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“Oh, honey. Is this about your father?” she asks.
I’ve told Camilla about my issues with my father, and she’s been nothing but kind. But I can’t burden her with all my issues.
“I’m fine. I’m just having a bad day.”
She doesn’t push for more. Instead, we just eat in silence.
I touch up my makeup before returning for the rest of my shift. I work at a fancy restaurant inside a very fancy hotel. The servers wear uniforms, and we’re taught how to serve. Like putting a towel on our arm before pouring the wine. Or the way we approach a table. It’s all calculated and proper. This is opposed to when I worked at a diner where the baseline approach was just to be friendly and not spill anything on anyone. There was no fancy uniform or any wine to speak of.
As I clean the table, I look at my watch.
It’s time to go.
After I finish my duties I get my bag. It’s a pretty big contrast to my uniform. My uniform is a modest pink dress with a v-neck and buttons. My bag is army green and falling apart at the seams. I don’t trust the handle anymore, so I carry it like a small dog.
Pushing open the door, I’m greeted with a cool breeze. The temperature is lowering in Vegas, which is nice. I’m from Canada and not built for the thick Vegas heat, which we get most of the year. It’s been like this since my dad moved me out here after my parents split. I don’t recall why he chose Vegas.
I’m a close walk to my apartment. You just have to cross to the east side of the strip, down Tropicana Avenue, and you hit my apartment building at some point. It’s a tall green rectangle one earthquake away from tipping over. I climb up the metal stairs, careful not to scratch myself on the chipped paint on the railing. Thankfully, it’s only 3 floors before I hit my place. Some people have to walk up seven floors because no one has bothered to fix the elevator.
I push my key into the lock, and to my surprise, the door just opens. Typically, the door is a pain to open, but I guess the lock gave out. Once I enter, I close the door and lock it from the inside.
A slight chill runs down my spine, and the hair of my neck stands up.
Something doesn’t feel right.
I turn slowly, and the apartment is quiet. It’s just like yesterday except for the note from my father saying he’s gone and that he’s “sorry.” I put my bag down and look through the apartment. Everything seems to be where I left it. That is, until I turn into the living room and see one man sitting in a chair and another leaning on the wall next to the window.
Before I can scream, someone grabs me from behind and covers my mouth.
I thrash in his arms as they lock around me. Fear takes over, and I turn into a wild animal. I scream under his hand and kick out, trying to get away. But it’s no use. As my energy leaves me, I can only breathe heavily and whimper. I look at the two men, and they haven’t moved. Just casually sitting as if this is their apartment.
“Are you going to calm down now?” the guy in the chair asks.
I fight a little more, and then he pulls out a gun. That makes me freeze.
“I said, are you going to calm down?”
I nod, and I’m slowly released. I look behind me at the asshole who grabbed me, then back at the other men. The one leaning against the wall is a very tall, muscular man with tattoos everywhere, even on his neck. He’s wearing a dark suit, just like the one in the chair. He’s more on the lankier side and has that look in his eyes that can scare even the bravest of men. And then there’s a big one behind me wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket.
“What do you want?” I spit out.
The lanky man stands up and fixes his suit, the gun still in his hand.
“We're here for your father, Serenity.”
Fuck, he knows my name.
“What do you want with my father?” I ask. I try to step back, but I find myself pressed against a wall of man.
“Tell us where he is,” he says, ignoring my question.
“He isn’t here,” I say, trying to keep my cool, but it’s wavering with every step he takes toward me.
“We’re not here for you, Serenity, but we have our orders. If you don’t tell us where your father is, you’re coming with us.”
My breath hitches, and I consider lying just so I can get away. But you don’t lie to guys with guns, not in this town.
“I-I swear,” I whimper. “I don’t know where he is.” I try to hold back my tears, but they start pouring down as the adrenaline in me declines.
