Bar

Blood Red

I know this is it. The moment. He’s giving me one last chance. One chance to tell him what he needs to hear, the words he deserves. The feeling grows inside me, but the words refuse to tumble from my lips. If I don’t say anything, he’ll leave. He’ll be done with me. He’s not a man to give second chances.

Wayward

I gripped the glass tight in my fist, and it hissed under the pressure. It was a warning not to press the issue or attempt to follow me when I left. I glared at him from the corner of my eye and drank the rest of the whiskey in one final gulp.

Ruin or Mischief, Part II

Why would she be looking for me? “I’m here on business,” I say. “I’d heard they’d let you out. I would have visited, but, well, you know…” I look Atë up and down and raise my eyebrows. The outfit hugs her figure, accentuating her curves, and I don’t need to use my skills to know what every man in the bar is thinking.

Ruin or Mischief? Part I

The door slams open, and there is a marked change in the atmosphere. My senses tingle, but I refrain from looking at the newcomer. A frosty silence hangs in the air. I’m sure there was music playing a few moments ago. I hear stilettos crossing the floor. Slow and steady. The entire bar holds its breath. Then a shadow falls on me. I see curves and long flowing hair, and I smile inwardly.

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