Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I gritted my teeth, then plastered the fake smile on my face.
"You got it, boss."
"I mean it, Alina," Lou said, narrowing his eyes at me.
My sugary sweet act must not have been as convincing as it usually was.
"Don't make me tell you again. Our guests like to see some tit from the girls serving their beer. If you don't give them what they want, they will go somewhere else, and you are out of a job."
Guests.
The way he said it—like the drunken degenerates and washed-up losers who came here at noon were some kind of elevated clientele—made me want to roll my eyes.
Lou knew exactly the kind of men who came in here, he counted on it. Especially since today was two-for-one-on-the-first-round Wednesday. He wanted everything perfect. As if these degenerates would ever spend their dollar bills anywhere else.
Still, I really needed this job right now.
So I plastered on my fake smile. "Sure thing, boss man. I'll keep them happy."
I bit down on my frustration and turned toward the bar, setting up everything for the oncoming rush. Every muscle in my body was wound tight with nerves, and no matter how hard I tried to put it out of my mind, I was sure I was going to flinch every single time someone came into the place.
Was someone coming for me?
What would happen if Pavel found me?
Would he find me?
Could he find me?
The thought made me nauseous, and I had to constantly remind myself that he did not have my address. Yet. He only had my name. There should have been no way that he could find me.
Just like the FBI, there was no way that a man like that would even think of looking in a place like this.
Still, once we opened, every single time the door opened I would be looking up, expecting to see him.
My skin crawled, my stomach twisted, and bile burned at the back of my throat. That I could understand. I could live with terror.
What I couldn't live with was what was underneath it.
Under that terror, something worse lurked.
A dark, shameful heat.
I shoved it away time and time again, burying myself in prep work, scraping the mold off of the fruit garnishes, rinsing the glasses and polishing them enough to look clean, watering down the fresh bottles of liquor for the few well drinks our patrons ordered, and even switching out the kegs under the bar.
I kept myself distracted, busy so I wouldn't think about that dark forbidden heat that burned in my core every time I thought about Pavel walking in.
Part of me wanted him to come in and take me from this hell.
Common sense told me that if he came in here to find me, it wouldn't be to save me.
It would be to kill me. But then why did my stomach drop at the thought he wouldn’t come at all?
Ignoring everything, I lost myself in the tediousness of preparing for my job.
"Alina," Lou called, venom dripping from his voice. I looked over and he tapped his watch. It was just a few seconds till noon.
I nodded and with a deep breath, I slipped my denim overshirt off and tucked it away under the bar.
The cheap satin corset was a size too small, which was intentional to make my tits almost spill out. The ribbon lacing had broken a few weeks into working here, and Lou not only refused to fix it, but docked my pay.
A shoelace was in its place. The rest of my uniform consisted of black shorts that did not cover my ass and fishnet thigh highs with non-slip strips that were holding on for dear life. Soon they would have to be replaced, or I would have to figure out how to adhere more of that non-slip rubber myself. Would hot glue work?
I fluffed up my hair and adjusted my corset to push my tits up even further, and Lou gave me a single nod of what I was sure he considered approval. Then he opened the door, and the first wave of creeps stumbled in.
The usual hollow-eyed zombies had a bit of a pep in their step today, knowing that they could get two beers instead of their usual one. Most of them were already half drunk and their fingers twitched on the bar top as they watched me move.
I focused on my work, filling beers, sending lunch orders that consisted of little more than grilled cheese and fries back to the kitchen. I ignored the pangs of hunger in my stomach, the last echoes of my hangover throbbing in my temples, and the fear that made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.
I poured beer after beer, delivered greasy fries, and avoided grabby hands as I stared at the clock like it was a countdown to freedom.