Page 16 of The Deceptions
“Hey, guys. All good?” he barely croaks, nervously twitching when the tallest man shifts on his feet. “Can I get you anything?” Worry rests in his tone now. Like he's about to be under attack, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was reaching for something beneath the bar for protection.
And Jesus. I mean, I see why. They're tense. Brooding. Looking like they could reach down the man's throat and pullhis heart out. I quickly push my hair to the side of my face, attempting to hide myself from the newcomers. But I check them out as much as possible. If the bartender is shaking in his boots, maybe these two are people I should keep an eye on.
Damn it. Consider my interest piqued. First, the alien man who disappeared. Now, Viking and his familiar assistant.
Greenwood is a goddamn poison.
My back straightens as the massive man's muscles ripple when he leans forward. Viking man. With his long blond hair, hitting his shoulders. Muscles for days. Dimples on his cheeks and piercing blue eyes. And a towering frame.
Fuck me.
No, seriously.
If I ever thought about losing myself to anyone—it would be him. It's unfortunate, though, that the man accompanying him is someone I used to know. Someone I crossed paths with many times over the course of my childhood. Jackson Wilder. AKA my ex-best friend—Mack’s—slightly older half-brother.
Great.
At least I know the name of one of them. But Wilder, as he preferred to be called, never hung around for too long. He lived in the shadows, just trying to survive. He was only twelve months older than Mack, but the two didn’t get along. Ever. They were cats and dogs, always at each other’s throats. Something I had the pleasure–or not so pleasure–of witnessing. Their hate for each other was visceral, which to me was odd. They were supposed to have each other’s backs. They were family, after all.
I swallow hard, side-eyeing the Viking as he grins at the bartender. Now him? He's new, yet slightly familiar. But where have I seen him before? That's the question.
“Just here for a drink, Nick. Maybe some pool.” The Viking grins, dropping his voice low. “You don't mind, do ya?” He cocks his head like an innocent puppy, but seems to be anything but.
Nick visibly swallows hard, eyeing the Viking and Wilder. “No, man. It's all good. Just no issues.”
“Now, why would we walk into your establishment and cause issues? We're good boys. Right, Wilder?” The Viking slaps Wilder on the back three times with force, but Wilder doesn't flinch. “Besides, we’re all on the same side, right?”
“That's right,” Wilder says in a low voice. “We're good people, Nick.”
“See? We're good. Now, how about a round for the bar, huh? My treat!” He throws his hands up as the entire establishment cheers in thanks.
I don't take my eyes off them as they stand together. Wilder peers around the bar, looking for something.
“And you're sure, Nick. That you haven't seen her?” Viking pulls out a large missing person’s poster from his pocket and slides it forward on the bar.
Nick sighs, picking up the picture while shaking his head. “Sorry, Malic. I haven't seen her. I told you before when you dropped off the other posters.” He gestures toward the darkened hallway with a grim expression, highlighting the corkboard filled with papers and Meredith’s large missing person poster attached to it.
Malic’s smile doesn't budge. “Did you take a nice, long look at my sister? Hmm?” He points to the picture a few times. “Her last known whereabouts were here at your fine establishment. 5”6’. Brunette. Probably wearing her nursing scrubs.”
Missing sister, huh? This bar must attract all kinds of weird vibes. I wonder if she had a run-in with the aliens, too? I snort to myself, downing the rest of my final drink. No more for me.That’s enough for the evening or I won’t make it back to the hotel in one piece to confront Jonathan on his bullshit.
“I told you before, Mal. She left alone, and I didn't see her again. You can't keep coming in here to badger the customers, either.” The same security guard from before steps forward, raising his brows.
Real intimidating, buster. But I don’t think you’re having the effect you want.
Malic tilts his head back and laughs at the guard’s attempts to intimidate him. Yeah, I don't think anyone could make him leave or feel scared.
“Funny. No one else has seen her either.” Malic taps the bar a few times. “Maybe put that picture on your bar to remind your regulars that she left here and disappeared. And we’ll add some to your corkboard.” He gestures to his left, toward the dark hallway Earl left through.
From the sharp tone of his voice, I can tell it’s not a gentle suggestion. It’s a‘you better fucking put her picture up or I’ll stab you.’And damn, what a show that would be.
Nick swallows hard and nods, pinning the missing person's picture on the small register at the center of the bar. See? He got the message loud and clear.
Maybe this Malic person is more than talk and intimidating looks. I peek at him, taking in his features again.
“I hope you find her, Mal,” Nick says, filling two glasses with dark beer. “Meredith was a good person.”
Sweat drips from Nick’s temple, slowly trailing down his cheek and dropping off his chin. I tilt my head. Even in my condition, AKA, halfway to drunktown, I notice the word he used. Was. Was a good person. As if it’s in the past tense.
