Beneath These Shadows

by Meghan March

  Just knowing she was from the same city made me worry about being recognized. But I’d never been in the papers. We’d never crossed paths. It was impossible.

  Still, Charlie’s offer made it seem like she saw too much.

  “Thank you for the offer,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  She smiled at me again before she left the shop.

  I had to be more careful. I couldn’t risk being identified. I was supposed to be laying low, and here I was acting like a tourist.

  Dumb, Eden. Why do you have to be so dumb? Maybe because my life hadn’t exactly prepared me for this.

  As soon as the door chimed behind her, Delilah turned her attention back to me.

  “So, what are you going to do with yourself while you’re here?”

  I knew what I wasn’t going to do—stay holed up in my hotel room and not get to experience anything. I could go back to New York and do plenty of nothing.

  The thought hung in my head like a punishment. Why would I want to go back to that?

  Then my next thought. It’s not like Dom would give me a choice.

  Realizing I’d let the silence go too long without answering, I met Delilah’s gaze. “I think I’d just like to do some living.” It was as honest of an answer as I could give.

  “Well, sugar, I think you’ve come to the right place for that. Between me and Bishop, we can show you almost everything this city has to offer.”

  Bishop didn’t offer his support for her suggestion, and I filled the awkward silence that followed.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ve got a list. My plan is to work my way through it.”

  “A list? How very organized of you. Do tell.”

  Bishop pulled out his cell phone and frowned down at it. He turned and walked down the back hallway without a word.

  Delilah and I both watched him go before she turned back to me.

  “Look, I don’t know if you’ve got your sights set on the big guy, but he’s tough to read. I’ve never seen him react to someone the way he did with you, so I have no idea what to make of that. I probably shouldn’t interfere, but . . . that’s kind of what I do. So, you want the scoop?”

  Do I? I almost snorted at my own stupid mental question. Of course I do.

  I BREATHED IN STALE SMOKE until it clogged my lungs as the pain from my broken ribs threatened to take me to my knees again. I’d crawled all the way from the alley, where they’d left me broken, to find everything that mattered to me had been burned away.

  Rage filled my veins as I vowed revenge.

  I jerked awake from the nightmare, sweat coating my skin, sheets sticking to my body, and my lungs heaving for breath. It had been months since it had ripped me out of sleep and tossed me into a past I couldn’t run far enough from to forget.

  I sat up in bed for a few minutes, letting my racing heart calm down enough to assure myself I wasn’t having a heart attack, before accepting that there was no way in hell I was getting any more sleep tonight.

  After splashing my face with water, I stared into the mirror. The long hair, the beard, the tattoos. Behind them was the punk kid who’d thought he knew how to fix everything and hadn’t considered what his actions could cost him.

  Everything.

  Whiskey. That was the only thing that would drive the smell of the smoke from my nose and chase the memories away. I stumbled into my kitchen for the bottle on top of the fridge, but as soon as my hand wrapped around it, I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting at my table drinking alone.

  Too much silence to dwell on the past. I needed noise. People. Not to interact, but to distract.

  I headed back to the bedroom to grab a pair of jeans off the floor. I shoved my legs into them before reaching around in the darkness to find the nearest shirt.

  After I dragged my boots on, I tied my hair up into a knot at the back of my head and shoved a knife in my pocket. Old habits die hard, even though most people would think twice about fucking with a tatted-up guy my size. But then again, tweakers and drunks didn’t always care.

  Maybe that’s what I needed tonight. When I left my apartment above Voodoo and headed toward Bourbon Street and the perfect distraction of nonstop partying, I was more than ready to take on a fight, if that’s what found me.

  I didn’t admit to myself that I was going to walk past one specific balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of a girl I knew better than to think about.

  I TRIED TO FIND SLEEP again, but tonight it wasn’t happening. Too many thoughts and possibilities made it just as impossible as the dull roar coming from outside.

  Fear kept me in my hotel room. Fear that I’d attract the wrong kind of trouble and wouldn’t be able to defend myself. Fear that I’d be recognized somehow. Fear that I didn’t know how to live, even when given the opportunity.

  How pathetic is that?

  Twenty-four years old, and I was completely clueless about life and scared to take the first step to living it. Maybe it hadn’t just been the gilded cage keeping me trapped, maybe it was me.

  So, get out there. Live.

  I peeked out the curtains of my balcony window and watched as the partiers milled about in the streets with drinks in hand, or exited one bar only to enter another.

  I could go down there and have a drink. Step a few inches outside my comfort zone. Finally have a life experience not dictated by someone else.

  Did I really want to do it? No. It would be easier to stay here, in my bed, where I could find another book to hopefully hold my attention. But something inside me told me I had to do it. I owed it to myself.

  As I pulled back the duvet, a vision of the two naked girls who had been on this bed before me entered my mind—along with the guy who’d tossed them out of the room.

  If I hadn’t been here, would Bishop have taken advantage of what they’d been offering? The one girl, Kitty, had made it sound like she’d already been with him once and wanted seconds.

