Ember X (17 page)

“I have a mean… side.” He wavers. “I guess. But it doesn’t come out a lot.”

“I think everyone has sides of them that rarely come out.” I stir the straw in my drink.

He nods. “So what’s yours?”

Crazy.
“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to share it with me if you don’t want to.” He takes a sip of his water. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

It feels like there’s a hidden meaning in his words. “So what made you want to be an artist?”

His jaw clamps tight. “My father was an artist and he passed along his gift to me.”

“You sound upset about that. Did you fight a lot with your dad or something?”

“My dad wasn’t around a lot, but I love painting—it helps me get out what I’m feeling.”

“I know what you mean.” I think of his Angel drawing and wonder what he was feeling when he painted it—I wonder if he knows stuff about Angels. “It’s why I write poetry.”

“I’d love to read some of your poetry,” he says.

I stare down at my chicken sandwich and my hair falls around my face. “I usually don’t let people read it. Well, except for Raven, but she’s only read what I’ve written on my walls.” And Cameron, but that was by accident.

“You write on your walls?” He sprinkles some salt on his fries and returns the shaker back to the tray at the side of the table. “Now that is something you’ll have to let me see.”

“Sure.” I tuck my hair back behind my ear. “There’s artwork on the walls, too—Raven’s and my brother’s.”

He wipes his hand on a napkin. “Maybe you’ll be nice enough to let me put something up on it.”

“Like a painting of your sad Angel.”

“Would you want that? A drawing of an Angel that would always be on your wall?”

“There’s already one on there. Raven put it up when we were like eight.” I take another bite of my chicken sandwich. “And my brother put the Grim Reaper on it for who knows what reasons, so I have the good version of death and the evil one.” As I say it aloud, I think of the book I read; a battle between good and evil—between Angels of Death and Grim Reapers. I have the battle on my walls.

Asher’s expression falls. “But which one’s evil and which one’s good?”

It’s an obvious answer, but my lips decline to utter the words, and an image of my imaginary childhood friend pops into my head.

The waitress arrives with the bill. I try to pay for my half, but Asher won’t allow it. While we’re waiting for the waitress to bring the change, two men walk inside the bar that catch my attention. They stand out in their business attire and fancy haircuts. The taller of the two has blonde hair and dark eyes that look really familiar. The longer I stare at him the more I realize that he looks like an older version of Cameron.

Asher’s eyes find them and his eyes darken. The man returns the look with equivalent revulsion.

“Do you know them?” I nod my head toward the two men.

Asher’s eyes stay on them as he shakes his head. “No, I don’t,” he says through gritted teeth. He rips his gaze away and his expression is feral.

“Asher, what’s wrong.” I start to turn my head back to the men, but a man with long brown hair and a stocky body stumbles from a barstool, waving his finger at me.

“Ain’t you that girl who killed her father?” he slurs, tripping over his shoelaces.

“I didn’t kill him.” I cringe uncomfortably, retreating back. “The cops just thought I did for a while.”

His thigh bumps the table and knocks my coke over, spilling ice all over the table. “But didn’t you run away after you called the cops and reported his murder? Yeah, yeah, and they took you to jail.”

“That’s not how it happened,” I lie, scooping up the ice and dropping it in the cup.

The waitress returns with the change. “Gary, you aren’t causing trouble, are you?”

He bobs his drunken head. “Nah, just chattin’ with my good friends. This is that girl who killed her father.”

“I didn’t kill him!” I raise my voice louder than I meant to.

Now more people than Gary are staring at me. The waitress gives Asher a concerned pat on the shoulder, like she thinks I’m going to kill him.

“If you need anything else at all, just let me know.” She tugs on Gary’s arm. “Come on, Gary. Let’s get you home.”

But he won’t budge. “You know I used to work at the same shop as your dad.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead. “We were pretty good buddies.”

“That’s great.” I put some money down on the table for a tip.

Asher slides the money back at me. “No way.”

I push it back in the center of the table. “You paid for dinner and the least I can do is pay for the tip.”

He struggles, his jaw set tight, and then gives in. “Fine, but next time, you’re letting me pay for the whole thing.”

“Is there going to be a next time?” I ask.

He smiles. “Absolutely.”

I begin to stand up, but Gary blocks the end of my booth and Amy hurries back to the counter to get some assistance. “Can you please move so I can get up?” I ask as politely as I can.

His feet stay planted. “You know he used to talk about you when we’d go out drinking after work.” He leans down in my face, his breath reeking of booze as he whispers in my ear. “He told me your little secret—how you could cause death.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start to stand again, but he shoves me down by the chest and my elbow cracks against the table as the faint scent of his death pollutes my lungs:
electricity, chair, people watch, grateful he’s dying
. It’s vile and knocks the breath out of me.

The next thing I know Gary is on the floor clutching his jaw and Asher is standing over him.

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll fucking kill you.” He extends his hand to me and I gladly take it.

Calmness rushes through me as we swiftly weave around the tables, heading for the exit. A group of men push up from the barstools and follow us. Trouble lingers in the air, like a warning before a storm. Some of them are as weak looking as Gary, but some are large, beefy, and have scars all over their arms and faces, probably old wounds from bar fights.

People eating dinner at the tables watch us nervously—they smell what’s coming. And so do I.

Asher and I speed up as we near the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” one of the larger men calls out.

Asher shoves at the door, but pauses, deliberating something intensely, and then he gradually turns around. “We are leaving. Do you have a problem with that?”

A bulky man, sporting leather pants and matching vest crosses his arms. “Yeah. You can’t just knock out one of my friends and then walk away without paying the consequences.” He waves his finger at me. “And that one… well, she’s just a downright filthy murderer who gets to walk off easy.”

