ONE WEEK LATER DETROIT
Gillie stood outside
McGinty’s Tavern for a full five minutes, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, while she worked up the courage to go in. Normal people did stuff like this all the time.
It was a crumbling redbrick building with a green sign with tarnished brass letters. The windows were smoky, permitting no glimpse of what the inside would be like.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door and snatched the “Help Wanted” sign from the window, then strode boldly toward the bar.
Begin as you mean to go on,
her mother always said. An ache sprang to life at the stray thought; she tried not to remember her parents or to wonder what became of them, lest the hurt become untenable. Gillie knew damn well she couldn’t look for them or contact them. That would paint a giant bull’s-eye on her parents’ back, presuming Rowan had lied, and they were still alive. She wouldn’t make them targets or let the Foundation use them to coerce her back into captivity.
But today, the memory of her mother’s soft voice with its faint Cork accent gave her fortitude to do what she must. She took a quick look around: neon beer signs on the walls, turned off because it was daytime, dark wood, and various stains—not a lovely place, but one where people came to drink away their memories.
An elderly man turned at her approach and shook his head. “We’re closed, miss.”
“I know. I came about the job.” She placed the sign on the counter as if that gesture held the power to get her hired.
Bushy white brows shot skyward. “Dishwashing? It’s too dirty in there”—he pronounced it “thar,” with a jerk of his head toward the kitchen—“for a pretty mite like you.”
“Please. I really need the work . . . You don’t have to pay me much. I don’t even know what minimum wage is these days.”
The old man eyed her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she was on the level. In the new world Taye had told her about—where there were cameras on every street corner—maybe government men routinely tried to trap small business owners into proving they’d hire illegal employees. But Gillie gauged the precise moment he recognized the desperation in her threadbare secondhand jeans and the slightly too-large sweatshirt.
“You looking for a cash arrangement?” he asked.
“That’d be best. I’ll work hard, harder than anybody who ever walked through that door.”
A gruff laugh escaped him, then he turned and yelled toward the kitchen, “Hear that, you sons of bitches?” Facing her, he added, “It wouldn’t take much to beat this lot. I got one waitress, I tend bar, and Manny makes burgers and cheese fries for the drunks. You’d be on cleanup. You willing to bus tables, too?”
“I’ll do whatever work needs doing.”
“Bathrooms, dishes, floors?” He raised a brow like he expected her to argue.
The fact of the matter was, the money Taye had taken from the ATM in Pittsburgh wouldn’t keep them much longer. He’d rented a studio apartment, using most of it, so if one of them didn’t find a job, they’d starve. If he powered up again, the consequences would be worse.
She nodded. “I know how to mop, wipe tables, and push a broom.”
“Come back tonight. You’ll work from seven to three, five nights a week. Five dollars an hour, one meal included in your pay, if you can stand to eat Manny’s cooking.”
“I heard that!”
“Ignore him. Anyway, I’m Michael McGinty . . . you can call me Mick.”
Gillie extended her hand politely. “I’m—”
“Are you gonna lie to me?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Then I’ll save you some time and call you Red. Unless you mind.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll be back at seven then. Thank you.”
It didn’t surprise her to find Taye waiting outside, even though she had asked him to let her do this by herself. He felt responsible for her, and she couldn’t seem to cure him of that impulse, no matter how much she insisted she wanted to make her own way. But at the moment, she was too pleased to have that argument again.
“I got the job.” She grinned up at him.
He opened his arms, offering a celebratory hug, and she wished his affection didn’t come with such labels on it. But she didn’t turn him down; instead she ran to him and let him swing her off her feet in a slow circle.
Once he set her back down and they fell in step heading back to the apartment, he said, “Me, too. I’m loading down at the docks.”
“Under the table?” she guessed.
“That’s the only work we’ll be able to find until I get us some new IDs.”
“Which will take money.”
There was an easy fix, of course. Taye wanted to gamble by using his ability and then bail before Kestrel could get a team to them. But Gillie wasn’t eager to risk capture again; they couldn’t be guaranteed of finding a safe hidey-hole again. She preferred to work and lay low. Living on their combined salaries, surely they could save enough to get new paperwork in time. They just had to take care until then.
“I’m working the day shift, but I’ll be able to pick you up at night.”
Gillie stifled a smile. “Thank you.”
