Page 31 of Frozen Hearts
As I look around, a lone barman works his way down the line of patrons toward us, wearing a white vest top that showcases well-defined arms and chest, a canvas of tattoos adorning his skin. Tousled jet-black hair frames a rugged face, a hint of stubble covering his jaw and chin, and when he lifts his head, his eyes are the color of steel as they survey the warehouse with a quiet intensity
“Tara,” he growls in a rich, commanding baritone, spotting us at the far end of the bar and making a beeline, ignoring everyone else. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Hello to you too, big brother.”
Big brother?My eyes dart between her and the barman, noticing the small nuances—like how they both have sharp, straight noses and prominent cheekbones. The same jet-black hair and similar eyes. Does that mean this isXander?
For whatever reason, her big brother’s scowl only deepens, and he casts a sharp glance around the room, seeming to search for something—or someone. “You’re supposed to tell me when you’re coming. I don’t have any spare men to babysit you tonight.”
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you I was coming,” Tara retorts. “I don’t need a babysitter.” Before her brother can argue with her further, she wraps her arm around my shoulders. “This is my friend, Riley.”
Her brother’s gaze shifts to mine, his scowl still firmly stuck in place as his eyes rake over me before he snaps his attention back to his sister. “Since when do you have friends?”
“Since now,” Tara snaps. “So be nice to her, or I’ll peel your skin from your body and turn it into my own personal puppet.”
Her brother rolls his eyes, not appearing fazed by the extent of her violence. “When you say shit like that, it makes me regret allowing Dax to teach you how to wield a knife.”
Only because I’ve been watching their exchange closely do I catch Tara’s flash of hurt at the mention of this Dax character, and I make a note to talk to her when her brother isn’t around.
He mustn’t pick up on it as he returns his attention to me, wiping his large, calloused hand on a threadbare cloth before holding it out for me. “I’m Xander, this one’s big brother and keeper,” he teases with a slight smirk.
“You are not my keeper,” Tara protests, flicking her curled black locks out of her face. “I’m twenty-five, for Christ’s sake. I’m not a child.”
Ignoring her, Xander rests his muscular, tattooed forearms on the bartop and continues talking to me. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re always welcome here, just not alone. Things can get out of control quickly when a fight doesn’t go someone’s way—or even if it does. Mob mentality and all that. It’s easy for people to get carried away when their adrenaline is pumping and alcohol is flowing.” He tilts his head toward his sister. “Stay with this one tonight, and if you ever want to come back, let me know in advance and I’ll arrange for someone to keep an eye on you.”
That’s the second warning I’ve been given, so you can bet your ass I’m going to heed it. I nod, and seeming appeased, Xander turns to pierce his sister with a stern glare. “Both of you are to remain at this bar and within my line of sight all night. Got that?”
Tara rolls her eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stares her brother down for a long, tense moment. The tension between them grows hot and humid as I wait on tenterhooks to see who will fold first.
I’m not altogether surprised when Tara blows out a frustrated breath and her body sort of deflates. “Fine. We’ll stay here, but I want drinks in our hands all night.”
Shaking his head, Xander reaches beneath the bar before setting two beers on top of it. He pops off the caps then hands one to me before giving the other to his sister.
“Thank you, Xander. You’re the best,” she says in a sweet voice. Still shaking his head, he hides the twitch of his lips behind his hand before he moves down the counter to serve the other men waiting.
I wait until he’s out of earshot before leaning over and asking, “Brother, huh?”
“Yup.” Tara fake glares over my shoulder toward her brother, but I can see the affection hidden in her eyes. “Perpetual thorn in my side since my druggie mom chose meth over her daughter and dumped me on the front door of my dad’s trailer.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s… messed up.”
She laughs, but it lacks any humor. “You can say that again.”
“What age were you?”
She shrugs. “Three, I think. Xander was five. He and Dax—his neighbor and best friend—took me under their wings.”
I scan her face before hedging, “And you and Dax?”
“There is nome and Dax,” she states in a bitter tone. “I had a crush on him for as long as I can remember. Probably since that first day when he and Xander walked up to the trailer and saw me sitting there, shivering and crying. I was a total mess, and yet, Dax didn’t give a shit. He just pulled me in for a hug and told me everything would be okay.” Her eyes have glazed over, and I can tell she’s stuck in the past as she goes silent, so I remain quiet.
“Anyway,” she says, shaking herself out of her memories. “I thought for a moment there when I was a foolish, naive teenager that we could be something more, but then he took off.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“Nope. Apparently, he’s a big name in the underground fighting circle now. He comes back every now and again to see Xander and fight here, but I make a point of staying away. I’m not ready, you know?”
Reaching over, I squeeze her hand. While I might not understand exactly how she’s feeling, I do understand how it feels to not be ready to face your past.
