Page 1 of Hide, Little Thief

CHAPTER ONE

Someone is watching me. Which is a weird thing to say when you’re standing behind a bar serving drinks to a bunch of people waiting their turn.

I work in one of London’s many pubs, and like all of them, this one’s packed on a Friday night.

“Riven!” A regular customer waves for my attention.

“Just a sec!” I finish pouring the beers and serve them, then I head in his direction.

Music blasts from the speakers. People are chatting, laughing, and clinking glasses.

All the while the prickling in my neck, the nagging feeling of being watched, just won’t die down.

There’s a sense of imminent danger in the air that doesn’t belong here.

While pouring drinks for the customer and his friends, my eyes examine the room.

The dim lighting in the pub accentuates the dark wood. The walls are full of vintage plates, pictures, old framed newspaper articles, and cool commercials, some of which are older than me. My boss, John, told me this building is more than three hundred years old, and it’s been a pub ever since its construction.

The first time I came to this place was to rob a rich dude meeting with his colleagues after hours.

Now I work here.

My eyes roam over familiar faces and visitors until I spot a man sitting by himself at a table in the farthest corner. His back’s to the wall, the room on full display in front of him, as if he’s a soldier on a mission. Even though I can’t see his face because of the damn lighting in here, I can feel him watching me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but there’s also a tingling sensation in my stomach.

I’m glad I’m wearing one of my favorite dresses tonight. It’s in a lovely shade of blue, with a V neckline, thin straps, and a flare skirt. It’s too short and thin for outdoors, but since it’s warm indoors, I don’t mind wearing it.

It’s a pleasant change from my usual black-on-black outfit.

As I clear a table, I feel his eyes following me. Slowly undressing me.

Normally, I only flirt with customers, not go out with them, but I could use a distraction tonight. The last time I had sex was months ago, and the circumstances were disturbing at best.

Unforgettable.

Haunting.

Two hours later, he hasn’t moved from his position, still sitting at the table in the farthest corner, all alone. He didn’t drink that much, if I recall correctly. Two beers max. And yet he’s still here, eating me up with his eyes and ignoring everyone, although a couple of women did try to approach him. Whatever he said to them, they left pretty quickly and never once looked back.

That alone should be alarming, but I find myself intrigued.

My stomach does a little flip-flop when our eyes meet again, and I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from curling.

He’s persistent—I’ll give him that. An aura of mystery surrounds him, a darkness I can relate to, because being a bartender is just a side gig. My real job takes me out at night too, but rather than serving people drinks, I disburden them of stuff.

I’m a thief. I steal for whoever hires me. And they pay me well, because I’m that good, and I don’t get caught. I’ve come close, sure, but I’ve never found myself in handcuffs, and I don’t plan on that changing anytime soon.

I might make an exception if it’s for fun though . . .

Thieving’s a lonesome job, and even I, an introverted soul who loves to be alone and have plenty of me-time, need some social interaction. At least from time to time.

Hence the bartending gig, and the occasional one-night stand.

Though when I look back at his table, he’s gone.

Blinking in confusion, I glance around, craning my neck to find him among all these people. There’s no sign of him, only his empty beer bottle. He disappeared without a trace—and without even talking to me, giving me his number, or asking for mine.