Page 52 of Undertow

She tenses, her arm cinching around me. “We can find another way in. I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt again.”

“They bought my story that I spent the night in Undertow to be with you. If I don’t go back, they’ll know I lied.”

“So? If you’re gone?—”

“They might go after you.”

“Shaw…”

“I’m going back. I told your mother I would do this, and I keep my word.”

My jaw clenches at her resigned sigh, the way she burrows into me like I’m something worth saving. How can she actually care about me? She doesn’t even know me.

You know why she cares.

I close my eyes.

You know.

But she doesn’t. She’ll never know how many hearts I’ve stolen and broken in less time than I’ve spent in her arms. That I will crush her just like all the others no matter how much it might crush me too.

“At least let me make you breakfast first,” she says, lifting her head to blast me with an adorable smile. I can’t help but return it and draw her in for another kiss.

“How about I makeyoubreakfast?”

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” Her smile stings when it lands on me, and I struggle to force one back.

It’s the least I can do for destroying her.

Lies drip from your tongue like blood drips from a wound,

Unknowingly and without contemplation.

Of course you don’t know the damage they’ll do just as the blood has no understanding of the stain it’ll leave behind.

You’ll soon become the trace remains of a knife too deep to remove,

my heart and mind the victim at the wrong place, wrong time.

Scar tissue in the shape of poetry, the way a strong grip bruises the throat enough to tell a story without any need for words.

-JD August 14

THEN: SEAL OF BLOOD

He likes expensive booze and others who do as well.

I don’t, which is why I wait until I’m absolutely certain I will be heard by the guests at the neighboring table before ordering my $250 pour of bourbon. The entire bottle retails for half that. The aftermarket on this shit is ridiculous.

McArthur wastes so much energy on government bribes for construction projects, when he really should be focusing his efforts on establishing a chokehold on alcohol distribution. With his vertical organizational structure already cemented in clubs, restaurants, and hospitality, he’d clean up. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Merrick the next time he’s beating the shit out of me.

“Nice choice,” a man says, leaning back from his booth.

“Pardon me?” I ask, even though I heard him. I use the opportunity to position myself for a better chance at conversation.

“The Riesten Gold Reserve?”

“One of my favorites,” I say with a confident smile. “Hey, Luis,” I add, nodding toward another member of the man’s party. Luis is a new “friend” I made yesterday.