Page 97 of Forsaking Midnight
“Your boyfriend’s a dick.”
“So is yours.”
Rosalie shrugs, then shifts to grab a tray and winces, her hand flying to her side.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Bumped into the corner of the bar earlier.”
She won’t meet my eyes.
“Rosie.”
“I’m fine, Ginny.” Her voice sharpens, then she softens it with a smile. She grabs the tray and disappears toward the back.
I watch her go.Another woman in this town pretending everything’s fine.
The night drags. By the time the crowd thins, my feet ache as much as my legs, and I’m heading to grab my jacket when I hear Art’s voice.
I freeze. I hadn’t realized he was here. My chest smarts. He didn’t even come out front to say hi.
“…ready by next month. Myrddin isn’t asking.”
A chill trickles down my spine and I press myself against the wall.
“He’s gonna get slaughtered out there,” Benny says. “Kid can barely throw a punch.”
“That’s not really the point, is it?” Art’s voice is different. Colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Percy’s bait anyway.”
My stomach drops through the floor.
“At least we know Lance will deliver,” Benny continues. “He always does.”
“Let’s hope he keeps his head on straight. He’s been distracted lately.”
“And you’re not?”
Art’s quiet for a moment but then he laughs. “Don’t ask me stupid fucking questions, Benny. Just let me handle my best friend, okay? I’ve got it.”
Handle.Like Lance is a problem to be managed. If he talks about Lance this way, I don’t even want to imagine how he speaks about me.
The office door creaks, and I scramble backward into the storage room, pressing my back against the shelving and holding my breath until the footsteps fade.
I should go upstairs and wait for Lance to come back. That’s the smart thing. That’s what he told me to do. He practically threatened to kill me himself if I didn’t let him drive me to and from work.
But I’m done being smart.
So instead, I head to the secret doorway into the Lye, swipe my key card, and take the stairs down.
The training room door is cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the tunnel hall.
Lance is in the center of the room, shirtless, his tattoos dark against his skin. Sweat glistens on his shoulders and his hands are wrapped in tape. He’s standing across from Percy, adjusting the kid’s stance with his own feet, his voice low and patient.
“Hands up. Always. Even when you’re tired. Even when you think it’s over.”
Percy lifts his fists.
“Better.”
