Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 70263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Michael Boyd. Thirty-nine years old. Convicted sexual assault and rape felon. Multiple drug counts. Two probation violations. Details not being released as of now, but homicide is being looked into.
The picture I currently looked at was the same drunk who’d accosted me in the alley. It was a mug shot, one where he looked just as deranged as he had every time I’d seen him in the diner. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly as memories of that night in the alley played back. With it only being a couple of days since the attack, it was still very fresh, but all my life, I’d learned how to bury those feelings, that fear and anxiousness, the heavy weight that could make you suffocate.
“It’s crazy, right?”
I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to look at Laura, who stood beside me. She was staring at the newspaper, her brows pulled low.
“Crazy?” Was she talking about the fact that it was a murder so close, or because she recognized him? I knew she’d seen him harass me. It was hard to miss when he was loud and obnoxious and didn’t exactly hide that he was an asshole whenever he’d come in.
She tipped her chin toward the paper. “That’s the same asshole who came in here and was a prick to you. I remember what a bastard he was. I can’t say he didn’t get what he deserved.” She pointed to the charges he’d been convicted of.
“Yeah,” I said softly and folded the paper up before shoving it under the counter. I didn't want to look at it anymore. Laura blinked a few times as if pulling herself out of her own thoughts.
“I really hate this fucking city most days.”
I snorted. “Most days?”
She gave me a tight nod. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, okay.”
I laughed softly. I’d only been here a couple of months, and I despised everything Desolation stood for. The only positive thing about this hell was that it helped keep me hidden.
“Anyway,” she said. “Good riddance.”
I couldn’t help but smile warily. I was tired, just really damn tired. I wanted to save up as much as I could so I could move to a better place, a place where I’d reinvent myself, a place where the past wasn’t always chasing me.
But that seemed like such a pipe dream and not at all realistic. The truth was I’d probably be dead before my twenty-fifth birthday, and that was being optimistic.
“So…”
The way she paused made me think she was hesitant to ask me whatever was on her mind.
“Total subject shift, but you want to make a little—easy—extra money?”
My interest was instantly piqued, as if she’d read my mind on needing money to get out of here. But my hesitance had risen instantly. Earning money was never easy.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything illegal, nothing depraved or that goes against your moral compass.” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t forced.
“I’m listening,” I said slowly, cautiously.
“So I waitress at this bar sometimes, and they’re looking for a couple of extra hands.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “It’s that Russian bar called Sdat'sya.” I shrugged, never having heard of it. “They are short-staffed, and it’s basically just serving drinks to a bunch of old, rich, Russian businessmen.”
Old, rich, and businessmen all in the same sentence would always have warning bells going off.
“The tips are incredible, especially the drunker they get,” she teased. “One time I made over five hundred in just a night.”
I would’ve said no right away, simply because a lot of red flags shot up when I thought about going to some obscure bar and serving drinks to old, rich men. But the money aspect had me not declining right away. “So what’s the catch?”
She grimaced. “Sometimes, they can get a little handsy. But they have staff—bouncers, I guess—who have always made sure nothing gets out of hand. Not unless you want to make a little extra money.” She lifted her eyebrows.
Sex for money was what she implied. I slowly shook my head. “I’m not a prostitute, Laura.”
She shook her head. “Neither am I. I’m just saying that's some of the stuff you could see—exchanging of money and… yeah, all that.”
Now it was my turn to grimace at the thought of crusty old men trying to cop a feel or worse, thinking I’d put out.
“I don’t want to pressure you, but I know you need the money just like me.” At my no doubt surprised look, she snorted and shook her head. “Come on, you don’t have to actually tell me you need money for me to know. You live in Desolation. Enough said.”
True enough. Although she’d mentioned at one point the possibility of us living together, I didn’t know what my future held. And with Henry and his thugs no doubt coming after me at some point, I didn’t want Laura thrown in that mix and dragged down.