Page 4 of Devils Cut

As I pulled the shorts up over my hips, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the days when I had nicer clothes, when I wasn't running and hiding, scrambling to survive. But those days were long gone, and there was no point dwelling on the past. I slipped on the T-shirt, its soft fabric giving me some reprieve.

Grabbing the rest of my things, I walked back to the car, so I could head into town for my interview.

I slammed the car door shut, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. My heart pounded in my chest as I took a deep breath, inhaling the now-familiar scent of gasoline and exhaust fumes. This was it; there was no turning back now.

"Shit, what am I getting myself into?" I muttered under my breath as I started the engine. The old beast roared to life, its rumble filling the air around me with a sense of power and urgency. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling the worn leather beneath my fingertips, and glanced at the time – 3:45 pm. I had fifteen minutes to make it to Dirty Devils for my interview with Corvus.

The drive back into town felt like an eternity as dust and gravel kicked up behind me, scattering like the last remnants of my old life. With each mile that passed, anxiety gnawed at my gut, my thoughts racing with unanswered questions.

As I approached the bar, I could see the neon sign flickering above the entrance: "Dirty Devils." The parking lot was crammed with motorcycles, their chrome glinting in the afternoon sun. They looked like hungry beasts, ready to devour anyone who dared to cross their path. I parked my car and took one last swig from my water bottle, trying to quench my dry throat.

"Here we go," I whispered, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind me.

The moment I walked into Dirty Devils, the atmosphere hit me like a punch to the gut. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled beer, while rowdy laughter and drunken shouts filled my ears. It was only four o'clock, but the place was already packed with bikers and locals alike, hunched over their drinks and yelling to be heard over the music.

On a small stage at the back of the bar, a woman with a raspy voice belted out a bluesy tune, her fingers flying across the strings of her battered guitar. Her soulful performance seemed to cast a spell over the audience, drawing them in with its raw emotion and intensity. I felt a sudden pang of envy, wishing for just a moment that I could trade places with her – to lose myself in the music and forget about my troubles.

I spotted Amanda behind the bar, wiping down glasses with an old rag.

"Hey Amanda," I called out over the din. "Corvus rang me for an interview at four. Do you know where I'm meant to go? He didn't give a lot of instructions over the phone."

Amanda's laughter cut through the noise like a knife. "That sounds about right," she sneered. "He's got the worst fucking phone manner. Hold on, I'll go tell him you're here."

She disappeared through a door marked 'Private,' leaving me leaning against the bar with my heart pounding in my chest.

Amanda reappeared through the door, followed by a man who seemed to grow more and more appealing with each step he took toward me. His black hair was styled messy, framing a face adorned with dark-tanned skin and a slight beard. Flecks of grey hinted at his age, but they only served to make him more attractive. He towered over me having to be well over 6 foot tall with wide shoulders that looked like they were made for snuggling into – if you were lucky enough to get that close. The man's body seemed designed to envelop anyone he touched, providing both protection and intimidation in equal measure.

His arms and neck were covered in tattoos. He wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather vest peppered with patches – each one telling a story I could only guess at. My heart hammered against my chest, nearly drowning out the noise of the bar.

"Tempest, right?" he asked, his voice deep and commanding. Although only two words, his tone conveyed authority and power.

"Y-yeah, that's me," I stammered, cursing myself for sounding so weak.

My eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for an escape from my sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. Amanda's laughter cut through the tension as she nudged me with her elbow.

"Come on, girl, pull yourself together," she whispered in my ear. "This is Corvus, the VP. He runs this place."

"Hi... I'm... uh," I managed to stammer out, feeling the heat rising from my cheeks.

"Nice to meet you," Corvus replied smoothly, seemingly unfazed by my earlier awkwardness. His melted chocolate eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. There was something dark and dangerous lurking beneath that handsome exterior, and I couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Alright, follow me," he said, turning away and leading us back down the narrow hallway.

"Good luck," Amanda whispered, giving me a gentle push forward as she slipped away to return to the bar.

I hesitated for a moment, gathering my courage before following him into the dimly lit corridor. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the whispers of doubt and fear that clawed at the edges of my mind.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, his voice authoritative and tinged with impatience.

"Sorry, sir," I mumbled, quickening my pace.

"First rule, Tempest – don't apologise unless you fuck up. And even then, make it count." His words were harsh, but there was something oddly reassuring in their candour. He wanted honesty, not simpering submission.

"Understood," I replied, my voice stronger now.

The dim lighting in the corridor cast eerie shadows on the walls, and I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as we approached the wooden door marked 'Private'.

"Here we are," Corvus said, pushing the door open and gesturing for me to enter. "Ladies first."

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