CHAPTER
ONE
SHEENA
Amuscle in my back spasms. I shrug it off, just like I ignore each new float that pops up in the parade of injustices in my life. I rake ketchup and stray fries off the plate in my hand and toss it into the industrial sink in front of me. It lands with a dull clang, and I stifle a groan.
Back hurts, Sheena? Tough shit. At least you’re still alive.
The rules I’ve lived by for the last eight years are simple: no pity, trust no one, keep it moving. With those guidelines in place, I’ve found myself the temporary resident of twenty-one—make that twenty-two—states since this nightmare began. Unfortunately, the places I’ve hunkered down aren’t on anyone’s list of top tourist destinations.
I target locations where no one dreams, and boy, did I hit the jackpot here. The people in this town don’t dare to wish for anything better, and if they do, they keep those thoughts carefully protected inside their own heads, surrounded by metaphorical barbed wire and literal ‘fuck off’ energy.
Another chipped plate follows the same path as the first.
I work at Styx, a grimy bar in Backwoods, Wyoming. That’s not a joke. It’s the actual name of the town, or settlement, or whatever you want to label a hellhole so small and unremarkable it doesn’t even get a dot on the damn map. Serving more grit and grease than anything else, I would wonder how it stays in business if I didn’t know for a fact it’s the only place to get a drink for miles around.
Styx is a dump for sure, but it’s paradise to me for three reasons. One, it pays cash; two, people rarely make eye contact; and three, no one ever asks questions. I’ve been working here for four months, which is practically tenure compared to my normal gigs. So far, there’s been an almost suspicious lack of red flags. If I believed in luck, or justice, or any other fairytale concepts, I might be feeling optimistic for once.
Too bad I don’t believe in anything anymore—except for my rules.
A quick glance at the plastic clock on the wall tells me there’s less than an hour left in my shift. Just fifty minutes until I can crawl back to the ratty mattress in my rented RV and pretend my life is different.
A shuffling sound from the front room catches my attention.
The line cook, who doubles as the creator of most of the grit and grease, grunts and dips his chin toward the bar. I grunt back, happy enough with our prehistoric method of communication. He may be a walking health hazard, but he’s never tried to be my friend or get in my pants. Those are two green flags in his favor.
Abandoning the dirty dishes, I shove through the swinging saloon doors that separate the back of house from the front. Dim lighting, chipped tables, and watered down liquor decorate the space. I guess you could call it a dining room, but I’d like to see anyone manage that with a straight face.
I take a few steps forward and icy dread trickles down my spine. Something isn’t right. I freeze and take stock of my surroundings.
Two strangers are standing by the bar. Even from fifteen feet back, I can tell they don’t belong. One is probably the biggest man I’ve ever seen in real life. While his size isn’t all that out of the ordinary—they grow big in the West, after all—he doesn’t blend in. For starters, he’s not filthy. Clean curls, clean clothes... I can tell that even with his back to me. Unlike the rest of the clientele who stumble into Styx, there are no obvious holes or stains on his shirt. To top it off, his posture screams confidence. With his shoulders back, chest up, and head held high, he looks like he’s never had life chew him up and spit him out just because it could.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but his sudden appearance puts me on guard, activating the instincts that have kept me alive for the better part of a decade. With every hair on the back of my neck tingling and standing on end, I shift my focus to the second stranger.
This one is facing me, and on paper, he doesn’t seem that scary. Actually, he looks like he wandered away from his fraternity and stumbled into this bar by mistake. He’s got on a backwards cap and designer sunglasses, and he’s baring his shiny white teeth at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be a disarming smile.
Red flag for sure.
Some useless, primitive part of my brain left over from a bygone era notices that he’s also really hot. Since I don’t have a death wish, I discard that like the useless trash it is. The frat boy is watching me expectantly, but I avoid eye contact and pull out my notepad.
“What can I get for you?” I ask. I’m pleased with how bored I sound, but the big guy whips around like I slapped him. His eyes drill into me like he can read all my secrets with a look.
Shit. Maybe he can.
When he growls at me, adrenaline floods my body. Through my rising panic, a low electrical current hums to life between us like one of my arteries has been replaced with a live wire. I’ve never experienced anything like it. It tugs at me, urging me to move closer to him, until self-preservation overrides the impulse, screaming at me to run instead. The notepad buckles in my grip.
“We’ll just have two of whatever you have on tap,” the frat guy says.
His voice should be illegal. Deep, smoky, and inviting, the sound washes over me like a caress. Against my better judgment, my head snaps up to get another look at the source. Big mistake. He’s even more gorgeous up close, flashing that megawatt smile at me. His black eyes are a bottomless pool of heated promises. As for the giant, he’s as golden as the frat boy is dark. Together, they are devastatingly beautiful.
I nod to acknowledge I heard their order. Inside, I feel dazed. Heat spreads across my skin, but my heart turns to ice.
Things are starting to add up, and I don’t like the results. Black eyes, growling, an electric buzz in my chest... Not only do these guys not fit in at this bar, I have a sneaking suspicion they also don’t fit into the standard genetic code.Not human. Get out.
My body goes on autopilot as I walk through my next steps, never taking my eyes off the two strangers. When they face away from me and start up a hushed argument, I seize the opening. Maybe this head start will be enough.
I slap my cheek harshly as I dart out of the employee exit; I can’t panic right now. The terror is overwhelming, but I’ve gotto get past it or I’m fucked. I’m not sixteen anymore. I won’t be taken by surprise again.
