I’m officially alone in the Irish pub.
The silence is deafening.
I take my time wiping down the tables and stacking the chairs, my body moving on autopilot while my brain churns through the same exhausted loops it always does.
Money. Safety. Eva.
…hold on, sis. Just a little while longer.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. If she’s eating enough. If Fedorov is keeping his hands off her, or if?—
Don’t go there. Not right now. Not tonight.
I shove the thought down and focus on the task at hand, scrubbing at a sticky ring of dried beer ’til my arm aches.
When the main floor is clean enough to pass inspection, I flip off the lights and head to the back.
The stockroom is small and cramped, lined with shelves of liquor bottles and cardboard boxes. My cot is wedged in the corner, a thin mattress on a foldable metal frame with a scratchy wool blanket that smells vaguely of dust and old beer.
It’s not much, a discovery I made after my first shiftwhen I threw out the trash and found it in the alleyway outside. But it’s still better than the shelter and a thousand times better than sleeping on the street.
I step into the bathroom and catch my reflection in the grimy mirror. I look like hell—curls matted, glasses smudged, dark circles ringing my eyes worse than any bruises.
No shower ’til the gym opens at six. Just another glamorous night in the life of Jhene Prince.
I change into a pair of sweats and a tank top, brushing my teeth with the travel toothbrush I keep in my bag. The mint toothpaste tastes too sweet, almost sickeningly so, but at least my mouth feels clean again.
I’m about to settle onto the cot when I hear it.
A thud from the main floor. The noise is heavy and distinct in the otherwise silent pub.
I freeze, toothbrush and toothpaste still in hand.
Voices follow. Low, male, speaking a language that instantly chills the blood in my veins.
Russian.
I know who those voices belong to; I know why they’re here after dark, in an Irish pub of all places.
They’ve found me.
THREE
Killian
“Just close my tab, alright?”
The new server pivots on her heel and marches off without so much as a backward glance. Not that I’d expect any better after the piss-poor service she’s given tonight.
Rude little thing.
I’m going to find out from Tom just where she’s come from and what the fuck he was thinking when he hired her on.
I’m still glaring after her when Sean snorts and interrupts my thoughts. I glance back over at him to find him grinning like a fucking idiot.
“I like her. She’s got spirit.”
“She’s got an attitude problem.”
