𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 3

TW: physical abuse, strong themes.

— Chapter 3 —
James

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E L L I O T

Three hours into the shift, I'd finally settled that Noah Black wouldn't be gracing the bar with his presence after all.

Truthfully, I was disappointed.

The rational part of me knew I was better off pretending that our encounter never happened. But the other part of me—the part that was so charmed by him? It just couldn't seem to conform. I just wanted something... wanted to talk to him, or at least see him. Perhaps this time in better lighting.

It didn't make sense. The bar was packed—I wouldn't have been surprised if every member was present tonight. Even the group's leader, Chief, was here—and he only showed up on the best of nights. So where was Noah?

I must be going crazy, I thought, somewhat huffy with myself. You hardly talked to Noah, anyway. Why the hell should you have anything to do with him?

Mind disarray with thoughts, I poured a pricey bourbon into a glass and bit gently on the side of my cheek.

That's right, I thought as I passed the glass to a customer. You shouldn't. Just be thankful you didn't piss him off and move on with your life.

The bar was busy tonight–everyone with some kind of importance in Stray Dogs had shown up and were now drinking carelessly and laughing heartily with one another.

It was impressive just how much the bar's atmosphere improved when others were present. No longer dull and boring, the place was lively with people, and the loud music from the fluorescent jukebox seemed to vibrate the ground beneath my feet.

At least the inside of the building was better cared for. The checkered flooring shone and sparkled under the brilliant lighting. The walls, which were admittedly chipping wallpaper in certain places, were adorned with old photographs and posters. There was even a photo of Eve, Dean, and I hanging somewhere in one of the corners.

The bar counter itself was made of black marble, its small particles of glitter shimmering proudly despite its years. Hundreds of polished glasses were suspended from fixtures in the ceiling, too, with the small lights between them making the entire display similar to an intricate chandelier.

Perhaps the best thing, though, was the wall of alcohol behind the counter. It wasn't much different from many other bars, but the only difference was that I'd set it up and organized it, entirely on my own. I figured it was one of my best achievements—and it probably shelved half a liquor store. There was everything from cheap tequila to hundred-dollar bottles of champagne. Hell, there was even pink vodka sitting up there too... somewhere, at least.

"Whiskey, neat," someone said from behind me, after noticing that I wasn't serving anyone.

"Any preferences?" I asked.

"Uh, Jim Beam."

Turning around with a rocks glass in hand, I almost dropped it at the sight of the person before me.