Fated (The Soul Seekers 1)

“I’m looking for the ladies’ room,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure I can find it on my own.” I try to yank free, but he’s incredibly strong and it’s not quite that easy. And while I’m sure I could do it if I really put some effort behind it, I’m not sure how much of a scene I’m willing to make.

His voice dropping all pretense at flirtation when he says, “And I’m sure you plan to take several detours first, don’t you?” He trails a finger down the length of my cheek, the feel of it causing me to suck in my breath and try to wrench free. “In order to spare ourselves that kind of embarrassment and preserve our budding new friendship, allow me to direct you to the other side of the room—just opposite the dance floor—you can’t miss it.”

I swallow hard, make another attempt to yank free, only to have him pull me even closer, his lips pushing into my hair when he says, “I meant everything I said—I want us to join forces. So don’t disappoint me by poking your pretty head where it doesn’t belong. The future is ours for the taking—so try not to blow it.”

I reach around, grab hold of his fingers, and peel them off my wrist, aware of his knuckles creaking in protest and not feeling the slightest bit bad about it.

“Don’t touch me,” I say, my gaze fixed on his. “Ever. Again. Do you hear me?”

“Oh, I hear you,” he says, voice steady and even. “And just so you know, I see you too. There are cameras everywhere, Santos. No place is safe. Except for maybe the bathroom. After all, we do have our standards.” He grins, a sickly sight of flashing teeth and cold, vacant eyes. “Try not to do anything stupid. Try not to do something you’ll live to regret.”

His words trailing behind me as I make my way across the dance floor, heading in the direction he sent me.

thirty-three

I slam my palm against the door and shove in. Shooting for the row of white sinks jutting out from the blue tiled wall, I thrust my hands under a surge of cold water in an attempt to cool myself, calm myself—the encounter with Cade left me more shaken than I first realized.

I meet my gaze in the mirror, seeing a flushed, harried face staring back. And just behind me, just to my right, I watch as the waitress from the first time I came here, the one Dace consoled in the alleyway, bursts out of a stall, straightens her apron, cuts a wide arc around me, and heads for the very next sink, where she washes her hands, dries them on a handful of crunchy brown paper towels, and leans toward the mirror, erasing a mascara smudge with the tip of her finger.

“Miss your bus?” She continues to peer at herself, assessing her appearance, though the question’s for me.

I turn. Surprised she remembers. But then again, Enchantment’s not exactly a destination town. It doesn’t get many tourists.

“Something like that.” I focus on the name tag teetering high on her chest: MARLIZ! That’s right. Only, the view from the mirror makes it read backward.

“They leave every few hours, maybe you should try again?” She pushes away from the sink, looks right at me.

“Why are you so anxious to be rid of me?” I ask, digging through my bag for my lip salve and swiping a thin coat across my mouth.

“Maybe I’m just trying to help you.” She shrugs.

“And why would you want to do that?” I counter, seeing her sigh, turn back toward the mirror, where she surveys her face once again. Combing a hand through her bangs, getting them settled across her forehead, her left ring finger bearing a large diamond solitaire on a slim gold band I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing the last time I saw her.

“I’m kindhearted, what can I say?” She smiles in a way that reminds me of Cade—unfeeling, unreal. “I commit one selfless act a day, and today it seems to be you. So, take my advice and get out while you can.”

I lean against the edge of the sink, careful to keep my face clean of emotion. “Ever consider following your own advice?”

She tugs on her black bra strap, secures it under her tank top. “Sure.” She fusses with the other strap too. “All the time.”

“And … so … how come you never left?”

“Who’s saying I didn’t?” She looks at me, her gaze hinting at something I can’t quite grasp.

“So why’d you come back then?”

She shoves a hand into her apron pocket, sighing as she fiddles with a pile of change, the coins’ jostling causing a dull clinking sound. “I was born and raised here. I guess the longer you stay, the easier it is to lose your perspective. Thought I was the only girl headed to L.A. with bleached roots and big dreams—turns out I was wrong. So I enrolled in beauty school—but it was too hard to make a go of it, and, after a while, it just seemed easier to return.” She heads for the door, presses her palm flat against it—her new diamond ring catching the light, winking at me. “I’ve seen the way they look at you,” she says.

“Who?” My eyes travel the length of her.

“All of them—but mostly Cade and Dace. The brothers hate each other—or at least Cade hates Dace. I don’t think Dace is capable of hating anyone.” Her gaze grows soft, far away, probably remembering when Dace stopped Cade from berating her just a few hours earlier. “Anyway—” She shakes her head. “Watch yourself.”

That last part spoken no louder than a whisper, prompting me to call, “Hey—what’s that supposed to mean?” My voice competing with the swoosh of the door closing behind her, leaving my question unanswered.

thirty-four

I claim an empty stall, check the lock twice, flip the toilet lid down, settle myself on the seat, and dig through my purse in search of the jar with the tiny holes in the lid and the inch-long cockroach inside. Equally repulsed and excited by what I’m about to do, I loosen the lid, set the jar on the floor, and stare at the roach as hard as I can.

Stare at him until everything dims but his three sets of legs, brownish-red shell of a back, extra long antennae, and the wings that enable him to flit, more than fly.