Page 54 of Faithless
“Will a pre-Collapse single-malt do?” I asked, showing her the bottle.
Her eyes, an unnaturally bright turquoise from the colored contacts she wore, widened. “I don’t think I’ve ever drank anything pre-Collapse before.”
I kept the surprise off my face. The Blakeworth elite loved their relics from before the Collapse. They hoarded aged wine and spirits from that time like it was gold. “It’s extremely difficult to find these days, but we have more whiskeys if this one isn’t to your liking.”
I poured a small taste into one of the glasses, but the woman waved her hand at me to continue. “I’ll take a full pour, I’m sure it’s excellent.”
I obeyed silently, pouring myself slightly less alcohol than her. If she was nervous, she’d want the edge taken off. And I couldn’t allow myself to drink much and risk running into performance issues. Curiosity or not, I was here to get a job done.
Instead of swiping the drink out of my hand like I was a waiter, the guest held my gaze and kept her drink level with mine. “Cheers,” she said softly, toasting me as she had during the fight.
It was getting harder and harder to keep the surprise out of my expression. Already, this woman was treating me closer to an equal than a body hired to do a service.
“Cheers,” I returned, touching my glass to hers.
She held my gaze as we took our first sip, but I broke eye contact to sit on the loveseat next to her. We were close, but still far enough for me to not crowd her if she was nervous.
“Are you enjoying your stay here?” I set my drink on the side table and turned to give her my full attention. The guests loved talking about themselves like they were on a date with someone who actually gave a shit, actually wanted to fuck them. I knew how to fake it well enough, but with this woman, I was genuinely curious to hear what would come out of her mouth.
“Yes. I am, thank you.”
Bad liar,I thought, my curiosity piqued to a new level. The words were stilted, forced out after a moment of hesitation and a tight smile. She took another drink, and I wondered how many whiskeys she’d need before those pretty lips started spilling truths.
“What has been your favorite part of the resort so far?” I leaned back against the arm of the loveseat, putting on an air of being open and relaxed.
Her eyes sharpened, and I wondered what their natural color was. “Watching you fight.”
I smiled wider. It wasn’t an especially unique answer, but she was telling the truth. And when she said it, I wanted to gloat and beat my chest. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”
“You’re very precise with those machetes, and your technique is incredible. I know they call you the Butcher, but the way you fight is so much more than a messy hack-and-slash job.” She took another sip of her drink. “Did you fight before becoming a gladiator?”
“Um…” I rubbed my chin, stalling with an awkward laugh to cover up my surprise. Blakeworth elites didn’t know shit about fighting, aside from its entertainment value. They loved the blood I spilled and how brutally I cut up my opponents, not my technique. Who the fuck was this woman? “I was a mercenary in a past life,” I admitted, figuring the truth was the easiest.
“Really?” Her head tilted, a golden, wavy strand falling across her forehead. “Who hires mercenaries these days?”
“Crime syndicates, usually the ones wanting to take over territories. But I haven’t been in that game for about six years, so who knows if any of them are in business anymore.”
“You ever work for any motorcycle clubs?”
“Nah. Bikers tend to run pretty tight ships. They’re big on loyalty among members and don’t usually hire outside help.” I picked up my drink again, if only to keep my hands occupied. “You ask a lot of interesting questions.”
It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. We were supposed to be agreeable with the guests, to stroke their fragile egos and make them feel even more important than they already believed they were. It was frowned upon to give direct statements that may put them on the spot or make them uncomfortable. If someone got offended and complained to staff, I’d have one hell of a beating to look forward to.
But this woman was unlike anyone who had requested my services before. And to my relief, she didn’t seem offended.
“I’m just curious, I guess.” She smiled again, taking another sip of whiskey like she drank it all the time. She never even coughed or made a face at the taste. “I haven’t left home much, so it all sounds very adventurous.”
“Where are you from?” I scooted closer to her, sensing that she was becoming more comfortable, and felt pleased that she didn’t pull away.
Her lips pursed, and she made a soft exhalation like she was about to say an F sound, but then she quickly changed her mind. “F—Blakeworth.”
I didn’t hide my smile or my skeptical look as I allowed myself another small sip from my drink. “You have secrets. I understand and respect that.” I stood firmly in forbidden conversation territory now but was enjoying myself too much to care about the consequences. This wasn’t the usual tired, rehearsed small talk before getting down to business. This was a real conversation, something I experienced so rarely.
“Just know that anything you tell me is confidential,” I said. “The privacy of our guests is of utmost importance.” Okay, that was a rehearsed line, but with her, I actually wanted to know. Of all the drunken and drugged-out confessions I’d heard before, the basic details of this woman’s life were the ones that I wanted to collect and hoard. What was her name and the real color of her eyes? Where was she really from? Was that man actually her husband?
“Really?” Her eyebrows went up in surprise. “You’re not mandated to report anything to the staff?”
Another interesting question that I filed away. “Intimate details about our guests, no.”
