Ch 4: Pine Green Eyes

"How's the bartender thing treatin' ya?"

"Alright."

"Y'know, I do happen to need another mechanic at-"

"Elise, I said no. Ok? I'm not ready."

"Not ready after five years in Portland? Dude-."

I sighed. I tried to rub away the dark circlers under my eyes and the fogginess clouding my mind. I didn't answer her, though. Just stared into the deep black holes that were my eyes, trying to remember what I could have possibly forgotten. Right, the keys.

"Elise, I gotta go. Shift starts at 2."

"Hell no." I felt her grab my shoulder right before I could run out of the bathroom. With a push of her hand, she twisted me around to face her.

"I haven't seen my best friend face to face in five years. And you came back here to New York, didn't you? What's the big deal in giving  the ol' neighborhood a visit?"

"I had to come back," I bit out. And I sure as hell was not ready. Even after two months since I left Portland, a gut wrenching pain would creep up on me whether I went anywhere near my parent's house or had thoughts of him.

Elise sighed before finally moving out of my way. Running to the kitchen, I slipped the keys off the hook before throwing on a jacket and sprinting out the door. Elise slipped into the passenger seat as I twisted the keys in the ignition. I shot her a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, the shop's closed today. I'm talking with you one way or another, today. Besides, I'm lending you this car."

It was a 15 minute drive to the bar. The bar itself was in a slightly nicer part of town, away from my apartment and much further away from my old house and the mechanic shop. The bar itself was a space designed for egomaniacal alphas, betas who would drink way too much, omegas looking for hook-ups and the occasional gamma or delta. It wasn't a terrible place though. The owners, two alpha women I'd only caught a glimpse of when they were hiring me, had strict rules against harassment and it was often satisfying to have the security kick out more than enough overly drunk patrons. For the most part, the place fashioned itself as a place of class. Of course, I also kept working for the fact that the counter itself was far away from the dance floor.

As we walked in through the backdoor, I could tell Elise was eyeing some figures clad in leather jackets and covered in tattoos hanging around in the parking lot and by the dumpsters. We both took a quick sniff of the air. Betas and a few gammas. Probably not from the nicest parts of the area.

"Y'hear he came back to New York? Started some business dealings in Hell's Kitchen and moved here," I could hear Elise whisper behind me as I slipped on my uniform shirt in the empty break-room. I raised a questioning eyebrow as she gazed at me with wide eyes.

"Who's back? What's with the whispering?"

"You really don't know?" Her brows drew up in surprise. "Dominic Seraz."

I stopped. Chills ran down my back. The feeling of wanting to vomit I'd grown accustomed to since that fateful night with Joe was back in full force, wasting two whole months of me pushing it back to a dull ache.

"Seraz?" I whispered out. I looked around. I glanced out the windows. No one was around. Thank god. Elise did the same sweep before nodding. She motioned to the door we had entered in from the parking lot.

"Those guys out there are his street level enforcers. They've been going around harassing small businesses. Betas and gammas picked up from the worst parts of town. Only reason this bar hasn't been taken over is 'cause the owners are alphas but it won't be long. Seraz is the alpha."

I almost had the urge to make a crack about sub-gender stereotyping but most of that part of me was crushed under a wave of anxiety.

"Do you..do-do you.." I gulped. My hands trembled. When things got this bad, I would call Joe up and stay cocooned in his arms until the feelings of pure dread and anxiety dissipated. But according to him, none of that ever mattered. And this time, I didn't have his arms to run back to.

"Do you think he remembers what his father did to my parents?" Saying it out loud was just as bad as I knew it would be.

Elise shook her head. "Don't seem like it. Him and his enforcers haven't come to our neighborhood and it's been a whole year. Think he forgot about all of us. You, me, James."

I nodded and then looked her up and down before asking, "Is James ok? Does he know...?"

"Yeah," Elise nodded. "He's knows. He's...handling it."

I nodded. We both jumped when we heard a noise. Someone bumping against the door to the break-room. With a look of horror, Elise forced herself to open up the door. It was Greta, another coworker and one who probably looked lost at our looks of utter relief.

As I walked Elise out, she turned to me as she opened the door to the car she'd lent me. "I'm taking it back to the shop. Don't want it here with all these men around. And, look, I know this whole Joe stuff messed you up, but give yourself a little something today, ok? Some happiness. None of it was your fault."

I nodded even if I found it difficult to believe.

Give yourself a little something today. I wasn't sure how she could possibly think I could go about doing that.

-8-

"What color are your eyes, if you don't mind me asking?"

I jumped, blinking myself out of whatever stupor I was in while wiping down the counter. Looking up, I found the source of the strange yet lovely voice to be a brunette man with wavy hair brushed nicely to the side. He had the nicely trimmed, light beard of an Armani model as a certain alpha would say. An easy smile on the face. And pine green eyes that had me do a double-take. They were ridiculously...green. Intensely so.

"I am sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to know the color of your eyes. I can't tell if they're blue or green."

The accent. What was the accent? Russian? Yes, it had to be, but would it be rude to ask? It wasn't a terrible accent. It lightly tinged his words. Added a touch of something different.

"Erm, I'm sorry if I've scared you. I'll go-"

"No!" I said quickly. He looked back at me with those really green eyes, like woah, and was awkwardly half standing up from his seat. I noted that he was wearing a solid green hunting jacket that complimented those weirdly alluring eyes.

"Um, uh, sorry, man, they're blue. Just, y'know, heh, kinda weird in the lighting and all and y'know, I get it a lot actually so no big man." I really needed Elise to kick me or I'd go on ranting for the rest of the night. Luckily, the handsome stranger seemed to take it all in stride, smiling and nodding.

When I finally forced myself to shut up, he leaned in. "I suppose my eyes don't do the same but  can't be sure. What color do you think they are?"

Oh god, he was very close. The way his accent put emphasis on the "r"s and vowels also didn't escape my attention. He was talking in a soft low whisper, his voice a little huskier now and drowning out the rest of the bar, with all other noises blurring together in the background. All I heard was the sing-song way he asked me to guess the color of his eyes.

"Green," I blurted out, trying not to stutter. "Like, really green."

When his smile widened and he raised an eyebrow, I couldn't stop the idiotic part of me that also happened to control my mouth under times of great stress. "So, what are you? Oh-oh god, like, I didn't mean for that to sound so confrontational. I mean, where are you from? You're Russian, right? Wait, never-mind, that's probably a racist thing to ask. Well, not racist because you're not a race but I guess you must get that question a lot and it must be annoying as hell-"

"I am."

"Huh?" I said stupidly.

"I am Russian. I grew up in Kirillov. It's quite a drive's away from Moscow but a lovely town nonetheless. And you?"

"I-oh, uh, I grew up here. Or, near here. My family is Irish, though."

"Fascinating. And you are Conrad...?" He eyed my name tag.

"Fitzroy."

"Ah." It was either my imagination, or something changed in his eyes as I said my last name. It was so slight and quick that I assumed it was a trick of the light.

"And you?"

He smiled, leaning back a little in his seat and taking a small sip from his gin and tonic.

"Mikhail Grigorovich. Call me Misha."

-8-

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