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When I Was Theirs 47. Jared 62%
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47. Jared

47

Jared

T he bar is busy tonight. Em and Carla are both rushed off their feet, several parties coming in and taking over the row of booths opposite the bar.

Adrian glares at me as he slithers past, but I only offer an apologetic shrug, holding up my hand.

Such a shame that I twisted my wrist earlier and have to rest it.

No playing for me tonight.

Not when Emilia is still pale, still nervous as she casts quick, assessing glances at the door and the crowd around us. Her eyes travel over faces, searching.

Looking for him.

Arron Matthews.

Not a name I’m ever going to forget.

She catches my eye, sitting in a carefully chosen spot where I can see the entrance, and her shoulders drop the smallest bit.

She mouths the words to me, and my lips tip up.

Thank you.

I keep this area as clear as I can to help them, ducking back and forth grabbing empty glasses and clearing tables. The crowd continues to swell, people pressing against me as I place some empty bottles on the bar and reach for a swig of my own beer.

It goes down fast, and Carla passes me another one without looking as she darts past.

“Can you check outside?” She calls over her shoulder. “We might need to put a cover charge on if we get any busier.”

Nodding, I glance at Em. She’s serving at the other end of the bar, her tied-up hair dark with sweat at the neck and her lips pursed in concentration as she adds another beer to an already full tray.

It’s a relief to breathe in cold air when I duck outside. A few drunken, younger guys are messing around, wrestling to the right of the entrance, but there’s nobody waiting to squeeze in.

“Hey!”

My hand pauses on the door of the bar as I turn my head. “Yeah?”

The guy strides toward me from the main street, his shadow stretching out behind him in the lights from the bar. He’s tall and broad, and expensive . He stinks of money, from his aftershave to his designer white shirt, polished black shoes and perfectly pressed black overcoat. “You still open?”

Tension has me stepping back. My eyes rise to his face. Handsome, in an oily way. Eyes a little too close together, chin a little too pointy. His hair is slicked back, dark in the dim lighting. “We’re at capacity. Ticketed event.”

I keep staring at his hair. Trying to make out the color.

But I know . It’s too much of a coincidence.

Casually, I push the door closed and lean against it. “Sorry.”

I don’t sound sorry about it at all.

Em’s husband gives me a slightly uncomfortable grin. Self-deprecating. If I didn’t know better, I’d think him harmless. A little bumbling. “No worries. I wondered if you could put up a poster for me.”

When he holds it out, I give him a hard stare. “We don’t advertise here.”

He shakes his head, and his jaw tightens. “It’s a missing person. My wife. Please.”

Fuck.

Slowly, I reach out for the poster.

This is what Em used to look like. Before she became the person she is now.

A young woman smiles uncomfortably out at the camera. Beautiful, but her eyes look empty. Her hair is longer, but impeccably styled into a tight-looking up-do. Not a single caramel flyaway to be seen. She’s clearly posing for some sort of event, dressed in a long, sleek pale pink gown that I would never have imagined her wearing.

Underneath in big letters is a description.

MISSING EMILIA MATTHEWS $50,000 REWARD

Fucking hell.

I shake my head, praying Em doesn’t come out looking for me. “Don’t recognise her. Sorry.”

It’s not even a lie. I don’t recognise this girl at all.

Arron Matthews stares at me for a second, before his face falls. “I figured. You just… you never give up hope, right?”

“Right.” Fuck off.

I’m not moving, in case he tries to follow me in.

Because he doesn’t seem inclined to leave. He reaches for the poster, and I keep hold of it. “I’ll put it up in the bar for you.”

“Thanks. I think she passed through here, but the last person to see her said she’s headed to Oregon, or maybe Seattle. I’m leaving now.”

Well done, Angelo .

“Well.” I smile, not showing teeth. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He nods. “If you do see her… she’s not in any trouble. We’re not even angry. We just want her home safe, you know? Where we can get her the help she needs.”

He blurts out the words before rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Shit. Sorry, man. Long few months.”

I fold my arms. “What kind of trouble?”

Makes sense, that they’d make up some sort of bullshit story.

Matthews tugs at his sleeves. He looks uncomfortable. “I’d rather not say.”

“Fair enough.” I point to the street. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He turns to leave, pauses. “Look. Emilia… She was going under evaluation for self-harm. Not a long hold, just for a few days, but she ran in the middle of the night before they could collect her. I wouldn’t say, but maybe it’ll help people to know. My wife has a tendency to exaggerate.”

I’m fucking sure . “Right.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “They’re not pressing charges.”

The fuck? “For what?”

Something twitches on his face. “She’s not well, you know? It’s not her fault.”

“What?” I force my muscles to relax. To look mildly interested, instead of over-invested. “She stole a Rolex or something?”

He laughs quietly, his hand lifting to the telltale glint on his own wrist, but his smile falls away. “A quarter of a million dollars, actually. She scammed it out of my dying father. Seems she has a history of finding vulnerable victims and ripping them off before moving on. He wasn’t the first. A lucrative career.”

Vulnerable victims.

It feels as if the oxygen has been ripped from my lungs. I force myself to breathe steadily. “Shit. Sounds like you’re better off letting her go, in that case.”

He sighs. “Probably. But I’m genuinely worried about her mindset. I’m sure the money’s gone, anyway. Lesson learned.”

With that, he starts walking away. Arron Matthews raises his hand in the air. “Thanks, man.”

“No worries.”

I don’t move, keeping myself between him and the woman behind me.

My stomach twists violently.

It’s all bullshit.

All of it.

She asked me to believe her.

And I do.

I do believe her.

But his words bounce around my skull.

Seems she has a history of finding vulnerable victims.

I try to breathe.

Just a coincidence. An easy lie, one to tug on the heartstrings.

Don’t fall for it, Jared.

But the chill that wraps around my chest doesn’t disappear as Arron Matthews walks away from me, disappearing into the darkness.

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