An Honest Lie(87)

He regarded her for a moment, then said, “I’ll make us both one.”

“I don’t drink,” she lied, reaching for the package of steak. The wrapper was bloody as she unrolled the paper.

“I’ve seen you drink.”

This time her breath did betray her. The wall in front of her was stainless steel, nothing to look at, but she looked. Stared.

“What?” Taured feigned innocence. She shook it off...shook her head and asked for one of Ginger’s plastic sporks.

Digging one out from the box, he put it in her outstretched hand. Rainy bent her head over the steaks, stabbing the meat with small, aggressive jabs. What was this dance? What was his plan? Focus.

Taured was to her right, blocking her view of Braithe and the door. He looked at their wine option and signaled her with the gun. “You’ll have to open it.”

He’d been watching her? When? How? But she couldn’t let him see that he’d rattled her. She needed him to be relaxed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He took his time answering, obviously wanting to drag out the moment so he could enjoy her discomfort. “The boxed wine. I need you to open it.”

He’s toying with you. Don’t let him see a thing, Rainy.

Resolute, she took the four steps to where he pointed, wiping her palms on her pants. He was holding the gun loosely at his side, standing slightly to the right of the boxed wine, waiting. She was close to him again, his heat perverting the air like a wild animal.

The box of wine sat next to a stack of plastic punch glasses next to her left hand on the much smaller prep table against the wall. She grabbed two of the glasses, turning them over. The wine still had the orange price sticker attached.

Boxed wine! Because why give Rainy the chance to hit you with a bottle or stab you with a corkscrew? She got to work, keeping her eyes off his face and her back to him, like she was afraid of him. He was gobbling this up; she didn’t have to look at him to know that. She was fidgeting with the spout on the box-of-shit-wine, trying to get it to work, trying to—when she felt him behind her. Fuck. Had he noticed anything?

“Like this,” he said, leaning into her and letting wine slosh into the plastic glass. His free hand brushed hers, the one that was holding the glass, and she dropped it. She jumped back, out of range of his hand and the splash, the prep table behind her penning her in, ramming into her waist. She kept her head down, holding her arm with one hand. The shame was real and it burned in her cheeks and in her gut: a twenty-year-old ember blown to life. Evil existed only to feed itself and here it stood in front of her. She thought she could do this, but her hands were clammy with fear, barely able to flex, let alone fight.

“Try again,” he said. “Rookie mistake.”

“Rookie mistake, Summertime...”

The rage bubbled. It was almost too hot to keep down. Rainy lifted her head; his eyes were waiting for hers. Right now, your rival is you, not him. Little girls grew into women and women grew into hunters. You are the hunter now, Rainy, she told herself.

He can’t even cook his own steak. She stepped toward the task, renewed. It’s fine, she thought; he’d seen something real in her reaction. Who she was five minutes ago was not who she was now. I will recharge, I will resurface, I will rebound.

He grinned, holding up both hands, one of them still holding the gun, and took another step back to give her space.

“When would you have seen me drink?” She picked up another glass, this time holding it with more confidence as she opened the spout.

“In the articles about you. They never showed your face, but you always had a glass in your hand. I knew it was you.”

“Props,” she said quickly. “Grape juice for wine. In the art scene, they like you to smoke and drink, or you’re not glamorous enough to hang. But you remember my father died of addiction. It’s not my thing.”

He appeared to consider this for a moment, then he nodded.

“Well, you’re having one tonight.”

“Okay,” she said, hoping she sounded bored. She poured half of what she’d put into the first cup and took a slow sip, blinking at him over the rim. “It’s terrible,” she said, frowning. “Bitter.” She feigned a sip. When he saw that she’d underpoured herself, he swapped glasses with her, handing her the full-to-the-brim cup.

“Drink,” he said.

She took two giant sips and stared at him. “Did you put something in here?” she asked, staring into the wine.

He laughed. “You saw me, just now. I was standing in front of you the whole time. Besides, you just opened the box. It was sealed.”

Rainy let her shoulders relax and she took another sip.

“I don’t want any more,” she said, putting the cup down.

“Have another sip,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. Rainy took another sip to satisfy him, flinching as she swallowed.

“I have to check the range,” she said. As she walked away, he took a sip from his glass. She could hear him swallow.

His eyes were all over her back. She felt as defenseless as she had at fifteen. No...no...this time it’s different. Light-headed, she picked up the raw meat with her bare hand and set it on the grill. There was a hiss, and seconds later, the aroma of charring meat filled her nose. She was hungry. He meant to get her drunk with the boxed wine, and she needed to eat something.