Reunion

They walked back into the bar in silence, his hand on her lower back. She retrieved her bag from backstage. He took his jacket when she handed it to him and watched her as she changed in the hallway, leaving the shreds of her ruined dress in the floor before shrugging into her jeans and tank top. Her scars shone in the dim light. He smiled. He had done beautiful work on her. She was as proud as ever of the tattoo on her back and chest that he had carved into her, one line at a time, and smeared gunpowder into before allowing it to heal. The symbols of her faith were forever under her skin, just like his influence.

'We'll take my car,' She said, standing as she finished zipping up her boots, 'Do you want another shirt before we go?'

'Where are you intending to take us?'

'Bluffs that look over the city. I like the lights.'

'Then I believe this will do for now.' He folded the remains of the jacket over a slim arm. Offering her the other, he asked, 'Shall we?'

She took his arm for a few paces, until the hallway thinned. She took the lead as they walked, not noticing when he tossed the jacket into a dumpster. He was faintly surprised that she never reached for him again, that she hardly looked back at him as they walked.

'Just another block.' Her tone was unreadable.

Once they reached the parking lot, only three cars remained: a late-model sedan that was as purple as the desert sky, a fiery red sports car that certainly cost more than the old club he had previously owned, and an inky black convertible. The plastic remote in her hand clicked, making the convertible's lights flicker on. Slowly and smoothly, the canvas top folded back on itself. She threw the bag into the laughably small back seat and opened the driver side door.

The interior was buttery black leather, somehow undamaged by the gritty winds of the desert. Every surface had a polished mirror sheen with only the barest hint of dust from the road. He slid into the passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt into place. She locked eyes with him for a moment, almost grinning.

The car purred to life, the red displays of the dashboard glowed like embers. She spun the volume knob and Gin Wigmore's 'Kill of the Night' blared from the speakers, as loud and clear as Gabriel's own trumpet.

She sped as she drove, seat belt be damned, down the Vegas strip. Miles of lights flashed and whipped by to the tune of the music. As the song ended, they found themselves on the outskirts of town, taking winding desert roads toward the bluffs. A Tom Waits song rasped from the speakers before they found a place overlooking the city below, which glimmered like broken glass splintered and half-buried in the sand. She parked the car backwards, facing the road and with the city behind them, and got out, moving to lean on the trunk of the car. He followed, preferring to stand a pace away from her.

They admired the city for a long moment, quietly together again. Her gaze shifted from the shimmering city to him. He was really here, with her, right now. Her heart tried to flutter but stayed stone still. Her eyes traced the curve of his spine, to the dip of his lower back, around to his razor-sharp hip bones and slender waist. His arms were crossed over his chest casually, and he looked deceptively weak with his willowy build. But she knew the strength that hid in the long muscles under his smooth skin. She drank in the sight and presence of him in a manner so cliche that it made her stomach turn. He turned to face her.

His eyes were just as she remembered. They were the color of thin ice on grey asphalt that reflected the dim half-blue of a winter sky. They took her breath away as if she'd slipped on the very ice they were made of. He smiled and uncrossed his arms, they opened for her. Everything about him welcomed her home, beckoned her in, and some magnetic force in her chest pulled her to him.

She stayed put.

Then she drew in breath to speak.