“You okay?” Bexley asks, stepping up next to me just as a drunk man snaps his fingers at her, telling her to make his drink. She flips him off and turns, giving me her full attention.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just Chase being Chase.” I shrug, knowing there isn’t anything I can do right now.
“My offer still stands, Brielle. You’re always welcome at my apartment. It’s small, but there’s more than enough room.” Fuck, she’s amazing—but that’s the exact reason I could never live with her.
I won’t make her take on the burden of me as a roommate. I start to refuse her offer, but she places her finger over my mouth, silencing me.
“Don’t say anything. Just know the offer is there if you ever need somewhere safe to go.” She doesn’t let me get a single word out before turning and arguing with the drunk man who’s mad he had to wait.
A few minutes later, Susie and the biker exit her office. They go their separate ways, but before he gets too far, his eyes lock on mine as if he sensed me staring. A smirk takes over his face as he looks me up and down.
Gross.
“Hey.” Susie’s voice forces my focus from the creepy biker to her. “I need to leave now. It’ll only be for an hour or so.” She glances down at her watch. “Can you guys hold down the fort while I’m away?” Grabbing her coat from the hook behind the bar, she doesn’t wait for a reply before she rounds the counter.
“Yeah, we got it!” Bexley sends her a smile, and Susie nods.
“Oh, can one of you run the trash out in the back? I was going to, but I didn’t realize the time. It’s starting to overflow.”
“I got it, boss,” I tell her, knowing the cool air might help me collect myself after the shit with Chase and Morgan.
Susie leaves, and it’s only Bexley and me now.
“Okay, I’m going to run out to the dumpsters before we get another wave of drunk assholes,” I announce, and Bexley gives me a thumbs up over her shoulder.
I make my rounds to each trash can and tie the bags before I push through the double doors into the kitchen. I head straight for the back door that opens to the alley. The freezing air hits me in the face, and for the first time tonight, it’s like I can breathe a little easier.
I grip the bags and walk to the dumpsters before placing them down to hoist the lid open, which is harder when you arebarely five feet tall. Gripping the trash bag, I hike it up and manage to get it in the dumpster on the first try. I drop the lid closed, dust my hands off on my jeans, and turn.
Instead of getting a few minutes to myself, I’m met with a man towering over me. His face is hidden by a mask, concealing all his features.
He grabs my arms, and I do everything in my power to rip free. I swing at him, my fist slamming into his stomach, but it’s like I’m hitting a brick wall.
He laughs.
Fuck. What the hell is going on?
He slips up for only a moment, but it’s enough to dodge his next grab attempt on my wrists. But as I step back and try to run, something slams into my head. The last thing I see is the blinking exit sign above the back door of The Whiskey, and then everything goes dark.
6
EMRIS
Once we’re back outside,my eyes track over the full parking lot—rows and rows of cars taking up every inch. This fucking hole in the wall brings in way more business than I assumed it would. It looks like it’s barely standing. The paint on the outside is peeling, and a single letter from the sign hangs down, making the bar called The Whisk instead of The Whiskey.
What a stupid fucking name.
Carson is silent next to me as we get back in the van to wait for Susie to make an appearance. I didn’t even want to take on this job, but Carson said it would be fun.
Fucking fun?
I don’t mind doing these jobs. I enjoy them, actually, but my favorite part is when I get people talking. I just hate everything that leads to it—the sneaking around, making sure no one sees, and the countless other shit that could go wrong. One wrong move on our part and someone will die. Again, I’m fine with a little—or a lot—of murder, but I like to have time to plan out who and how I’m going to take someone out. Not having a cleanup crew or a way to take care of a body is a fucking pain in the ass, so I try to avoid it at all costs.
The back door to the bar swings open, and out comes the person we need. It’s dark, only a dim light coming from the exit sign, but it’s enough. Carson rubs his hands together before he pulls the mask down over his face.
“I got this one. You stay here and keep watch over the parking lot,” he says, pushing open the door and leaving it cracked to avoid gaining her attention.
“Don’t fuck around, Carson. I want to get this shit over with already,” I tell him as I grip the steering wheel, but he only flips me off.
