and mining tools scattered across the walls.
I sigh again and check my watch. It’s almost two in the morning and I should be tired, but I’m not. There was a lot of rushing around tonight, between slicing up Michael Northman’s body and stuffing him in my freezer as I booked a flight out of Raleigh, to packing in a record thirty minutes, to renting a car for my arrival in West Virginia while Lark drove me to the airport. When I lamented that this whole escapade was a stupid idea, her response was: “Maybe, but you do need to get out and make more friends.”
“I have a friend,” I’d said. “You.”
“You need more than one, Sloane.”
“But this particular friend? This random Rowan guy? …Really?”
I can still hear the chiming cadence of Lark’s giggle as she glanced over at my confusion with a gentle smile. “Having another friend who can understand you, the real you, is maybe not a bad thing,” she said with a shrug, her grin untarnished by the scrutiny of my unwavering stare. “You haven’t jumped from the moving vehicle. We’re still heading to the airport. So yeah, I guess this random Rowan guy is your friend now.”
Maybe I should have jumped from the car.
I groan as I slide further into the depths of my chair. “Her rationale didn’t even make logical sense,” I say to the cat as I replay that conversation with Lark, the feline glaring back at me with simmering, judgemental fury.
“Trying to consume its soul, Blackbird?”
I drop my e-reader as I startle, turning toward the source of the subtle Irish accent with a hand clasped to my heart. “Jesus Christ,” I hiss as Rowan emerges from the shadows by the door with a smirk. My breath stops short when reality hits me that he’s here, really here. Rowan looks exactly the same as he did a year ago. I might look a little better than our first encounter, having not spent the last few days in a disgusting cage as a body putrefied a few feet away. I’m not sure if he would care that much about my lack of makeup or knotted hair or chapped lips, considering he spent so much time staring at my tits. The memory makes me blush, and not out of embarrassment.
I swallow down a sudden burst of nerves. “Maybe I should consume the cat’s soul. Mine just left my body.”
“I figured that was how you acquired your freckles. Stealing souls.”
“I see you’re just as hilarious as the first time we met.” I roll my eyes and move to pick up my e-reader but Rowan gets to it first. “Hand it over, pretty boy,” I say as he gives me a magnetic grin that fills my senses and douses my worries with a different kind of anxiety. The straight scar through his lip seems to brighten as his smile turns rakish.
“What does my nervous little Blackbird like to read, I wonder?” he teases as he waves the device at me.
A dismissive huff leaves my lips, even though his words crawl into my veins and inject my cheeks with crimson heat. “Monster porn, clearly,” I reply. Rowan laughs and I manage to snatch the device from his grip, which only makes him laugh harder. “The sentient dragonman has two dicks and he knows how to use them. A forked tongue too. And a very talented tail. So don’t make fun.”
“Give me that back. My TV is broken in my room and that’s the kind of entertainment I need in my life.”
“Get fucked, Butcher.” I slide the e-reader beneath my left ass cheek and give Rowan a lethal glare. “Hold on a second. Your TV is broken? When did you get here?”
He shrugs and lets his backpack drop to the floor with a dull thud as he gives me a sly smile, folding his frame into the chair next to mine. “About forty-five minutes ago. You must’ve been in your room. I left mine to find some booze. I’m your next door neighbor, by the way.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpan with an eye roll, which only makes him grin.
Rowan unzips the bag, opening it just wide enough to show the bottle of red wine that rests within.
“It’s two in the morning. Aren’t all the stores closed?”
“Not the kitchen.”
“The kitchen’s closed too.”
“Is it…? My bad.” Rowan pulls the bottle from his bag and cracks the screw-top lid, his gaze fused to mine as he takes a long sip. My eyes narrow to slits when he winks. “Don’t tell me you’re upset about some petty theft.”
“No,” I scoff. Gooseflesh erupts on my arm in the brief moment when our fingers interlace around the cool glass as I pry the bottle from his hand. “I’m upset that you’re taking too long to pass the bottle over. And you’re getting your boy germs all over it. You’re probably trying to infect me so I’ll be sick in my room with your manpox while you go and win our little competition.”
