AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Not that I’m envious. He’s a fat pig with a small dick. I know this because he flashed me less than an hour into my shift. Yet another reason to report this shithole to the Department of Labor.
“Make it quick, I’ve been waiting for an hour already!”
I smile politely at the woman in front of me and carefully lift her plate. For one heady moment, I consider dumping the congealed pasta in shrimp sauce all over her head but decide she’s not worth the effort. Sure, it would be satisfying for a minute or two, but then I’d lose my tips and probably all future gigs with the temp agency.
???
“The woman on table 14 says her pasta was cold,” I tell the chef. He stabs an onion and glares at me.
“It was hot when it left the kitchen,” he snarls.
I try smiling sweetly at him but he’s immune to my charm. Like most people are this evening, it seems.
“Just passing her message on. She wants a fresh one.”
He grabs the plate from my hand and throws the contents in the waste food bucket.
“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll sort it. Go fetch me a bundle of asparagus and a jug of cream from the cooler.”
Mervin the head chef is a scary dude, his caramel-colored skin all covered in tattoos. Definitely not someone to argue with. I disappear into the cooler and start hunting for what he needs. Just as I find the cream, I hear apop pop popand the sound of screaming. Pans clatter on the floor and the screaming gets louder.
What the fuck is going on? It sounds like gunfire. Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to venture back out into the kitchen. Maybe if I hide behind the crates of vegetables stacked up in here, nobody will spot me.
If I had my phone, I’d call 911, but it’s in the locker Emilio assigned me when I arrived, along with my purse. At least my apartment key is shoved in my pocket, so if a miracle happens and I escape to live another day, I can go drown my sorrows at home. Yay, hashtag goals.
I tuck myself down out of sight and wait. Ten minutes pass and everything goes silent. Then I hear more muffledpop pop popsounds, a bit louder this time, followed by shouts. OK, enough, I need to get the fuck out of here. Whatever is going down, it’s not safe. I know there’s a fire exit leading to the alley behind the kitchen because it’s where the staff go to smoke. If I can sneak over there without being seen by whoever is shooting, I should be out of danger.
The kitchen is empty. Pans and cooking utensils have been abandoned, with splashes of sauce everywhere. It looks like everyone ran off as soon as things went south. Not that I blame them. If I had any sense, I probably should have done the same instead of freezing like a stupid deer caught in the headlights.
Everyone knows the dumb blond always ends up dead in slasher movies.
Yep, that’s me - dumb blond. Catching sight of flaxen pigtails in the reflection as I shuffle past a shiny refrigerator makes me regret not taking up my friend Cara’s offer of a pink dye makeover. Right now, I’d rather be a lame Manic Pixie Dream Girl than a fucking dead cheerleader wannabe.
If there’s an ax-wielding psycho in the house, I’m definitely on his kill list.
With that thought in mind, I grab a large carving knife from the stainless steel counter and try not to hyperventilate. A knife isn’t much use in a gunfight, but knowing I have a weapon gives me a modicum of comfort. At least I can stab any murdering fuckers in the nuts if they get too close.
The floor is slippery with spilled sauce and I edge around the puddles of crimson red. They would look alarmingly like blood if not for the herbs and chopped onion. The back door is shut but I make my way over cautiously, alert for any signs the fight is heading toward the kitchen.
I still have no idea what’s happening, but periodic gunfire tells me it’s nothing I want to get caught in the middle of. Probably some gang hit. This place is Italian so the fight might be mafia-related. Not that I know much about the mafia. Or care.
When I reach the steel-plated door, I frown. There’s a horizontal release bar but I push down and nothing happens. Fuck. Is there another exit? I assume so, but I’m not keen on bumping into any gun-toting gangbangers while I search for it. Maybe I am better off hiding until the cops arrive.
Just as I’m about to dash back into the cooler, I hear a muffled grunt. Someone is coming. I’m so fucked.
There are very few options. The chiller room is too far away, but there is a gap between the dishwasher and some boxes. I think I can squeeze in there. Thank god I’ve eaten nothing all day and my belly is concave. I can’t do much about my ass or tits though.
The gap is a tight fit but I make it just in time to see a tall guy in a suit walk in holding a gun. He’s been shot. I can see the blood dripping down his arm, soaking through his thousand-dollar suit. None of that detracts from his GQ model looks. The man is gorgeous, all glossy black hair, bulging muscles, and sculpted cheekbones. My head saysrun away nowbut my pussy gleefully urges me to make friends with his dick. Yeah, she’s not that bright.
It’s disappointing to think this glorious hunk of man is a cold-hearted killer. Although, not surprising given I’ve always had shit taste in men. I press back against the wall and pray someone comes to rescue me before the bad guys put a bullet in my head.
Chapter Three
Salvatore
I’m low on ammo and the gunshot wound in my arm, while not currently fatal, hurts like a bitch and is pissing blood everywhere. It’s just as well I’m ambidextrous, or I’d be fucked right now. Fitz is dead, finally, and five other goons followed him to Hell. Declan, the slippery fuck that he is, has eluded me so far.
We’ve played cat and mouse for the last twenty minutes and I’m done. As much as I’d like to wrap the man’s intestines around his neck, the safer option is to get out before I bleed out. Now I know which way the land lies, Declan O’Connor’s days are numbered. His end will come soon enough, and it won’t be an easy death. I plan to make sure of that.
