Page 42 of Soul Redeemed

The female beside him was a fake, and no matter how many times he took that drug, she’d always be a fake.

“You’re not real.” Zayne clutched his head and opened the car door, tumbling out onto the pavement. He pulled himself up, tripping back a step, and slammed the door shut.

A few strides away, an echoing slam flinched his muscles, but Zayne kept on toward the bar ahead of him.

Stay focused. She’s not real. Not real. Don’t look at her.

Pushing through the door of the club, he let the sounds, the flashing lights, and the sins of every patron up in the place distract his mind from the ghost that trailed his steps.

Didn’t help that every bastard they passed checked her out, their gazes flitting from Zayne to her, making him all the more aware that she wasn’t just his secret little fantasy anymore.

Zayne slid between two females on the way to the bar, eyeing the way they bit their lips, staring him up and down, before frowning as their gazes skipped toward Shey.

They saw her, too. So fucking wrong.

Yet, right at the same time.

A part of him wanted to believe it. What the hell would it hurt?

Except, nothing he’d ever taken in his life scared the shit out of him more than knowing, with the diminishing effects of the drug, she’d eventually fizzle away to nothing.

“I come back from the dead, and you decide to take me to the bar? I thought we’d be going back to your bed, after what I offered up in the car.”

Christ, even her voice was spot on, casting the same ripple of calm down his spine as it had when Shey was alive. “You need to go.”

Somewhere deep inside, Zayne knew, the longer he spent with her, the faster his addictions would take hold. She felt like Shey. Smelled like Shey. Even frowned like Shey, as she stood crossing her arms in the same defiant attitude that’d endeared him to Shey.

“No. I’m staying with you.”

“I told you. I’m looking for something,” he said, spinning away from her before he could do something stupid, like scoop her up and check out of the gig all together.

“Someone, you said in the car.”

The hint of jealousy in her voice made Zayne cringe. It wasn’t like Shey to be jealous, but then again, he’d never have ignored her for anything, or anyone.

It hurt him to turn his back on her, even the fantasy of her, but entertaining the possibilities with her would be detrimental. It’d taken too damn long for him to accept her death. Too many nights spent contemplating suicide. Too many drugs. Too many fights.

“Someone, yes.” He slid into the barstool, angling himself away from her, so as not to look back when he could feel her stare drilling into him.

Did she eat and drink? Would she be like the ghouls back at home, who, for shits, Zeke would make drink a shot of Elysia, only to see it trickle through their bodies and pool onto the floor beneath them?

As the bartender strolled up, Zayne sat forward. “Two shots of Elysia.”

He gave a sharp nod and spun around to the bottles of liquor lining the back wall.

“I can’t drink anything. Just so you know.”

Another reminder that she wasn’t Shey, because the female he knew could drink and cuss like a fucking sailor when she’d wanted. In some ways, it relieved him to know he could point out such differences, when every other detail, down to Shey’s tiny freckles, happened to be exact.

“I’ll drink yours.” As the bartender slid the two shot-glasses across the bar-top, Zayne guided them both in front of him.

“And what for the lady?” He gave a nod toward Shey.

Gods, he wished she’d stayed in the car. For every bastard that acknowledged her, made her real, Zayne lost another notch of control.

“I’m good. Thanks,” she responded, plopping into the stool beside him.

“Zayne?”