I squint my eyes to focus, the booze doing a number on my vision, as I punch out another text to Mason. My fingers hit all the wrong buttons, and I teeter on the edge of typing “I love you.” No. I need to tell him that in person. He needs to hear it from my lips and believe me. That’s the only way he’ll understand the reasons why I have to break both our hearts.
I erase the garbled words and toss my cell onto the patio table in front of me. I’m not sick, at least not physically. Mentally is another story. I stare at the roughed-up man across from me in my own backyard, and a shiver skates down my spine.
Hatch is back.
Lingering in the shadows at Zeus’s all night, he waited until I finally approached him. Buying me shots to celebrate his return morphed into a party of two at my place. And here we are, almost as if no time has passed at all, except for the subtle changes in his face. Whatever he’s been up to this last year has given him an edge, a darkness in his gaze that speaks of violence and rage.
“Why are you here?” I force my lips to enunciate the words, not wanting to give away how buzzed I am. Expose any weaknesses.
He takes a long drag of his cigarette, his jaw now covered in a full beard and his hair longer than it was the last time I saw him. “Some dumb fuck turned himself in, went down for the shit the cops were trying to pin on me. I’m off the hook.”
“How long have you been back?” My guess is he didn’t just breeze into town today after being on the run for a year.
“Few weeks. Had some business to take care of before heading back to Denver.” He puts out his smoke and throws back a shot of whiskey. “Figured I’d stop in, say hi, grab a quick fuck.” Lust coats his expression and my stomach roils in response.
“Not tonight, Hatch. I know what we used to have, but it’s going to take me some time to warm back up to that.” Understatement of the year.
His eyebrows drop low over his eyes. “Used to like how uncomplicated you were, Trix. You’d hear my bike pull up and your legs would fall right open.” He scratches his hairy jaw. “Gone a year, come back to an uptight bitch I gotta warm up to?” He laughs, low and garbled. “Fuck that.”
I wish I could watch him walk away, shove his ass out my door, and never see him again, but I can’t.
The second I saw him at Zeus’s my whole world, my plan to move on, all my dreams of a future with Mason, crumbled in an instant. God dropped the opportunity in my lap, or rather in a strip club, and I can’t pass it up. No matter how much I’d like to. This is my second chance.
“I just need . . .” To talk to Mason. I pour myself a shot. “A day to adjust to you being back.”
Hatch’s dark eyebrows drop low over menacing eyes. “What’s up with you?” He’s thinner now. Time on the run obviously doesn’t pay well, or he’s been living on tequila.
I throw back my shot and grunt through the burn. “Well, let’s see. You kidnapped my best friend, got her hooked on drugs, and then left her to die so you could save your own ass.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re not givin’ it up,” he says with a frustrated tone. “First off, I didn’t fucking kidnap anyone. She came willingly.” A lecherous smile pulls at his lips. “You’re pissed about Annie—”
“Don’t you fucking call her that!”
“Trix, calm your shit down.”
Fuck him! I pour myself another shot of whiskey and can’t help but feel like I’m partying with the devil. Is this even worth it? Even if he does end up telling me who killed Svetlana, is it worth it when I have to betray Mason and Gia, the two people outside of my family who mean the most to me in the world?
I set my eyes on him, knowing the girl he sees now is Trix. Cold and dead inside. Mason brought Beatriks back, the real me. After our trip, I felt more like myself than I had since before Lana died, but setting eyes on Hatch in the club brought Trix back in the span of a breath.
“Before you left, you told me a story.”
“Told you a lotta shit.” He leans back in his chair and sips from his beer. “Shit I never told anyone.”
“This story was about a guy who picked up a young girl. She thought his bike broke down, stopped to help. Do you remember that?”
He shrugs but purses his lips. “Probably fucked up, makin’ up stories.”
“You weren’t making it up, Hatch. I remember.”
“Trix—”
“Finish the story.”
“Don’t—”
I chuck the full shot glass across the back patio in an arch of amber liquid and glass shatters on the deck. “Finish the fucking story!”
Tears burn my eyes and I’m shaking.
He sets thoughtful eyes on me and registers my extreme reaction. I’m fucking this up. I know I’m fucking this up! I can’t push him. If he spooks, I’ll never get him to tell me. Never.
I breathe deeply and focus on relaxing my muscles.
He pushes up from his chair, slamming his beer bottle onto the table so hard it makes me jump. “I’m out.”
“What?” I hop to my feet, but his legs are carrying him through the house and into the garage where I had him park his bike.
“Later, Trix.” The door slams behind him, and shortly after, I hear his bike roar to life.
“Fuck!” My head spins and tears drip from my eyes. “I need a plan. I need a plan.”