Page 15 of Burn

Running the back of my hand over my mouth, I don’t back up nor do I let the bottle go. Instead, I press harder into his throat until the glass punctures through the skin just a touch.

Owen tries again. “Dude, stop!”

Unfortunately, I can’t.

“Get out of here, Ryan!” Jacey’s manager yells at me. He’s not serious. I get kicked out of this bar all the time and never leave. But it’s enough to snap me out of it.

Taking a step back, I let the bottle fall to the ground, crashing around us.

Jerking my shoulders up, I shake away from Owen’s grip on my arms now. “Get off me.”

Abercrombie scrambles around, feet sliding against the concrete as he holds his hand to his bleeding neck. He wipes his hand over the blood and then stares at me. “You crazy son of a bitch! You could have killed me!”

I laugh and shake my head. “Oh please, it’s a flesh wound. You’re fine.”

My eyes shift to Jacey and then away; she’s pissed and so is her manager.

Owen steps in front of me again, stares at me, trying to make sense of what just happened. “What the fuck?”

I smile again, winking at my friend as I’m walking away. “Just having a conversation.”

“Conversation?” He snorts, following me back to the booth as I examine my bloody knuckles. I really should have paid attention when I broke the beer bottle. Cut the shit out of my hand doing it. “Is that what you call breaking a guy’s jaw?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs. “Thought so.”

Radiant Extension

The Fire has transferred ignition heat to adjacent materials across open space.

Do responsible twenty-six-year-old hotel managers go out on Christmas Eve?

Am I considered responsible? I don’t even have a place to live right now.

As far as I’m concerned, I am responsible. I graduated from UW and landed a job with the most successful hotel in Seattle. Never mind the fact my dad owns the hotel. I’m good at my job. It’s just everything else in life that sucks.

Tucked in the corner of the bar on the far side of the dance floor contemplating my responsibility and feeling like the oldest one in the bar, I’m people watching and judging the choice of attire for most of the women.

This part of the night is why I enjoy going out with Scarlet. We’re the perfect pair. We balance each other out, and I know if I was ever to murder someone, she’d bury the body, no questions asked. I know this from experience too. Not the murdering part, but the volunteering to hide the body. On the way here she offered to “take care” of Judah.

By that, she means calling her cousin Salvador and telling him to do it. I’ve never asked, but I think he’s like a hit man or something. Anyway, you’d be surprised to know I declined the generous offer. I mean, first of all, I don’t want anything to do with her cousin because he’s scary as fuck and two, I don’t think I have it in me to order a hit on someone.

Back to my point. Scarlet is my Thelma.

I think I’m Louise. Mostly because I tend to think things through and Scarlet is usually the one flirting with disaster.

I met Scarlet my first year at UW. We were roommates and instantly hit it off. I even got her a job at the hotel and then she dropped out our sophomore year, but we remained friends.

She’s also my favorite drinking buddy because I never have to tell her what I want. She automatically knows my drink of choice. Bay Breeze.

“Christ almighty,” Scarlet gasps, bumping in my shoulder as she hands the drink. “That guy is a badass.”

“Which one?” My already drunk stare scans the bar, my eyes eventually landing on the bar where there are in fact two guys fighting. Or I should say one is fighting, the other is trying to defend himself or maybe trying to run away. I can’t tell.

“There’re always fights at this bar,” I tell her, focusing on the dance floor and people watching. It’s been my experience that you encounter the most bizarre people in any public place.

Remember when I said there was one boyfriend I wanted to think I was dead?

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