  Not that it mattered. The fumbling loss of my virginity with a hotel bellboy in a beach cabana when I was eighteen and on a trip to Spain with my aunt didn’t exactly put me into the category of women who would attract a guy like Bishop.

  Why am I even thinking about this?

  Probably because everywhere I looked in this room, I felt or saw his presence.

  Well, that was one more reason on the “pro” side of getting out of here for a couple of hours.

  Decision made, I crossed to the closet and considered my options. I hadn’t packed anything that screamed night out on Bourbon Street. Probably because I didn’t own anything like the girls wore out there.

  I’d brought exactly one dress, and it was simple and black with cap sleeves and a square neckline. Otherwise, my choices were jeans and camis and cardigans. I couldn’t wear a cardigan on Bourbon Street, could I? It seemed like one of those offenses that could get you escorted out of the French Quarter.

  But a dress? That seemed like too much.

  Out of your comfort zone, E.

  Without thinking any further, I stripped off my yoga pants and T-shirt and slipped the dress off the hanger.

  As I stepped into it and zipped up the side, I examined my shoe options. Leopard-print flats would have to work because wearing my Sperrys with it would definitely get me laughed out of town.

  A makeup touch-up followed, and after I clasped a necklace around my neck, I was done. Ready.

  I left my room before I had a chance to change my mind.

  When I pushed open the doors of the hotel and stepped onto the sidewalk, I couldn’t decide if I’d made the best decision of my life or a horrible mistake. I’d convinced myself that I could handle myself out here, but the noise was three times as loud as it had been in my room, and being on the street level made it seem more foreboding than it had from the balcony window.

  Revelers dodged around me as I stood like an idiot in their way. One man knocked into my shoulder as he walked backward. His apology was muffled as he tripped over h
is feet, and I followed his line of sight to see a dozen women lifting their shirts for men on a balcony across the street.

  The best description I could give it—tits and ass everywhere.

  And I looked all prim and proper in my just-above-the-knee-length dress, flats, and understated jewelry. Terrible mistake, I decided.

  I was two seconds from turning back to the hotel and retracing my steps to my room when I saw a group of girls around my age laughing and walking down the street. Greek letters were printed on the front of their T-shirts, and from the smiles on their faces and the drinks in their hands, they weren’t worried about their safety. I didn’t have numbers on my side, but I could get off the street and into a bar with a corner stool that would allow me to people-watch without being right in the thick of it.

  That’s stepping out of your comfort zone? my inner voice said, mocking me.

  “One step at a time,” I whispered to myself. “Small steps.”

  Now, which bar? I turned and surveyed my options. So many of them looked alike. I let instinct be my guide and picked the one with music coming from open doors and windows only a few dozen feet away.

  It seemed as good a choice as any, and I didn’t have to walk by any dark alleys.

  Making my way inside the dark room lit mostly by neon beer mirrors and signs, I snagged a seat at the end of the scarred bar where it curved around and met the wall as a couple left.

  The bartender wasted no time before stopping in front of me.

  “What can I get you, hon?” Her blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, and a deep vee cut in the black shirt showed off her generous cleavage.

  I looked around the room to see what everyone else was drinking, and spotted a woman with a plastic cup of what looked like some kind of purple punch.

  I nodded at it. “I’ll have one of those purple ones.”

  “Ten dollars.”

  Pulling some cash from my small wristlet, I handed it over and she turned to make the drink.

  See, that wasn’t hard.

  The drink was before me in less than two minutes, and I lifted it in a silent toast to this new chapter in my life. Salut.

  It was grape deliciousness in a plastic cup. I had no idea what kind of alcohol or how much the bartender used because I couldn’t taste it. Someone could seriously put this drink in a sippy cup, and I would have thought it was for toddlers. Well, not quite. But that explained why it went down so fast.

  The heat from the crush of people in the bar flushed my cheeks, and I officially decided that this was a good decision.

  When I laid another ten on the bar and lifted my cup toward the bartender, she nodded, grabbing the money before going to work mixing another drink.

  The second one I sipped a little more slowly, mostly because of the cute guy who took the stool beside me.

  “Hey, I’m John.”

  “Eden.”

  “You here by yourself?”

  Instinctively, I knew I should lie. Smart Girl Bar Rules 101. “My friends are dancing. I’m taking a break.”

  “Yeah, it gets pretty wild here, especially during Mardi Gras.”

  We yelled to each other over the music and the noise for a few minutes while he ordered a drink and told me stories of some of the crazy stuff he’d seen tonight. I ordered my third drink and he insisted on paying. I insisted right back that I could buy my own drinks. It started going down just as quickly.

  He pointed out another drunk idiot, and I turned my head toward the street.

  And that’s when I saw him. Bishop. Like an avenger just inside the bar, his tattoos lit almost neon by the lights, he shoved through the crowd toward me in the corner of the bar. His eyes locked on the guy next to me as I lifted my cup and sucked down another swig.

  Before I could lower my drink to the bar, Bishop grabbed the cup from my hand and dumped it down John’s shirt.

  “What the fuck, man?” John jumped off his bar stool as the purple liquid stained his blue-and-white-striped polo.

