Page 8 of Adam
I smile back and push the door, but Wes blocks it again. He leans in closer, a few thin locks slipping loose from his manbun as his eyes narrow. “Don’t try anything.”
“Wes, come on, man.”
“Shut up, Dawson,” he hisses, peering at Colton. Colton rolls his eyes and Wes faces me. “Am I clear, Miss Calvano?”
“You’re an asshole,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
“Still the strongest pawn around.”
My breathing becomes more forced, but I try to keep my cool and not explode in front of him, because I’ll make them suspicious. Instead, I just close the door in his face.
Dio, che stronzo!God, what an asshole!
I can’t let that pig mess with my head. I have one goal, and I’ll succeed. Dad doesn’t let me go out, and Wes will do what he says like a loyal dog. But I am sick and tired of these chains.
Escapingthis huge mansion Dad wants to call home wasn’t easy. I had to climb, jump, run, then jump again, but I did it. The perks of memorizing everyone’s schedule and location at that hour. Being in good shape helped a lot, too.
I guess wanting my freedom has made me paranoid. I managed to reach the highway and find myself a cab. The driver was nice, although a bit weird. After a few miles and endless questions I somehow managed to dodge, he brought me downtown to some random bar.
I don’t care about luxuries.
I care about breathing without asking for permission, even if it is only for a little while.
I enter the bar, and everything looks just like I pictured it, or at least how the movies show it—small and a bit run-down with dim lights hanging from the ceiling. A few people sit quietly, either drinking alone or talking in low voices. The bartender wipes a glass without looking up. The place smells like beer, sweat, and fried food. It’s nothing special, but it’s exactly what I was hoping for.
I walk up to the bar and take a seat on an empty stool.
“What can I get you?” the barman asks, still wiping the glass.
“Uhm,” I mumble. The truth is, I have never drunk anything, and I didn’t even plan what I was going to say. “I mean …”
“Are you lost or just hiding?” he interrupts with a side smirk.
“Nothing. Get me a beer.”
His eyes narrow, and he hesitates.Please, don’t ask for my ID. How did I forget you have to be twenty-one to drink here? I still have two years left.
“How old are you, doll?”
“Actually, today’s my twenty-first birthday.” Luckily, my reflexes hit fast.
His brows furrow, and his whole face scrunches. “And you’re here all alone? Ouch.” He grabs a beer and pops it open. “Here. It’s on the house. Happy birthday.”
I can’t believe that pathetic lie worked. People really will buy anything, huh?
Whatever; today is my one night of freedom. I bring the beer to my lips, but the smell hits me before I even taste it. I need to keep my cool and pretend I belong here.
I take a sip. It’s cold and kinda bitter, but not that bad, actually. For now, that’s what freedom tastes like for me.
Suddenly, I catch a glimpse of a guy at the end of the bar, staring at me. He doesn’t look away when I meet his eyes.
He’s not dressed like the rest. No loud shirt, messy hair, no fake confidence dripping off him. Just a plain black T-shirt, a black leather jacket slung over the back of his stool, and that steady, dark gaze.
I go back to my drink, pretending I don’t care. But I can still feel it. He’s watching me.
I can’t help but smile to myself before I return my eyes to his. They seem dark, brown maybe, like his hair and thick, arched brows. His shoulders are broad, and he seems big. Too big compared to me.
A glass of scotch is dangling loosely between his fingers, emanating a different kind of confidence.
