Read Online House of the Rising Sun by Kristen Painter - Free Book Online

“We can send the box to your hotel for you, if you like. I can put your old gloves in there as well.”
    “That would be great.” Harlow typed her info into the tablet the woman placed on the counter, then tucked her change into the inside pocket of her leggings before adjusting the waistband of her sweater over them again. “Thank you.”
    “Thank you. And happy
Nokturnos
.”
    “Uh, yeah. Same to you.” The second Harlow opened the door, the noise of the street hit her. Music from every direction, laughter, whooping and hollering, distant horns blowing and the occasional cheer. On the way over, the chaos of it all had almost turned her around, but now, wearing the mask gave her a sense of anonymity that raised her courage.
Just like Comic Con.
She repeated it like a mantra.
    The shop door closed behind her but she stayed still, taking it all in for a moment, enjoying the strange new sense of boldness flowing through her. She laughed as a random thought occurred to her—this really was like Comic Con, except a lot ofthese people weren’t pretending; they really were the creatures they appeared to be.
    She stepped into the street and started walking with no real destination in mind. She dodged people as they came toward her and focused on the details. What would her superhero name be? Ravenwoman? The Claw? Hawktress? Nightwing? That was a good one. Of course, it already belonged to DC Comics, but so what, she liked it. Nightwing it was.
    Now it was time for Nightwing to get a drink. Harlow made her way to the first walk-up window she came to and took a place in line with a comfortable distance away from the next person. She kept her eyes on the menu and the task of deciding what her poison would be. Something sweet, maybe, so it would go down fast and easy. That seemed to describe most of the drinks listed.
    The people around her were all in groups, joking and having fun and clearly not on their first drink. They seemed to be lacking in the general understanding of personal space, too. Mask or not, she was questioning her decision to come out alone. Finally, her turn to order came. “Can I have a peach smash?”
    The counter girl nodded. “You want a floater with that?”
    “What’s a floater?”
    “We add a shot of tequila, dark rum or 151 on top.”
    “One Fifty-One.” If she had any hope of making it through the night successfully, she was going to need all the alcoholic help she could get. She paid for the drink, then stuck near the side of the counter while she waited for it to be ready. The guys next to her catcalled to the women walking by.
    None of them seemed to mind. Some of the women actually yelled back.
    Harlow leaned against the wall and shook her head. All likeness to Comic Con aside, this was still so not her scene. She hated being touched because of the flood of emotions thatmeant enduring. Because of that, she’d developed a basic dislike of crowds, but sex… sex only meant one other person. She could handle that, and had, but the opportunity to engage in that sort of activity rarely came along when you worked from home and did your best to leave that home as little as possible. Maybe she should call it a night, take her drink back to the hotel and meet up with her guild for a raid.
    But then a guy walked by in a black and white striped outfit, number stenciled over his chest and a black mask covering his eyes like a bandit and the reminder that jail loomed in her future stomped on her doubts. This might be her last chance for a long time to exercise her complete and utter personal freedom. Her last chance at some real fun.
    “Peach smash!” the counter girl called out.
    Harlow raised her hand. “That’s me.”
    “Here you go.” The girl behind the counter slid the peach smash toward Harlow.
    “Thanks.” She grabbed the tall plastic cup, used the straw to stir the 151 into the rest of the drink, then latched on to it and took a long sip. Fortified, she headed into the crowd with a