  Rage. That was the only emotion I could make out on Bishop’s face.

  “I saw you drop something in her drink. Don’t fucking tell me I didn’t.”

  My eyes darted everywhere. From Bishop to John and then to the bartender, a wooden club clenched in her small fist. She looked between the two men, as if unsure who she should be threatening.

  “All of you. Get the hell out of my bar.”

  Bishop didn’t say another word before wrapping a giant hand around my upper arm and pulling me off my stool. As he dragged me toward the door, he turned back to John, who was now patting his shirt down with napkins.

  “Get the fuck out of this town before I can track you down and show you what I do to guys like you. Piece of shit.”

  The bouncer, probably attracted by the commotion, stepped to Bishop and looked down at me.

  “You okay, miss?” He had to yell so I could hear him.

  I nodded because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Was I okay? I thought so. My head was swimming and my legs were unsteady, but that was just the alcohol, right? I hadn’t been drugged. Had I?

  “That piece of shit dosed her drink. I don’t think she had much, though.”

  The bouncer immediately spun around and stalked across the bar toward John.

  Bishop didn’t wait to see what the bouncer did before tugging me onto the street. Thankful for my flats, I stumbled along after him.

  “Slow down. Please.”

  I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and pitched forward toward Bishop’s side.

  Shit.

  He didn’t let me land on my face. Apparently, he was good at that. His strong arms wrapped around me, and he caught a handful of boob.

  Holy shit. Bishop is touching my boob, was the only thought in my alcohol-soaked brain. My nipple peaked into his hand, which he yanked away before setting me upright again.

  “What the fuck are you doing out here by yourself?”

  I blurted the only answer that came to mind. “Living.”

  That’s when my knees gave out, and I pitched forward into Bishop’s chest.

  LIVING. THE WORD ECHOED IN my head as Eden’s body collapsed into mine.

  Fuck. I scooped her up into my arms.

  “Shit, you’re hammered. How much did you drink?”

  Her head lolled against my shoulder. “Enough. But only a little of the last one. You spilled it.”

  “No shit. Because you were getting fucking roofied. I thought you learned your lesson when someone tried to grab you in front of Voodoo. You need to smarten up if you’re going to spend any time alone in this city.”

  “Sorry I’m not doing a good enough job for you.”

  I stepped in the direction of the hotel. She needed a keeper, and it wasn’t like I was in the market for another job.

  “Where’s your room key?”

  She lifted her arm to show me a little purse dangling from her wrist.

  When we reached the door to the lobby, I set her on her feet and she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Don’t let go.”

  “You smell good.” Her face buried in my neck as I unzipped the purse and fished out the keycard. “Really good.”

  I shook my head, trying to tell myself that she was just drunk and had no idea what she was saying.

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  Eden untucked her face from my body and looked up at me. “Are you coming inside?”

  “You think you can get up there yourself?”

  Her brows drew together as she considered it. “I don’t know. What was in those drinks? They didn’t taste like anything but grape.”

  From the way she was stumbling, I had to guess it was the Purple Circus Punch, made with Everclear. And I also had to imagine that Eden didn’t have a clue what that was.

  I slid the keycard into the reader and pushed open the door to the lobby. Keeping her tucked in tight to my side and helping her walk, we avoided too many strange looks in th
e lobby before we reached the elevator.

  Thankfully, I remembered exactly which room she was in, because Eden was already on the edge of passing out by the time the elevator stopped on the third floor. I lifted her into my arms and carried her down the hallway.

  “I’ve never been like this before . . . not even when I raided my aunt’s wine collection when she spent the weekend at the spa.”

  If I needed any more clues to figure out just how sheltered the girl in my arms was, that would have done it.

  Adjusting my grip on her again, I used the key to open the door to the room and pushed inside. She hadn’t taken it over like most women would—tossing clothes everywhere and covering every flat surface with something girly. She’d kept her suitcase neatly packed, and the only thing disturbed was the bed. The sheets were tangled and a tablet sat on the nightstand.

  I lowered her to the bed and she flopped backward on it.

  Rage heated within me again at the kid who’d dosed her drink. I wanted to go back and beat the fuck out of him. But if I knew bouncers in NOLA, the kid wasn’t getting off unscathed. We didn’t take kindly to that shit here.

  What the fuck would have happened if I hadn’t ended up on Bourbon? If I’d gone to one of my normal places?

  I didn’t want to think about the alternative. When I’d stepped into the bar, my instincts demanded I scan the entire interior before ordering a drink. Even at the end of the bar, Eden hadn’t been able to hide. In a sea of drunken mindlessness, she stood out. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something.

  And now, seeing her nearly unconscious, I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking vulnerable she was on her own.

  She kicked her shoes off and struggled to sit up and reach behind her. “I can’t reach it. Can you?”

  She had to be talking about the zipper to the dress. I sat down on the bed beside her as she turned her back toward me. But there was no zipper.

  “What are you trying to reach?”

  “I just want out of this dress.”

  “Well, how did you get into it?”

  Eden released a noise of frustration before stilling. “Crap. Side. Forgot.” She lifted an arm but fumbled with the tiny tab.