Water’s Edge (A Series of Sharp Edges #1)

3. Mattie

CHAPTER THREE

mattie

T he Foxfire’s neon sign is a magnet for every mosquito within a hundred miles—and I don’t mean just the insect, either. Human scum seems to gravitate here as well, eager to feed off anyone who will let them. The whole place reeks of desperation and deceitful intent, but it’s easy money to sling drinks here. The owner doesn’t pay too much attention or ask too many questions, which makes it easy for someone with hobbies like mine. I can blend in and hunt without raising suspicion.

The place is the only stop for miles, nestled off to the side of a country highway that cuts through the backwoods of this holler. Aside from the owner, Wiley, it’s just me and one other bartender, Tallulah. Sometimes, during busier parts of the year, Wiley will hire someone part time to run the kitchen. He always says he’ll hire more staff one day, but it’s been a few years now, and the day has yet to come. It doesn’t bother me, though. The fewer people I’m around regularly, the fewer I have to keep secrets from.

If I were capable of friendship, Tally would be my best friend. Part of me feels a tinge of sadness every time I think about her, because I’ll never be able to share my true self. I can’t give her the type of honesty she deserves, not unless I want to see the inside of a padded room or jail cell. Her company is still welcome, though. I like to live vicariously through all her stories and pretend I’m capable of a social life.

I stare at my maroon Ford Pinto then over to the Foxfire and back again. “It’s not too late to just go back home,” I whisper to it hesitantly. I’ve already made the effort to get here, though, and it’s not worth the effort to come up with an excuse to leave now. My fingers mindlessly pick at the peeling chips of paint on the roof of the car. I sigh, pat the hood, and then head inside.

“Afternoon, darlin’,” Wiley welcomes me as I walk in as he dries off glasses behind the bar top. Deep lines crinkle around his eyes, the only imperfection in his smooth, copper skin as he smiles. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it in tonight.”

“I need the distraction.” I laugh and roll my eyes as I give him a playful nudge. I’m so good at playing the part of a cheerful human it almost comes naturally now—almost. They’d never know I just brutally stabbed a man and let him take in his last breath as a lungful of lake water.

A few patrons already litter the dark and desolate booths that line the walls of the dining room. We have a few regulars that live nearby, but most people are just a stream of faces passing through. Aside from the dining room, the place has a small area stocked with snacks and travel essentials, but the bar takes up most of the space. There are a few TVs mounted on the walls, always playing whatever local news or game that’s on. People don’t come here to socialize, though. They come here to drown their demons. Figuratively instead of literally, like I do, but I’m still happy to help them do it. We all kill our pain in different ways, and I’m definitely not in a place to judge.

I’m quietly disassociating behind the bar when the bell rings above the door, jarring me back to reality. The air pulls from the room and my ears ring, filtering out the noisy bar around me. My heartbeat drums in my throat, and I struggle to swallow against it.

A tall man with his hoodie pulled up fills the doorway. His facial features are well defined, but not overly sharp. His skin is smooth, not even a five o’clock shadow to darken it. A few loose strands of raven hair peek out and skim the top of his eyes. His black hoodie hugs each muscle stacked on his frame but doesn’t make the fabric work too hard. Pools of icy blue stare out at me from his shadowed face. The intensity of them startles me out of my empty stream of consciousness. They seem to glow beneath the dark shadow of his hood, and they’re locked on to me.

My lips part, and a small gasp escapes. My insides melt into a molten fire that pools in my core. Heat radiates through my limbs, threatening to incinerate me. My muscles ache, and at any second, I might explode and jump over the bar towards him. He’s a planet, and I’m just a small moon stuck in his orbit. The foreign feeling churns inside me, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to manage this new reaction inside my body.

I barely blink, and he’s already sitting on a stool in front of me, elbows on the bar top. His lips pull up in a smirk that has me struggling to remember to breathe. Waves of pine and smoke, with a hint of earthiness, roll over me. His presence puts all my senses in a chokehold. I need to get a hold of myself. I need my body to move.

“Your mouth is open, little bug,” he purrs, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to attract every mosquito in the state like that.”

My cheeks flush, my eyelids flutter rapidly, and I’ve forgotten every word in the English language. My brain is a train that has suddenly left the station. Not a single soul has ever had this effect on me, and my mind scrambles to not suffocate in him. My mouth is agape like a fish out of water, drowning on dry land. I need to say something, anything.

“What?” Words finally tumble out of my still open mouth. “What can I get you to drink?” Little beads of sweat form along my temple, and I’m hoping like hell he doesn’t see them. His gaze turns predatory as he sucks on his bottom lip, displaying his top row of pearly white teeth. It’s meant to be seductive, I think. Maybe it’s just a strange smile, but I’m in panic mode. I’m not great at reading other people’s emotions on a good day. Displaying teeth for any other species is a sign of aggression, yet something tells me I wouldn’t mind this man using those teeth to devour me whole.

“A whiskey on the rocks,” he answers, and his eyes narrow like he asked a question instead of telling me his order. His gaze roams every inch of me, and my skin heats as his eyes trail down and back up again. He’s a predator examining his prey, searching for weakness. They focus in on me, like he’s waiting for me to run—it’s the same look I give to my victims. The recognition breaks the spell.

“If you’re going to just sit there and stare at me, you’re welcome to leave,” I jab at him, my defenses finally rising. I swing my hips purposefully as I turn to grab the whiskey bottle from the shelf behind me. I need to get the upper hand in this interaction before I drool all over myself.

I glance over my shoulder to see his pupils blown wide like a man possessed. A chill creeps up my spine. Normally, I’m the predator, not the prey. This man is a threat wrapped up in delicious packaging. The need to eliminate anything threatening tingles in the back of my brain, like TV static that slowly grows louder until it’s the only thing I can hear.

On autopilot, I turn back around and scoop a few ice cubes into a highball glass before pouring two fingers’ worth of whiskey. This stranger, who has shaken my entire being in a matter of seconds, pulls down his hood as he takes the glass from me. His smell crashes over me again in a delicious wave. I resist the urge to lean into him and take another breath.

“Cheers,” he says, throwing back the entire drink in one gulp. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. My core tightens, all the blood in my body flowing straight to my center. An unfamiliar ache throbs between my thighs. I’ve never seen someone drink attractively. I die a tiny death as I realize I’m still staring. His fake cheerfulness annoys me, but my body doesn’t care. This man is everything I’ve grown to hate, with his arrogant attitude and his gorgeous fucking face. I can’t let my body betray me with any more of these emotions .

His hand brushes mine as he pushes the glass back to me. The touch makes my skin sear with desire. He looks like he’s seconds away from pouncing over this bar top, but he doesn’t know that secretly I’m the monster here. I could end him before he’s even halfway over.

“Tell me your name.” It’s not a question. No, it’s a command. But he’s not in a position of power here. I am.

Okay baby, let’s play.