He shakes his head. “I know a place. Fully furnished. It’s small, but it’ll do in a pinch. Reggie has a hard time finding good tenants around here—ones that want to live there, that is. His shop is below the place—he’s a mechanic—so it can get pretty noisy.”

I huff a laugh, cutting him off, “Noise doesn’t bother me.”

Hell, I’d take that over the silence any day. Always have, but especially now.

But I don’t tell Mason that.

He nods. “As for rent—”

I wave him off. “I’m good for it.”

Thank you, Grandpa, I think.

The man who died when I was three left me a nice chunk of change in his will that I’ve been holding on to since I got access when I was eighteen. A shitty day fund, my dad called it.

Shitty day fund, shitty year fund—po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Mason’s brows are lifted in what looks like amusement.

I replay what I just said in my head. Realizing what that might sound like, I rush to add, “I’m not a drug dealer or anything like that. Just sayin’.”

His mouth ticks up, pulling at his lip ring. “I didn’t think you were.”

Fuck, am I really considering this?

I roll my lips together. “But savings don’t last forever, so I guess I’ll need to find work eventually. Depending on how long I stick around for...”

Leave. Right now. You don’t belong here.

A memory tries to fight its way to the surface—one I haven’t let myself think about in years.

Cold hazel eyes glaring down at me.

A curled lip sneering unforgiving words.

Dark, dark hair, and pale, gaunt cheeks.

The taste of blood on my tongue, bitter and sweet.

The image wars with the voice in my head, warning me to leave and never look back. Go, go, go. This was a mistake.

“Come work for me.”

“For you?” I say in a wary voice.

He nods. “I own a bar just down the road.” He tugs on his lip ring with his teeth as he runs a hand through his hair. “Well, part-own, technically. And our bouncer, security, door man—whatever you want to call it—left for basic training a couple weeks ago. I haven’t gotten around to even posting the job yet, so if you want it...” He trails off with a small shrug. “It’s nothing steady, and the pay’s not that great—”

I snort. “Way to sell it, man.”

As if hearing my earlier thoughts, he grins faintly. “Speaking of Ways...”

I don’t know how else to describe it other than my heart just fucking lurches. Where before it was pounding, the pesky organ is now trying to abandon my body altogether, stopped only by my ribcage keeping it in its rightful place.

I hate it.