“You didn’t even know my dad,” I say. “So shut the hell up.”

“I’m not talking about your dad,” he growls. “I’m talking about my nephew, Laden Miller.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” My legs tremble, but I refuse to cower back. “I barely knew him.”

“So you say.” His eyes blaze with loathing and it’s so powerful, I want to run and hide. “But you did know your daddy and you probably killed him just like you killed my nephew. I bet you even had somethin’ to do with that girl he was always hangin’ out with. That Farrah girl. Yeah, I bet you killed her too.”

Asher drops my hand and his muscles are tense as if he’s trying to channel all his anger to stay in his body. He steps toward the man and spreads his arms open. “The next word that comes out of your mouth better be an apology.”

The man cracks his knuckles and neck. “Or what?”

I eye the men, who are twice Asher’s size, and then tug on Asher’s sleeve, trying to lure him back. “Asher, I think we should go.”

Laden’s uncle laughs and the rest of the men join in. “Ooo, little murder girl said it’s time to go. You better listen.” Without warning, he draws his arm back and clocks Asher in the face with his fist.

Asher crumples to the ground, landing on his knees. “Well, that was a cheap shot,” he mutters, grasping his cheek.

“Oh my God.” I lean over Asher. “Are you okay?”

His grey eyes darken as he tilts his head up and starts to stand up. “Stand back,” he warns, moving me back with his arm.

“Are you being serious?” I ask. “They’ll kill you.”

“Ember, please stand back,” he says, not looking
at
me, but at Laden’s uncle. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I don’t move. From the corner of the bar, I see the guy who looks like Cameron watching Asher with fascination as he sips out of a martini glass. Asher pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, then with one swing, he bends his arm and knocks Laden’s uncle out.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, staring down at the unconscious man, his legs and arms sprawled across the floor, and there is a little bit of drool pooling at his lips.

Then all hell breaks loose.

The rest of the men charge at him at full speed and Asher dodges to the side and nudges me out of the way with his elbow. A few men bump into tables, sending people springing from their chairs, and plates flying through the air. The whole bar scatters for safety, screaming, and dashing for the front door. The music switches to a heavy metal song and the small fight becomes a full-on brawl. I’m not surprised. I’ve seen it happen many times. Men take swings at each other and even a few buffer females get in on the action. Bottles are being smashed over heads and chairs are getting clobbered.

A tall, lanky man comes strutting up to me with a smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You scared?” He steps closer and exhales beer breath in my face. When his hand touches my waist, I knee him between the legs. Death flashes through me, but it is worth it.

He collapses to the floor, groaning and clutching his manly parts. “You fucking bitch.”

“Do I look like someone who’d be frightened by a little bar fight?” Shaking my head, I step over him, searching for Asher. I spot Phil hurrying out of the back room with a baseball bat and his cell phone. “Shit.” I duck through the flying bottles and fists. “Asher!” I trip over an unconscious man and glass slices my palms as I fall to the floor. Keeping my head low, I dash across the room, leaping over chairs and weaving around broken tables.

Asher is near the back door, exchanging punches with a bald guy with a snake tattoo coiling his upper arm. Asher’s lip is split open and his cheekbone is swollen. He throws jab after jab and his movements are almost inhuman, swifter and stronger. I’m impressed and terrified at the same times.

A lofty guy with a thick neck sneaks up behind Asher, holding a broken beer bottle in his hand and I pick a glass cup off the floor and throw it at the guy’s head. It slams him in the forehead, and he drops the beer bottle, and then falls to the floor like a bag of bricks.

Asher slams his opponent in the face and blood spurts from his mouth. He repeats the movement over and over again, until the guy passes out.

Asher breathes violently as he clutches his hands. “I’m sorry, Ember… I just.”

I grab his hand and lead him toward the backdoor. “Phil’s about to call the cops… I can’t get caught in this mess. I’m already on probation.”

I shove open the door and we breathe in fresh air as we burst outside. The door slams shut and the noise from the bar fight is suffocated. The back parking lot is secluded from the highway, the sky is black, and the lights from the neon signs flash across our faces, making us look ghostly.

Asher turns and faces me, panting heavily, his eyes untamed as his chest rises and falls. “I’m sorry, Ember. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

My heart knocks inside my chest. I feel alive, high on adrenaline, like I could conquer the world. “It’s okay. Trust me when I say I’m used to bar fights.” I touch the tip of my finger to his bottom. “You cut your lip open.” I wipe the blood away and I start to pull my hand back, but he covers it with his and presses it against his lips. He kisses my palm, his eyes penetrating me, making me feel exposed as he sucks on my skin and rolls his tongue along it. Our breaths quicken, in sync and matching each other’s desire.

“Please fucking tell me that I kiss you right now?” he whispers with a silent plea in his eyes. “God, please… I need to…”

I nod my head once and his lips crash into mine, but his touch is gentle. My skin ignites as I wrap my hands around his waist and pull myself against him, aligning our bodies. My lips part and his tongue slides in deeply, so that he can caress the roof of my mouth with his tongue ring and I let out a faltering moan.

He slightly withdraws, looking me in the eyes, and then he growls, enfolds his fingers around my thighs, and picks me up. I enclose my legs around his waist as he continues to taste every inch of my mouth and backs us against the wall, beneath the shadows and florescent lights. There’s no space remaining between our bodies and I can feel his hardness pressed up against me. I’m spinning, sweating, panting as he kisses me and brings a feeling of ecstasy from my head to my toes. His hands are tangled in my hair, then trail down my neck, finally settling on my hips. Then he slips a hand up the back of my shirt and the contact sends a jolt of electricity down my spine as he holds onto me like I’m his lifeline, as if letting me go will kill him.