Page 6 of Sully
“Everything.”He held my gaze as we drank, and I felt that look all the way to my core.
The second round went down easier than the first.Sully matched me shot for shot, his composure slipping only in subtle ways, his voice a touch deeper.
“So, Nashville,” he prompted.
“Not so fast.”I leaned closer, my shoulder pressing against his.“Contest isn’t over yet.”
“Seems like it might end in a draw.”
“I don’t do draws.”I signaled for another round.
The bartender brought two more shots, giving us an appraising look before moving back to his other customers.I picked up my glass but didn’t drink immediately.
“I go where I want, when I want,” I said, answering his earlier question even though I hadn’t lost.“Nashville just happened to be on the way.”
“On the way to where?”
I shrugged.“Wherever’s next.”
“Running to or from?”
I laughed, a genuine sound that surprised me.“Look at you, thinking you’ve got me all figured out.”
“Not even close,” he admitted.“But I recognize the signs.”
“What signs?”
“Of someone who doesn’t stay anywhere long enough to leave fingerprints.”He took his shot, then added, “Takes one to know one.”
I downed my drink, welcoming the burn.“You don’t seem like the drifter type.”
“I wasn’t.Until prison.”He set his glass down precisely, lining it up with the others.“Few years inside changes your relationship with stability.”
“And the guy with the fractured skull?”I leaned closer, deciding to deliver my own questions.
His lips quirked.“He deserved worse.”
“For?”
“Setting me up.I took the fall for the way he handled his disagreements.”Sully’s voice remained even, but I caught the flash of old rage in his eyes.“When I confronted him, he laughed.Said no one would believe an ex-con over him.”
“So you made sure he couldn’t testify.”
He shook his head, shrugging with a grin.“I made sure he remembered me.Cost me another five years, but watching him piss himself when I came at him was almost worth it.”
I studied him, seeing him with new clarity.Not just precise and controlled, but dangerous when pushed past his limits.I liked that combination more than I should.
“Your turn,” he said.“Why the chaos?What do you get out of it?”
Our hands rested inches apart on the bar.I slid mine closer until our fingers touched.“Maybe I just like to watch people reveal who they really are when the script gets thrown away.”
“And who are you, Darby?”His fingers tangled with mine, though neither of us acknowledged it.His touch, skin to skin, was electric.
“Trouble,” I said honestly.“The kind you should run from.”
“Never been one to run from trouble.”
The bar had emptied around us, just the bartender and one lingering couple in the corner.Sully’s face was half in shadow, the scar along his jaw more pronounced in the dim light.I found myself wanting to trace it with my fingertips.Then my tongue.
