Page 8 of Her Last Audition


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“You oughta lighten up more, man,” he says as he stands up, slapping a hand down onto my back. “Lifeshouldbe about getting your dick sucked.”

My jaw ticks at the touch and I roll my shoulder, shoving him off me.

“Fuck off.”

He grins again and leans in, dropping his voice.

“I did hear a bit about your trouble,” he whistles lightly, before standing back up straight. “I sure wouldn’t want those fuckers knocking on my door.”

My eyes narrow.

“What did you hear?”

The coy smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, nothing much.”

He doesn’t make a move though, and I sigh, waving the waitress over. I had hoped to give him the fucking cash and have a few solo drinks, but looks like I won’t be so lucky. And despite his appearance and demeanour, Riot is the best at what he does.

His price tag is high, but he’s also not someone I’d expect to sell me out for higher. Come back with a higher price and blackmail, maybe, but not outright backstabbing. I may have my ear well to the ground and hear a lot in the warehouse, but Riot’s information pool is second to none.

I don’t associate with much of the city’s underground because they’re backstabbing scums—I use other people for that—but as much as I dislike Riot and his fucking attitude, I trust his self-interest enough to listen to him now.

“Sit down, you asshole,” I tell him. “And tell me every-fucking-thing you know.”

Riot takes his seat, grinning up at the young waitress as she comes back with a fresh round of drinks. Her eyes widen at Riot and she rushes off, clearly not interested in the big man's attention.

He chuckles, picking up the pint and taking a deep sip before putting his feet up.

“Ahh, see, isn’t that better?”

“Not a fucking social visit,” I remind him. “Now, what the fuck do you know?”

“Not social?” he replies, sitting forward again. “Atlas, I’m hurt. I thought we were friends.”

My glare must be enough for him because he laughs a deep throaty sound.

“Alright, alright. I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I have heard.”

Kinsey

Can’t Find My Way Home

“Girl,”Jay calls me over as soon as I leave the building. I take a quick look at my phone for the time, the bus is still seven minutes away, and hustle over to him.

The first thing I notice is he doesn’t look as bad as the day before. Dark circles still sit under his eyes and he’s as filthy as always, but his eyes don’t look bloodshot and farseeing.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me girl?” I ask with a smile.

“Here, got this for you,” he holds out a card in his hand, not responding to my comment. My brows knit together slightly. I’m used to Jay being way more chatty, but reach out to take the card.

“What’s—”

“Tomorrow night is your audition,” he interrupts. “Name to ask for on the back.”

I look at the faded card in my hand, flipping it to the back and glancing over the name and time written there.

“Thanks,” I start to say. “That was—”

“I gotta go,” he interrupts, turning around to rustle through the shopping cart sitting there. I notice how much stuff is piled up there, way more than usual. My eyes dart into the opening of the garbage can and note it’s almost empty.

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