Burning secrets

Chapter 4 Enzo POV Something more

Katarina. The girl that left me in the middle of the night, no goodbyes, no explanations. The girl I forced myself to bury under whiskey and meaningless women. She’s back in town, and doesn’t think I’m worth of more than 2 words.

I’m at the bar in the clubhouse sulking in memories when I see her, her body smelling of that vanilla s**t she used to wear. Her eyes wide open scanning the room. I tense up, every muscle in my body locked in place. She walks to the bar and asks for a beer. I know she saw me, her body is tensed and she’s consciously avoiding looking over here.

I walk over to her, my feet moving before I allow it.

She’s smart mouthing me. I look at her, drinking, she was never good at that. My eyes track her movements the way I track a road at night – automatic, dangerous, memorized.

Something old and ugly stirs behind my ribs. Not hurt -I buried that 5 years ago under whiskey. What’s left is the thing underneath: the certainty, bone-deep and irrational that she is mine and still are. That leaving didn’t change it. That sitting on that stool with rain in her hair and eyes pointed anywhere but at me doesn’t change it either.

She gets up from the stool, trying to leave. I watch the slight unsteadiness that two beers on an empty stomach puts in her legs, and I know her body well enough to read how far gone she really is. Lightweight, she always was.

I grab her hand, soft enough not to hurt her, hard enough to stop her.

“You’re not leaving.”

Not a request. I don’t ask for permission. I step closer on her personal space. I can see hear breathing becoming shallow.

There it is. The proof she’s not immune to his touch.

“I don’t give a s**t if you don’t want my attention kitten. You not getting out half-drunk during the storm. That’s just a fact.”

I register Boots on the back of the bar cleaning at the same spot for the last five minutes already. The newbie looking at the roof learning the tiles like there’s going to be a test.

“I’d rather drown.” She says it like it means something. But then she sits back and it hits me. All the signals she’s been giving since the moment she walked in through that door.

The way her shoulders are drown up to tight, the way she sat back down too fast for someone who meant to leave. That was not defiance. That was a woman with nowhere else to go.

I’ve seen that posture before. On people walking into the clubhouse asking for help they can’t afford.

I sit back again, one stool over. No longer careless, I angle myself towards her, I see her eyes flicking towards the door, not like she’s planning to walk out the door but more like she’s afraid that something will come trough that door towards her.

“Who’s after you.” I lean closer, turning my full attention to whatever is happening between her and that door. She tenses up. Doesn’t answer.

“You didn’t come here because of the rain, Katarina. You walked at least 35 minutes under the rain, past countless coffeeshops and bars just to get here and walked in knowing I was inside” I lean in. Close enough that my voice is only mine and hers “So, I’m asking you once and I need and answer. Who. Is. After. You.”

My eyes tracing every movement, registering and cataloging them. She holds on to her beer like a life vest. She drinks up, too fast, too long to make it casual.

“Stop imagining things. Nobody is after me. I told you, I got caught up in the rain.” Another drink to her beer. Liar. The tremor in her hand when putting the beer down gives her away. She signals boots for another one.

I’ve been lied to by professionals. Feds with rehearsed smiles, rivals with guns under the table. She’s not even close.

The tremor alone would’ve told me everything I need to know, but the rest -the overcorrection, the defiance stacked too high, the way her eyes haven’t let the bar-top since I asked- that’s a confession in everything but words.

“You always were a s**t liar, kitten. I used to love that about you.”

I stand up and pull my phone out of my pocket to type a message, short, fast: pull the cameras. I need to know who is after her.

I put the phone back in my pocket and sit back on the stool next to her, giving her no space anymore. I lean into her ear, my voice dropping into something quieter than threat and harder than a promise.

“I’m gonna find out. Wether you tell me, or I find out on my own. And you know which one is worse. So, your call.”

Her green eyes finally make contact, giving me access for a moment to the sheer panic behind them.

“I…” she starts, then swallow hard. Another glance at the front door. She opens her mouth again. No words come out this time. She lifts her beer and swallows the rest of it like water.

“I need to go to the restroom.” She’s up and running in the same heartbeat.

My phone vibrates in my pocket: Got them. Black sedan, circled the club twice after she got here. Yo need to see this.