Page 39 of Sinister Promise

These men were criminals that not even the feds cared about.

Whether it was the vampires or the zombies, they were all like roaches creeping out of the walls when the city wasn't looking. The worst of the worst who, despite the shit they did, the lack of value they added to society, just never died.

Even if someone — or liver failure — killed one, another would take their place. And it was my job to make these assholes feel like men, like they had a shot so they would keep giving the club their money and I could keep taking home pennies on the dollar.

I pushed through the door of Velvet Dreams, the weight of exhaustion already dragging at my body. I needed more sleep, but in order to get sleep, I needed a roof over my head, so I needed to work.

The dim interior smelled like cheap perfumes, stale beer, and regret.

I made it two steps inside before my boss, Lou, clocked me, giving me an angry scowl as he lumbered over to me. I was hoping Chad would be in today. Lou was harder to manage.

"You're late," he barked.

"Not now, Lou," I said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. I hated using that voice. It was demeaning, placating this man. Acting like he was doing me a favor made my stomach roll. "I had a really rough night."

He didn't give a shit.

He never did, but by putting on that sweet, almost childlike voice, he wouldn't fire me.

Instead, his beady eyes dropped to the denim shirt I had thrown over my corset, and he gestured toward it like it was insulting him personally. As if I could ride the Metro and the bus across town in my uniform without getting arrested for indecent exposure or solicitation.

"Take that off when your shift starts."

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.

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