“Manpox.” Rowan snorts as I take a long sip and pass the bottle back. He keeps hold of my glare as he takes a drink, the smirk in his expression still gleaming in his eyes. “Well,” he says, presenting the bottle with a flourish as he hands it to me, “I’ve got your girl cooties now, so we’re even.”
I try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that grin sneaks into my lips it brightens Rowan’s eyes as though he’s reflecting my amusement back to me. Not just that, but amplifying it.
As I settle back into my seat, I realize that it’s as though we only saw each other yesterday. It’s so easy with him, even when I don’t want it to be, just like when we sat in the diner a year ago. Despite how hard I’d tried to force my attention elsewhere, it kept coming back to him. And it’s no different now. He lures me in, a pinprick of steady light in the static darkness.
“Any ideas who we’re here for?” Rowan asks, breaking me away from the thoughts that have swept me away. I take a sip of wine and eye him with wariness.
“Sure.”
“By ‘sure’, you mean ‘not at all’, right?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Nope.”
“How did Lachlan come up with this location, anyway? And how do I know he’s not going to feed you information to help you win?”
Rowan huffs a derisive laugh and pulls the bottle from my fingers, taking a long swig before he answers. “Because like I said, my brother has no interest in seeing me succeed. If I lose, he’ll get to rub my face in it for a year, and he’ll enjoy every second of it.” When Rowan passes the bottle back to me, he looks around the room, his gaze a careful pass across the features as though he’s hunting for hidden cameras or guests he didn’t notice. I already know we’re the only ones checked in. Aside from the proprietor, a guy named Francis who lives in a well-kept Second Empire-style house that overlooks the inn, we’re the only ones on the property. I’m sure Rowan knows this too, but he’s right to be careful. “As for how he came up with West Virginia, well…let’s just say he has connections to certain people who can access certain files of certain government agencies, and some associates who can fill in the gaps.”
“That certainly sounds dubious, for certain,” I say, grinning when Rowan rolls his eyes at my teasing. “What does your brother do for work?”
Rowan sits back in his chair and taps the armrest as his eyes follow the curves and angles of my face. Their navy blue caress summons a blush to my cheeks. He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh.
“Our hobby,” he says when he seems to figure I’m safe to share this answer with. “For Lachlan, it’s not a pastime. It’s a profession.”
I nod. It makes sense to me now how he could have access to information about criminal investigations. Either he works for the military, or for dangerous, well-connected individuals.
“So you’re sure he’s not going to help you cheat,” I say.
“If anything, he’d find a way to help you cheat.”
“I like him already.” My smile brightens when Rowan shoots me a fake glare. I take a sip from the bottle and pass it over. “What about you? Do you enjoy the restaurant business?”
Rowan turns a sly smile in my direction. “Have you been looking me up, Blackbird?”
“Like you haven’t been doing the same to me,” I counter.
“Guilty as charged.” Rowan takes a long drink of wine and balances the bottle on his knee. He watches me for a moment before he nods, his smile a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. I love running my own kitchen. I like the pace. It can be frantic, but I enjoy that. I do well with a bit of chaos. Maybe that’s why I like you,” he says with a wink.
I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. This man. He could make anything look flirtatious. “What’s with the name?” I ask, and though I skirt around his comment, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. “Why’d you pick 3 In Coach?”
“My brothers,” Rowan says, his smile taking on that nostalgic quality once more as his gaze falls to the bottle in his hand. “We were teenagers when we left Sligo and came to America. I remember Lachlan buying the tickets. Three in coach. It was the start of another life for us.”
“Just like the restaurant,” I say, finishing the trail of thought he’s left for me to follow. His eyes brighten when he nods. “I like that.”
Rowan passes the bottle to me. Our fingers graze one another’s around the cool glass. Our touch lingers for a moment longer than it should, but for some reason, I find that it’s still less time than I’d like.
This is absurd, I remind myself. You don’t know this man.
I firm up my posture, shift my line of sight to the front desk to give Rowan only the corner of my eye when I drink from the bottle. Walls are good. Boundaries are necessary. He’s the kind of guy that will bulldoze right through them if I set my guard down. And this is still a competition, after all. I should only be looking for information that will help me win.
