Page 98 of Sling’s Awakening

Russ can clean up his own mess for once in his life.

It’s always ‘Do this, Gin. Do that, Gin’ and I’m done.

I’m not appreciated and I’m never going to be. He’s made that very clear.

I grab the inventory sheet and walk out of the office and straight into the storage closest, leaving the mess.

I leave the door to the storage room open, that way I can hear if anyone comes into the club. Sometimes when I’m here by myself, I feel like I hear things that aren’t really there and end up freaking myself out.

I sigh as I bend down, mentally preparing myself to heave this box out so I can pick up where I left off last night. I give it a hard tug and fall flat on my ass as the box goes flying behind me, crashing to the floor. What’s left of the glass bottles shatter on impact.

All I can do is stare at the box in shock as I watch the cardboard soak up the clear liquid until it can’t hold anymore. The box is mush, and the alcohol is beginning to seep onto the tile floor.

You have got to be kidding me.

My ass is throbbing from a mixture of being with Sling last night and landing on the tile floor that doesn’t have any give as I pull my knees to my chest and face plant into them. I begin to massage my temples in a last-ditch effort to fight off the headache I can feel coming on from stress.

Of course this would happen to me when I’m the only one here to clean up the fucking mess. As if I don’t have anything else to do.

After a few moments, I tip my head back and sigh as I stare at the ceiling, contemplating if I should just cut my losses and walk right out the door.

My head shoots up as it hits me.

Wait a second.

That box was full last night.

So full that there were actually extra bottles in it that I didn’t know where they came from.

Where did all the bottles go?

We haven’t been open between now and then, so they definitely weren’t served to customers.

I move to my feet, wincing as pain radiates through my body as I look around the storage room. I peek inside every box and look on every shelf, even moving things around to see if they mysteriously got stuffed behind a box, but nope.

Nothing.

They’re not here.

“What the fuck?” I mumble to myself as I slowly spin around the storage room, as if the missing liquor bottles are going to magically appear.

They don’t.

I roughly drag my hands through my hair, ruining the perfect curls I put in before I left the house. “Think, Blake, think.”

The log.

I grab the clipboard I set down and quickly scan the sheet for the initials of who was in this room. It’s policy to sign in and out whenever you come in here.

Most of them should be mine and Russ’s initials, but every once in a while when the floor is packed and I’m busy, I give Crystal my keys to grab what she needs. She’s never done anything to make me feel like I can’t trust her with that.

I scan down the list.

RJ

BD

CK