Page 34 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

DUKE

I take a deep breath and push open the heavy door. The old wood has always looked gouged enough to make me think that more than one patron uses it for knife throwing practice when they’re drunk.

“Duke,” Wallace greets me.

I jolt.

A peal of thunder sounds in the distance.

I glance down to see Cordie’s perfect tits. I look up again.

Wallace pours a glass of whiskey and sets it on the bar. He tips his head to the side, his expression calm. “I think we’re beyond pretending anymore, hmm?”

Straight to it then. Fine by me. It’s not like I didn’t already suspect Wallace is more than meets the eye.

I stride across the eerily empty bar and haul Cordie’s short body onto a stool. I close her eyes and tip back the glass, draining it in three long swallows.

When I open her eyes, Wallace is studying me. “The fortune teller told you.”

I dip Cordie’s chin, just once. “Don’t you mean the selkie? ”

Wallace leans against the counter behind the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyebrows rise just a hair. “Who told you she was a selkie?”

Wallace might not be on my enemies list, but I decide I’m not going to tell him about Cornelius. He’s not my cat, so it’s not my place. Besides, there’s still so much I don’t know.

Is Wallace a man-witch? Is that why he knows I’m not who I look like? None of the town biddies who might be witches suspected. What makes him so special?

No matter. I’m not here to get answers. I’m here because I’m desperate.

“I need a loan,” I blurt. “Ten grand. I’ll pay whatever interest you feel like charging.”

Wallace is the richest guy in town. It’s either a tragedy or a comedy that it’s because he owns Utopia’s only bar, where people turn to lose their minds for a little while, to laugh and drink their sorrows away. To forget the hard life that’s waiting for them outside these walls.

The kind of life Cordie’s never been able to forget. The kind of obsession that no amount of moonshine has ever been able to scrub from my brain.

“No,” Wallace says, sharply enough that I glance up at him.

“No?”

This bastard is going to make me beg. And I—I’ll do it.

“That’s right.” Wallace nods slowly. “I said no.”

“Why not?” I push. I gesture at Cordelia’s body, still covered in one of her prettiest dresses. This woman could make a grain sack look good if she draped it over all her curves. “From what I can tell, you like her. If you don’t want to help me, then fine, but this loan isn’t just for me.”

“It’s because I like her that I’m telling you no,” he says, in that scary-smooth voice of his. “She can’t afford what a bargain with me costs. Neither can you.”

“I’ll pay it,” I insist. “She doesn’t need to know. She just needs to get on with her life. Help me, help her, Wallace. Please.”

A crack of thunder rattles the old windowpanes. Electricity crackles through the air. The storm’s getting closer. It’s not going to miss us after all.

“Asking me to bail you out isn’t you fixing things. It’s only compounding the interest on a debt you’ve been accruing for years,” he tells me, with the kind of voice that a teacher uses for a kid who keeps trying even though they fail every test.

I grit Cordie’s molars so hard they’re going to crack. With effort, I relax her jaw. It’s not going to help matters if I abuse her body the way I’ve been abusing her mind for so long.

Wallace’s hard, black eyes soften, like he’s looking at her instead of at me.

“You’re still trying to find the easy way out instead of doing the hard work to repair what has been broken.

You’ve learned so much about her over the years, Duke, for all the wrong reasons.

Use what you know now for something different. ”

Shit. He’s right. I might not remember all the ways I tortured Cordie, but I know things about her that I can’t explain.

I didn’t know she doesn’t like pickled foods, but somehow I know that her favorite color is green.

I don’t know what her life has been like for the past ten years, but I know that her favorite season is summer.

I can’t not ask at least one question while I have the chance.

“Did you know?” I breathe. “What the selkie would tell us?”

Wallace knows everything else. Why not this, too?

Hell, maybe I’m just looking for one person to tell me that everything I suspect is wrong.

Cordelia isn’t my mate. The fortune teller is a scammer. I hallucinated the goddamn cat clock. I’m not an odd creature.

This is all just a bad dream. I’ll wake up any time now and go back to a life of secret misery.

Wallace nods, his expression somber. “None of what has transpired has been fair to any of you.”

“Why?” I can’t believe I’m asking him of all people. “Why us?”

“You’re still asking the wrong questions,” Wallace says with a click of his tongue. “Think bigger, Duke. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

I snort. I’m not shit. I have a failing business, a woman who hates me for every good reason. Oh, and I can’t even fucking read .

Wallace raps the bar top with his knuckles. “It is high time for you to pay what you owe to Cordelia. I can’t take care of this debt for you.”

“Can’t?” I raise one of Cordie’s eyebrows. “Or won’t?”

“Won’t,” he confirms with a dip of his chin. His eyes are laser-focused on me when he says in a serious tone, “Trust me. It’s better this way.”

The wind picks up outside. Rain pounds the roof of The Flame.

My knee must be killing Cordie.

Fuck. I hop off the stool and spin in circles, like I might find her hiding under one of the booths.

“Duke?” Wallace questions.

“I gotta go.” I turn and start maneuvering through the tables. “I think Cordie’s out in the woods, and?—”

“She is at your house.” His voice echoes through the empty barroom.

“How do you know?”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now, go. Your mate needs you.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

I step outside into the heart of the storm.

The wind blows the rain sideways. Trees bend so far that they nearly touch the ground.

All the buildings I can see through the driving rain are dark.

Candlelight flickers through a few windows.

Lightning snuffs out their glow seconds later.

I can’t hear anything over the roar of the wind and can’t see far against the rain that pelts Cordie’s skin, but I slowly trudge my way up Main Street.

For the first few feet, I grab onto the buildings to brace myself against the force of the wind.

After that, the storm eases enough for me to splash through the little rivers that rush along the gulleys on either side of the road.

The break lasts just long enough for me to make it to my house. No sooner do I shut the front door behind me than it starts up all over again, stronger than ever.

A pile of blankets and books takes up all the space on the couch.

I race down the hall and into my bedroom.

The sheets are rumpled, the pillow dented, but she’s not here either.

The only things in my closet are clothes and shoes.

I cross the hall to the spare room. This closet is so packed full of my shit that there’s no room for her to hide in here.

She’s not under either of the beds that my nephews use when they spend the night. Not beneath the desk.

My heart pounds as the storm rages on outside.

She can’t be out in this. She’ll get herself killed.

“Cordie!” I yell. “Where are you?”

One last place to check before I head for her Granny’s homestead. Wallace must’ve told me the wrong house.

I crack open the door to the bathroom. The plastic shower curtain is pulled to the side, and there she is.

“Cordie…” It’s a sigh of relief and?—

Cancel the relief.

Why is my body naked? And covered in mud?