I’ll be lucky to survive the next five minutes, much less the night.
Chapter 9
Alexei
She fixates on the gun, pupils dilating with fresh fear. The maid costume rides up her thighs as she remains torn between flight and surrender. A muscle in her jaw twitches. Her breathing quickens.
I should find her terror satisfying.
For some crazy reason I refuse to dissect, I don’t.
I gesture toward the couch. “Sit.”
She lowers herself onto the edge of the cushion, perched like she might bolt at any second. Her fingers curl around the hem of her absurd costume, tugging it down in a futile attempt at modesty. Angry red marks ring her wrists where the zip ties bit into her flesh.
Holstering the gun, I settle into a chair across from her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees to create false intimacy. False security.
Remorse slices through me. It’s like I’m manipulating a child.
Though given the way her breasts are on display, she left childhood long ago.
She eyes the glass with suspicion, then pops the pills in her mouth and sips the water. Another sip. Then another.
“I need information.” I keep my voice deceptively calm and reassuring. “Let’s start with your name.”
Wariness creeps across her features as she sets the glass down. “Aurora.”
First name only. Smart woman. “Full name?”
She chews the inside of her cheek, as if considering how to answer. “Aurora Madeline Bailey.”
She doesn’t have her purse, so I can’t check her driver’s license to verify whether she’s speaking the truth. “Aurora Madeline Bailey.” A beautiful name. “Tell me about your job at Red Bird’s.”
She blinks several times, eyes darting between my face and the exit. “Like…the drink specials?”
Fuck.This is going to be a long interrogation. “No. The people. Who comes in. Who talks to who. What you overhear.”
Before I get rid of her, I need to extract any and all relevant information from her pretty head.
“I don’t really…I mean, I just serve drinks.” Her fingers fidget in her lap. “I honestly have no idea what you want to know.”
I wave off her excuse, and the sudden movement causes her to flinch. “You notice things. Everyone does. Even without realizing it.”
Her shoulders tense. “I’m not…a spy or anything. I don’t keep track?—”
I slam my hands on the coffee table, rattling the plate. “I know you’re not a fucking spy. Just. Start. Talking.”
The words break a dam inside her. Or maybe she’s just scared shitless.
She clears her throat. “Well, on Thursdays, we get a lot of the finance bros from the River North offices. They always order Moscow Mules but get mad if we put them in copper mugs because of Alzheimer’s, and I always think that’s kind of weirdbecause our grandparents probably drank out of copper for decades and?—”
What the hell is she talking about?
“Fridays are date nights, so lots of couples. Usually first or second dates from the apps. You can always tell because they check their phones when the other one goes to the bathroom.” She pauses for a quick breath while toying with the hem of the maid outfit.
I stare at her, stunned into speechlessness by the torrent of nonsensical babble.
“This honestly isn’t even the worst night I’ve had at work. Once, I had to split a single bar tab eighteen ways because this bachelorette party couldn’t figure out who ordered what, and they wanted individual receipts for each person. But they kept switching seats and drinks, and the bride-to-be threw up in her purse…herpurse…and then tried to rinse it out in our sink, and…”