In my periphery, I see Rowan’s hand sneaking closer to my chair and I turn to pin him with a glare. The cheeky fucker gives me his most innocent mask.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going to steal your e-reader. I want to read about the two-dick dragonman.”
“I’m sitting on it. Touch my ass and I’ll break your hand,” I say, failing to contain a laugh as he rhythmically prods my arm.
“I won’t. I’ll push you over and grab it, then cackle maniacally as I run to my room in triumph.”
“Just download the app like a normal person and read it on your phone, weirdo.”
“Rock-paper-scissors for it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, Blackbird. I need some dragonman DP.”
He’s giving me another poke on my bicep and I’m giggling when a foreign sound enters our domain. It suddenly feels like we were in a bubble that’s just burst. It’s not normal for me, and the appearance of Francis by the front desk is a shock to my system. I’m usually so aware of my surroundings. But Rowan had me locked in another realm, as though nothing else existed but us. And for some reason, that felt like a relief, a break from the constant pressure of searching for danger lurking in shadow.
“Hey, man. I hope we weren’t keeping anyone up,” Rowan says. He doesn’t even try to hide the bottle of wine he balances on his knee, his other hand wrapped around the armrest of my chair.
Francis’s eyes dart from the wine to Rowan, his lips pressed together in a tight smile. “No, not at all. You’re the only guests here. I was just coming to collect Winston Church for the night,” he replies as he nods toward the cat still curled on the chair by the fireplace. Francis slips his hand down his pink tie and his eyes bounce between us. “We don’t get too much traffic through here, not with some of the newer places popping up in the area. Everyone has an AirBnB now, trying to make an extra buck.”
I gesture toward the lobby. “I like it here. It’s got charm. Winston looks like he might scratch my face off if I get too close, though.”
“Nah, he’s harmless.” Francis runs a hand through his swoop of dark hair and walks over to the cat who gives him a dirty look and a hiss before he shifts his yellow feline eyes to me. I’m not sure if he wants salvation from Francis or he just wants to continue glaring at me, but his grumbles are lost as Francis heaves his gray body into his arms. “You folks visiting someone in the area? Or just passing through?”
“It’s our annual hiking trip,” I volunteer. “We pick a new place each year, usually someplace a bit ‘off the beaten path,’ so to speak.”
Francis nods, stroking the cat’s head. “There are some great local trails. Elk River is a good place to start. The Bridges is a scenic loop. Just be careful if you head toward Davis Creek. It’s easy to get lost. A hiker went missing that way last year and was never found. Wouldn’t be the first time, either.”
“Thanks, man. We’ll make sure to be careful,” Rowan says in a tone that politely says ‘please fuck off now.’ Francis gets the hint and gives us each a nod.
“Have a great night, folks. Feel free to call if you need anything,” he says, then waves Winston’s paw at us before he departs.
Our words of thanks follow him as he disappears down a corridor at the right of the lobby. The sound of a distant door closing reaches us a moment later.
“He looks like he should be trying to pick up girls with a dumbass avatar that looks literally nothing like him as he streams on Twitch or something, not running a hotel in nowhere, West Virginia,” Rowan grumbles. He keeps his glare pinned to the hallway as he tugs the armrest of my chair in an attempt to draw it closer.
“What is your problem?” I ask through a laugh as he lurches me closer. “Are you jealous of his pink tie or something?”
Rowan scoffs and shifts that hard stare to me while tugging my chair again. “No. Christ. Now give me that dragon dick, Blackbird.”
“No way.” I manage to slip out of my chair with the e-reader before he can grab me, waving it toward him in a taunt as I back away toward our rooms. “Goodnight, weirdo. I’m going to bed. Early bird gets the worm, you know. Might plan myself a solo hiking trip to Davis Creek. No boys allowed unless they have scales and a breeding kink.”
“Of all the times to forget my dinosaur onesie at home.” Rowan sighs, then tilts his bottle toward me before settling back in his chair. His smile is warm, his eyes bright despite the late hour. “See you tomorrow, Blackbird.”
With a final wave, I turn and head to my room.
I’m laying in bed, staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzes with a text message.
Nighty night. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
I’m pretty sure there are bedbugs.
I grin in the dark. And then I fall asleep.
