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Another guy I recognized from Dalton’s hopped out and immediately opened the rear door for Misha. That must have been Anton. The “driver.”
Misha nodded and Anton disappeared with the car. “Marek,” he murmured, heading for the back door.
Exhaling the smoke, I resumed reading, muttering a “Hey” back at him. If the day before was anything to go by, we’d settled into something of a peaceful coexistence. He might have still been after my supplier but he didn’t hound me every time I turned around, which was a relief. I wasn’t about to let my guard down, though.
“You know that’s not good for you,” Misha said, stopping a few feet away from me, a blond eyebrow arched.
“Yeah, they always said books would rot my brain,” I replied, glancing up at him and flicking ash off the end of my cigarette.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile and he shook his head, coming closer. “What are you reading?”
For half a second, I almost replied with something sarcastic but I thought better of it. It seemed like he was trying to be nice, which meant I should play nice too. Flipping the book closed, I kept my finger between the pages so I didn’t lose my place and showed him.
He stooped and squinted at the cover. Another gust blew through the alley, wafting his cologne in my direction. It was the same one he had on that night at Dalton’s. It’s what I imagined the ocean smelled like. Maybe one day I’d find out for myself, if I ever managed to leave the Land of Lincoln.
“Murder of a President? Which president?”
“Garfield.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Not surprising. Most Americans forget who he is after they leave school.”
“So why are you reading about a dead president no one cares about?”
I smirked. It was a good question but I didn’t feel like sharing the answer. “He had an interesting life.”
“You admire him,” he observed, his head tilting to one side.
The timer on my phone went off. I flicked my cigarette butt into the alley and silenced the alarm, rising to my feet. “Break’s over.”
He was about to speak when the back door opened and Hayden marched out, tapping his watch. “Marek, it’s—” As soon as he saw Misha he dropped the dick attitude and smiled, taking on an entirely new voice, somewhere between breathy and nauseating. “Hi, Misha. I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.”
I glanced between the two, squinting at Hayden in particular. Did he justbathis eyes? My gaze shot back to Misha, looking for his reaction and finding none, not even annoyance, which was disappointing on so many levels.
“Enjoy your book,” Misha said to me, stepping away. He murmured something to Hayden that made Hayden nod, though I was happy to see the smile on his face cracked. Just a bit. At least, until Misha was gone. Then Hayden’s scowl was back in full force, looking at me like I was something he needed to scrap off the bottom of his shoe.
“Let’s go!” he snapped, darting back inside and nearly getting caught by the door as it blew shut. Even the wind didn’t fucking like him.
“Don’t punch him, Marek,” I said to myself, trudging toward the door and stuffing the book in my back pocket. “Don’t fucking punch him. He’s not worth it…”
7
MAREK
Bartendingholidays and special events were a blessing and a curse—on the one hand, you made a fuck ton of money. On the other, it was pure chaos the whole shift, kind of like the night some company rented out the entire second floor and we had orders that they wereallsupposed to be treated like VIPs.
“We need more Heineken,” Nolan shouted in my ear, pouring a line of tequila shots and shoving a small plate of lime wedges at the guy waiting on the other side.
“On it.” I wiped my hands on the closest towel and tossed it on the counter before setting off for the stock room. Normally bartenders had barbacks for this kind of shit and Deliriumdid, but Hayden deemed it necessary that I spend a shift doing their job—bussing the bar instead of mixing drinks in order to “fully appreciate the way Delirium operated.” I didn’t care that he did it to try and demean me; I cared about losing tips on a Saturday night during an event. Somehow I managed to keep my trap shut instead of telling him where he could shove his appreciation.
As I passed by the storage room, the sound of glass clinking stopped me in my tracks. Glancing up and down the dark hallway, I furrowed my brow and waited, straining against the constant bass to see if I’d hear it again. Sure enough, more glass clinked. Softly, not like it was breaking, but it was definitely being jostled.
Pivoting on the ball of my foot, I opened the door as quietly as I could and ducked inside. I couldn’t really see much of anything except what was right in front of my face. Only half of the lights had been turned on and the room was stuffed from floor to ceiling with extra tables, chairs, and barware. I was tempted to turn on the other set of lights but something inside told me not to.
Creeping deeper into the room, I halted when a distinct moan came from the other side of a huge rack of shelves. If some college idiots came in here to fuck around security was going to besopissed. They weren’t necessarily the tattooed Russians but they were scary in their own right. Besides, there were plenty of other rooms in the club to do that shit in, we didn’t need it in an Employee Only area.
Rolling my eyes, I rounded the corner and immediately froze in place, except for my jaw, which fell to the floor. I was too horrified to care about keeping a straight face.