“We need to talk about living arrangements—”
“Why?” She raised a brow. “It makes sense that we share the apartment. We need to save money, remember?”
He gave her a dark look, but didn’t argue.
That set the tone for the next couple of weeks. The work at McGinty’s was hard and unpleasant, as Mick had warned her, but she liked pulling her own weight, even when it involved mopping up someone’s drunken bender or plunging a toilet. By the time she finished at night, she was exhausted, but she always went home feeling like she’d earned her pay.
And she always found Taye waiting when she got off work. Though she’d never admit it, without him, she would have been frightened walking the blocks between the apartment and the bar. Half the time, the streetlights didn’t work, and sometimes men hung out on corners and on front stoops until all hours. With him beside her, they didn’t bother her.
Once they got home, she hung up her jacket and gave him the takeout container. She had gotten in the habit of asking Manny to make a burger or a steak to go. And he never charged her for it; she suspected he thought she ate the food herself, the following day. Since they both got fed once a day on the tavern’s dime, it cut down on the grocery bill.
“So . . .” Taye asked tiredly. “The outside world. Is it everything you dreamed?”
“Yes and no.” She sank down on the plaid couch and watched him stow tomorrow’s lunch in the small refrigerator. “I won’t claim I dreamed of escaping from Exeter to clean up after people, but doing this of my own free will is better than being Rowan’s prisoner.”
“No joke.”
Taye sat down beside her on the sofa. He stretched out, arm along the back, and she longed to curl into him. Gillie knew better, though. His boundaries didn’t extend to cuddling; by his definition, they were roommates by default, and he had no desire to get further tangled up with her.
Most days she tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. So she worked to bury the pain. Constantly.
After they moved in, she’d scrubbed the apartment thoroughly. Since it was furnished, it came with all the scents and stains of the previous tenants, who had not been careful housekeepers. Now the place was relatively clean, if threadbare and cramped. The Murphy bed helped with the lack of space; they didn’t pull it down unless someone needed to sleep.
Like right now.
But she wasn’t eager to end the rare moment where she had his complete attention. So she’d milk a few minutes more. “If you could do anything, what would that be?”
Go ahead. Dream big for me.
“I’d like to be rich,” he said. “Decadently so. With a private jet and my own island. Beautiful women to fan me and feed me grapes.”
Wow.
That was pretty far from her dream, so maybe he was right not to let them get closer. If that was what he really wanted, he’d never be happy with her. Gillie’s dreams were smaller and quieter—to find a job she enjoyed and eventually, start a family. Maybe it was because she had spent so much of her life alone, but she craved being surrounded by people who cared about her and needed her.
Or maybe he’s saying that to avoid letting you get to know him better.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, testing the insight.
When he cut her a surprised look, quickly veiled, she knew she was right. They were just empty words, a lock on the door he was determined not to open. Taye eyed her warily, as if suspecting she might be able to read his mind.
“How did you know?”
“It’s a generic dream, something anyone might say, but it doesn’t tell me about you.”
“There’s nothing to learn,” he muttered. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I’m like one of those chocolate bunnies, nothing but air inside.”
She touched the blue ink on his forearm. “I know that’s not true.”
Taye studied her fingers on his skin, but he didn’t move away. “Yeah? Then why don’t I know how I got that tat? Or what it means.”
“It means Rowan hurt you. Not that there’s no substance to the man you are now.”
He pushed to his feet. “Aren’t you tired?”
That hint was subtle as a brick upside the head.
Yeah, I get it. Don’t get too close.
“Go ahead and make the bed,” she said aloud. “I’m taking a quick shower.”
When she came out in her pajamas, fifteen minutes later, he was already asleep. That didn’t surprise her; he had to be up in three hours. By this point, they had the routine down. He made more than she did, though not a lot. Between them, they earned seventeen-hundred sixty dollars a month, and this place cost four seventy-five. She’d worked out the public transportation system, taking the bus to Aldi once a week to do some grocery shopping. Twenty bucks went a long way there. By pinching pennies, they’d already saved a little, but they were still looking for someone who could hook them up with IDs.
Once you have papers and can register for college, or whatever, Taye will be gone.
Part of her wanted desperately to seduce him, provided she could figure out how. Living in close quarters hadn’t driven him mad with lust. They shared the bed because it was practical, but he’d never given any sign he wanted to take advantage.
Everything will change soon,
Gillie promised herself.