When The Sun Goes Down // Arctic Monkeys

Guy

I'd know her anywhere.

Long, dark hair that still cascades over her shoulders the way I remember, shining under the overhead lights as if illuminated from within. My eyes graze past her long neck, smart mouth and eyes with the ability to bore under your skin, directly to your soul. I'd say she hasn't changed a bit, but I'd be lying. I see what she's trying to mask from the rest of the world. Her pain. Her brokenness. Her fear. Like combat training, only someone who went through what she went through could even begin to hide her wounds from everyone else. Everyone but me. It's the only indication I have that she's the girl I watched run away from the place we'd been tied to for far too long.

Mari.

She didn't change her name like I told her to.

And she shouldn't be here. Not in Reapers territory. Not this close to hell when we gave up everything to get her out of it.

I'm pissed to find her standing in front of me because I don't have the power to protect her anymore. Not here.

The shit kicking realization that I'm fucking scared to lose her again hits me like a landmine. I'd put her in a box locked away from conscious memory. I don't think about Mari, yet here she is standing within reach and that box has blown wide open.

I remember everything. I won't be able to lock that damn box again. I won't be able to keep her where I want her to be.

But I don't have a choice. Not now that I'm here on business. Not after I sold my soul to set hers free.

"Got the back room all cleared out for ya," my new boss says, unaware of the emotional battle I'm waging.

"Ya get him a clean blanket, Grind?" The man behind the counter asks with a shameless grin. "I know you like your blanky crusty but I bet this fella'd 'preciate fresh beddin'"

Grinder–a club nickname he's had for decades no doubt–groans while rubbing a hand down his face before pulling on his chest length beard.

"Get back to work, Butch. I don't have time for your hen pecking."

Butch chuckles, drawing Mari's attention. Neither man acknowledges her stone silence but I'm hyper aware of the way she holds herself still. She did that back when I knew her, too. She'd go silent, frozen in place, hoping to vanish from everyone's focus. It worked more often than not where the rest were concerned. But I always knew where she was, how shallow she was breathing. How fast her heart was racing. It was like our souls were tied together somehow. I knew when she was scared. I knew when she'd been threatened, even when I wasn't in the room with her.

Nothing's changed.

I can practically hear her heartbeat. I can feel her pulse. If I didn't know better, I'd think I could read her mind.

You don't know me. Please don't say anything.

I read the look in her eyes loud and clear the moment we connected glances; I don't know her. She doesn't know me. And we don't share a past.

Except the past we share is branded in my memory. I dream about it nearly every night in some shape or form. I still feel the heat of her touch from the last time I saw her, shoving her out a window into a moonless night. Hoping she'd make it somewhere safe in the world. Praying I'd never cross her path. Because if I did, I'd know I failed her.

Standing less than five feet away from her now, my abject failure burns through my body.

"I don't need much," I manage to say, ready to break away from my living, breathing past. "Show me my new digs."

"Follow me, kid."

Great. A new nickname. My last nickname became my name. I don't need a repeat.

"Sure thing," I tell him with a glance to my left where Butch still stands near Mari. She isn't making eye contact. She isn't even watching us go. The box in her hands has her full attention.

If she's a regular face in this shop, the next few months are going to be fun.

***

The night wraps around me as I lounge in the back of the shop, draped over the chair in what is now my designated station. Everyone's gone after an evening of appointments and introductions. I don't officially start until the weekend, our busiest time, two days from now, but Grinder and Butch gave me the lay of the land. I met the other two artists, a woman named Drama and a guy named Nick. The atmosphere in the shop is not what I expected.

There was friendly banter and laughter over silly things. The artists complimented each other's work, helped when someone needed it and worked together to close up. The camaraderie was unexpected and now I'm here in the dark contemplating all of my life's choices.

How did I get here? I feel like a dark angel hired for revenge and I just found out my target is the good guy.

My entire life I've been told the Bitter Reapers were heartless. They lived and breathed the road life and trashed anyone who crossed their path. Yet Grinder was the club's second, then the president, before the club went under.

I have to be missing something. He's hiding behind the shop and the glowing neon sign marking the spot Blue Bloods, a play on royalty in the club no doubt. Someone in his position of power doesn't simply walk away willingly.

He's either keeping a huge fucking secret from everyone around him, or everyone's in on it.

There's no way the Bitter Reapers aren't still running this town.

My stomach rolls thinking of the alternative. I shove my questions down deep, planning to wash up and head to my lumpy couch for the night, what little of it left there is. Tattoo parlors stay open way past midnight. And I've been letting my twisted thoughts get the better of me for longer than I should have.

The sound of my boots hitting the tile floor echoes off the walls as I walk to the sink. After cleaning up and drying my hands, I accept my fate. Sleeping on the couch will more than likely leave me with a crick in my neck but that's the price I'm paying for twenty-four seven access to this place and the people running it.

