Page 11 of Tanner

Do I trust him? Not entirely. I don’t know him. But something tells me I’d be a fool not to.

4

TANNER

Manhattan is home to hundreds of hidden haunts and secret clubs. It’s probably the one thing I’ll miss most about the city when I move back to San Francisco.

Here, I roam the streets alone. I’m the kind of guy who hangs with my buddies until a certain hour, and then I’m off, exploring. That’s when you discover the city’s dark and dirty little secrets. You’ll also fall in love with its flaws and hard edges, and if you’re really lucky, you’ll get to experience the warmth that envelops you when you find your haven.

That’s why everyone feels at home here. It’s easy to find a place where you belong.

All my life, I’ve been straddling two different worlds while trying to find the balance. Nights like these are when I get to discover myself. I’m always solo though. Having a tagalong in tow is new for me. Especially one with legs like hers.

Harper’s hand is still clutching on to mine as I weave her through the streets of the Upper East Side. It’s rather quiet on these blocks as we walk past the fancy buildings and townhomes of millionaires.

We cross the street, and I feel her lagging a bit. I look behind me to see her feet shuffling along on her tiptoes.

“Are you okay in those?” I motion toward her shoes.

“I’m good now, but I’ll suffer in the morning.” Her lips twist with the words.

I stop and let go of her hand. Her confused expression makes me smile. When she squeals as I lift her off the ground in a cradle hold, I can’t help but let out a laugh. Her hands grip my neck, and when our eyes meet, I wink on instinct.

“I’m fine. I can walk,” she demands.

I just keep walking.

Her arms lace firmer around me as she checks over my shoulder and then looks back up at me. I might be looking forward, but I can feel her stare heating the side of my face.

“Either you’re a gentleman or a serial killer,” she says.

“Lucky for you, I’m neither.”

She groans in my arms as I carry her toward a row of townhomes. There’s a small alley between two, so I turn down it and gently place her on the ground.

Taking her hand again, I head to a stairwell on the side of the building. When we get to the bottom, I knock three times.

A small picture window on the door opens up. A man speaks from the grate, “Who is it?”

“Sapphire,” I reply.

“How many gems did you bring today?” he asks.

“There’s only one rare stone,” I say, giving the rest of the secret phrase, and add, “but I brought a pearl from the shore.”

The door opens, but the man doesn’t present himself. I look back at Harper, who has a bugged-out expression, which I should expect since I’m asking her to enter a strange building with me.

I walk inside, and she follows. We step into a small office with a couch, a desk, and a bookcase. A narrow door is open, showing a bathroom. There’s barely room for more than the three of us in here.

When the outside door is closed behind us, the man is now in full light, and he’s big. No, huge. I haven’t seen this one before. His chest is the size of a barrel, and his head nearly touches the ceiling.

He holds his palm out. “Card.”

I hand him my sepia-colored member card that has four numbers written in red. He holds the card up to a black light to confirm its authenticity.

“You okay?” I ask Harper, who is clutching her bag to her chest.

“Obviously, wherever we’re going is something very secretive and members only. I’m starting to rethink my idea to follow you. Why don’t I carry pepper spray or a machete in my purse?” Her tone is sarcastic yet serious.