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“I really hate this fucking city most days.”
I snorted. “Most days?”
She gave me a tight nod. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, okay.”
I laughed softly. I’d only been here a couple of months, and I despised everything Desolation stood for. The only positive thing about this hell was that it helped keep me hidden.
“Anyway,” she said. “Good riddance.”
I couldn’t help but smile warily. I was tired, just really damn tired. I wanted to save up as much as I could so I could move to a better place, a place where I’d reinvent myself, a place where the past wasn’t always chasing me.
But that seemed like such a pipe dream and not at all realistic. The truth was I’d probably be dead before my twenty-fifth birthday, and that was being optimistic.
“So…”
The way she paused made me think she was hesitant to ask me whatever was on her mind.
“Total subject shift, but you want to make a little—easy—extra money?”
My interest was instantly piqued, as if she’d read my mind on needing money to get out of here. But my hesitance had risen instantly. Earning money was never easy.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything illegal, nothing depraved or that goes against your moral compass.” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t forced.
“I’m listening,” I said slowly, cautiously.
“So I waitress at this bar sometimes, and they’re looking for a couple of extra hands.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “It’s that Russian bar calledSdat'sya.” I shrugged, never having heard of it. “They are short-staffed, and it’s basically just serving drinks to a bunch of old, rich, Russian businessmen.”
Old,rich, andbusinessmenall in the same sentence would always have warning bells going off.
“The tips are incredible, especially the drunker they get,” she teased. “One time I made over five hundred in just a night.”
I would’ve said no right away, simply because a lot of red flags shot up when I thought about going to some obscure bar and serving drinks to old, rich men. But the money aspect had me not declining right away. “So what’s the catch?”
She grimaced. “Sometimes, they can get a little handsy. But they have staff—bouncers, I guess—who have always made sure nothing gets out of hand. Not unless you want to make a littleextramoney.” She lifted her eyebrows.
Sex for money was what she implied. I slowly shook my head. “I’m not a prostitute, Laura.”
She shook her head. “Neither am I. I’m just saying that's some of the stuff you could see—exchanging of money and… yeah, all that.”
Now it was my turn to grimace at the thought of crusty old men trying to cop a feel or worse, thinking I’d put out.
“I don’t want to pressure you, but I know you need the money just like me.” At my no doubt surprised look, she snorted and shook her head. “Come on, you don’t have to actuallytellme you need money for me to know. You live in Desolation. Enough said.”
True enough. Although she’d mentioned at one point the possibility of us living together, I didn’t know what my future held. And with Henry and his thugs no doubt coming after me at some point, I didn’t want Laura thrown in that mix and dragged down.
I couldn’t deny it. She was right, of course. But I had to weigh the pros and cons of putting myself in a position where things could escalate and worsen.
“I just wanted to offer it to you. We are there to serve drinks, not give handjobs… not unless you want,” she said on a laugh, and I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched in amusement.
A little sliver of reality interjected itself into my thoughts because I knew I couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity like this. I never got chances to supplement my income. And to be honest, any extra income was better than nothing. I’d be closer to leaving Desolation. And maybe if I did a good enough job, they’d let me work other nights there.
“Okay,” I said, and she grinned wider. “I don’t have anything nice to wear though.”
She waved off my words. “No worries. They keep a wardrobe, because they prefer the waitresses to wear certain things to keep up with the aesthetics of the place.”
I was feeling a little less sure about this. What kind of place was this where they had expendable clothing all because they wanted to keep up appearances? I understood uniforms, but I doubted this place gave everyone the same drab apparel, especially if they catered to rich and powerful men.
I should’ve just assumed the night in question would probably end up coming back to bite me in the ass. That’s usually how the events in my life went. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
