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Only one more to go.
Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem was to remove yourself from the equation. So, I slid myself off my barstool, mentally congratulating myself for not stumbling, and walked as gracefully and as quickly as I could towards the bathroom.
The werewolves groaned, mocking their friend, who was already halfway across the room, heading towards me. I didn’t even look. I walked down a tiny hallway and pushed open the door to the restroom.
I was absolutely shitfaced. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to pee until I stumbled into the dark, cramped, ramshackle bathroom. The restroom was tiny, only one cubicle and a little space outside for the washroom and sink. My eyes darted around the space quickly, cataloging everything with the ease of training and conditioning.
Peeling black paint, graffiti, and garish posters covered the walls. The floor was scuffed, cracked linoleum. The single tap only provided cold water. There was a slight leak in the pipes; a tiny puddle of water pooled on the floor. To the side of the sink, a rusty metal dispenser provided paper towels, the rough kind that hurt your hands if you wiped them too hard. The dispenser had a bin attached for the used towels. My brain cataloged it all and offered up scenarios for me.
The mark slipped on the puddle of water and cracked his head on the porcelain sink. The toilet was overflowing. The mark vomited, passed out, tragically drowning in the bowl. The lip from the dispenser bin fell off, leaving sharp metal edges. The mark accidentally smashed their wrist down on it while breaking off a paper towel, severing an artery, and bled to death on the floor.
My bladder throbbed.
I darted into the cubicle as an old memory assaulted me. It was a good memory, though, so I let it come. Three years ago, Sweet Chloe had actually peed her pants in a club downtown. I remembered vividly hiding in the bathroom, sobbing in drunken embarrassment, trying to soak up my sodden jeans with toilet paper until Prue, my best friend, found me, bullied me out of my clothes, and hustled me into a brand-new dress. I remembered weakly protesting as she pulled the beautiful dress over my head, assuming she’d stolen it off some other poor girl.
God, I missed her so much.
I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on staying upright on the toilet. I did my business, buttoned my jeans, and walked back into the bar, sliding up onto my barstool.
The werewolves were taunting the creature in the cage again. I kept my eyes averted and waved at Cherry, who was watching the werewolves in the corner, her thoughts a steady whirl of disastrous scenarios. “One more?” I batted my eyelashes at her. “Please? My dad called, he’s on the way.” The storm outside hadn’t eased off, but I was nearing blackout drunk, anyway. I still had to find my way to the carpark and climb into my car. I had a little bottle of tequila in there that would finish me off.
Cherry glared at me but splashed a little more wine in my glass. “Last one,” she said firmly. “And if you rat me out to your dad for letting you get drunk, I’ll have you skinned alive.”
She really meant it. I let out a burst of laughter, blinking at the images that danced around her aura. If I got Cherry into trouble, there would be consequences. She belonged to the monster, and the monster would rip me apart if I damaged anything that belonged to him.
I chuckled into my wine glass. It wasn’t often that I came across someone almost as miserable as me. Poor Cherry’s addiction really ruled her life. Idly, I wondered if her addiction was active or not. Her eyes were bright, and she moved almost manically, so I’d say it was. If I had to guess, I’d say she was getting just enough to function.
Just then, as if her thoughts brought him to life, the square-jawed man—the monster—walked out of the door behind the bar.
Chapter Five
My mouth fell open.
I didn’t realize he was real. Cherry’s thoughts painted a picture of a man so terrible that I thought he was a metaphor.
Cherry visibly stiffened, and started wiping the bar frantically again, moving quickly to the other side, away from me. The big, dark-haired man swaggered up behind her, visibly enjoying the fear he provoked in her. He lingered for a second, then grunted. Cherry turned around, her face wary. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she nodded quickly, and murmured a response.
The monster turned and saw me. His closely set eyes lit up, and his thin lips twitched into a smirk.
He was a big man with the heavy physique of an old football player who tried to keep in shape—broad shoulders, barrel chest, thick legs. His jaw, which was almost a caricature in Cherry’s thoughts, was ridiculously hard and square. A paunchy gut slowed him down, but he swaggered, moving slowly towards me with astonishing arrogance.
I kept my face neutral, watching his thoughts dance around in his aura.
My face was the main feature. I was a pretty little bird, sitting alone at his bar, ripe for the taking. He wanted a new bird for his cage, in fact, he needed one. Cherry, his current pet, was old, and he’d worn her out, almost broken her completely. My skin prickled as I watched this monster remember some of the things he’d done to her.
He kept her chained to him with a little taste of his needles, just enough to keep her thoughts scattered and her body vulnerable. But what really did it was the photos he kept in the hidden safe in the office—devastating pictures of Cherry that would destroy her if anyone got hold of them. My stomach churned as I saw what he’d done and how delighted he was. He’d manipulated her, humiliated her, and subtly blackmailed her, and he was so proud of himself.
A regret flitted through his thoughts—the face of Cherry’s young daughter. That little bird had escaped. The only thing that made him keep Cherry around for so long was the chance that he might eventually get his hands on her.
But he needed to get rid of Cherry soon. She’d used his address for long enough to almost be considered a de facto partner, and he didn’t want her getting any ideas. It was a shame she had to use his address at all, but her unemployment cheques needed to be sent somewhere.
Not that she was unemployed. She worked every single hour the bar was open.
The monster reached me. He put his hands on the bar, leaning casually towards me. “Well, hello, beautiful.” His voice was deep and oily.
I gazed back at him, my head tilted right back. I was trying to avoid the sickening images in his aura of what he wanted to do to me. “Hi.”
“You’re a pretty young thing. What are you doing in my bar all alone?”