Grinder made his fair share of enemies over the years. I'm not one of them.

But the guy who sent me here is.

I'm just about to settle in on the couch when I think I hear a noise. Straining to listen, I hold my breath and stay absolutely still. Again, something like a clink sounds faintly from the hall. Now on high alert, I move to the doorway, peering left and right to check my surroundings. The noise sounds again, this time clearly from outside the back door.

Grabbing the handle, I press my ear and shoulder against the metal door, waiting for my intruders next move. Not ten seconds pass before I hear it, this time a gentle knock rather than the clink of what I assume to be pebbles hitting against the door.

Instantly, I pull the door open, planning to catch whoever stands on the other side unprepared. Which I do. But it's not an intruder or even a threat.

Mari stands on the other side.

Or she was, before I yanked the door open and she lost her balance.

Now she's pressed up against me as I break her fall.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark at her, simultaneously flinching at the frustration in my voice. I have a hard line to tow between the two of us; protection and abject indifference are a tough pair to mesh.

"We need to talk," she says, still breathless from her near-fall.

"Not here," I step back into the shadows of the hallway, pushing her gently onto the threshold while attempting to swing the door shut.

"There's nowhere else. There's literally no other time, either. It's the middle of the damn night and no one's going to be in this shop for at least six hours, maybe more. No one comes back here." Mari waves her arm in an arc across the alley behind the shop it shares with the mechanics bay next door. "This is it."

She has a point, although I'm hesitant to admit it out loud. I don't want to have the conversation she must be itching to have after a decade. I'd rather wait another decade, or five, to talk about what went down that night. I can't tell her what's been happening in the ten years since I last saw her.

I don't want her to know. I'd rather her be afraid of me than pity me. And there's no way in hell I'll let her back into my world. Never fucking again.

And maybe this is where I can lay the groundwork to get her out of this town. Away from this life and these people. Away from me.

"Fine. Let's talk. You have twenty minutes." I hold the door open wider and wait as she storms past me. Her scent lingers when she's out of reach, something spicy that makes my mouth water.

"Hold on," I whisper loudly as she steps into the storage room that now doubles as my bedroom. "Not in there."

She doesn't stop at my demand, not even hitching in her steps. The woman is on a mission. I admire it. I admire her.

But I shouldn't.

I reluctantly follow her in, finding Mari sitting on the lumpy couch waiting for me, the sheets I'd spread out before she knocked now wrinkled and bunched all over.

"Make yourself at home," I say.

"I will. Looks like you already did."

I don't take her bait.

"What's this about?"

She nods sharply, once, before saying anything. Her grey boring into me like lasers. Her gaze narrows and I get the distinct feeling she'd trying to read my mind like a carnival fortune-teller.

"What's the crystal ball telling you? Grinder might have one of those 8 Ball things you shake for an answer. Want me to look for it? I wouldn't be surprised if he stashed one between boxes on those shelves." I point behind Mari to the storage area, but she doesn't even blink.

"You know why I'm here, little Guy."

It's a miracle I don't flinch at the nickname. I was wrong earlier. I would prefer kid. I might call Grinder later and give him my endorsement for renaming me.

"Where did you bury him?" she asks.

My knees bend on their own accord. I sink to the couch, sitting across from her with my back wedged into the corner.

"Damn." I run a hand along the side of my face, letting the sharp cut of my stubble ground me in the present.

"The clock is ticking," Mari says. "You gave this twenty minutes but I count three already gone while you clutch your pearls. Talk."

The demand in her tone shouldn't stir me up the way it does. But then again, Mari always had a way of stirring me up. Her smart mouth got her in trouble more often than not.

And I never won against her when she had that determined look in her eyes; the one she has right now staring back at me.

"Yeah, okay. I didn't."

"He's...not dead?" I hear the gut punch she just experienced loud and clear.

"Oh, he's dead. Very dead. But I didn't bury him. I tossed him in the river. And according to our guy on the inside, he hasn't been discovered yet."

Mari stands up from the couch with effort. She paces the room exactly six times, back and forth in a path. Then, without a glance my way–just like that night ten years ago–she walks through the door and out the back of the shop. Lost to the night.

I guess that's closure.

Of course, that's not closure...it's only chapter 2! Okay, I'm putting the poll feature to good use for this one, so let me know what you think down below ⬇️

But first...I'm so excited that ARCs (advanced review copies) of Inevitable have been sent out today and new readers are about to discover Brax and Savanna! This is my dream come true...Inevitable was the first book that gave me hope of one day publishing my books. And that day will be here soon. 💛🖤

Music for this book is still in process. I'm really loving Arctic Monkeys for the darker vibes they give. When the Sun Goes Down is when their lives blew up, so it's the perfect song for the chapter...

https://youtu.be/EqkBRVukQmE

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