Page 159 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

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BELLE

The smell of the damp, musty bar rag makes me feel nauseous. But that’s not exactly unique these days.

I keep telling Elise I’m fine, but I’m not. I haven’t been in weeks.

Standing on my feet for eight or more hours at a time and slinging drinks to people who can barely stay upright on their stools is exhausting in a way I never would have guessed. But it’s a job with a reliable, if measly paycheck. It’s better than nothing. Not by much, though.

A slurred voice from the end of the bar calls for “another one,” and I obey. My first night, I tried to cut a man off after he’d had at least twice as many drinks as he should have, but my boss informed me that wasn’t my call to make.

“We aren’t liable for these people. If they want to drink themselves to death, just make sure they clear their tab first,” Tony said.

Charming one, that Tony. But unlike Roger, he’s never made a move on me. I’m not worried he’ll corner me in the back closet.

My bar for what makes a good boss is so low that Tony could clear it without even picking up his feet.

When I first got back from Iceland, my instinct was to try and reclaim my old life. Maybe I could erase the last couple weeks, go back to the way things were before.

But then I heard Nikolai’s voice in my head.

When you get back to your ‘priorities,’ be sure to give Roger my best.

He was right, obnoxiously enough: I couldn’t go back to work for Roger. Getting tangled up with an engaged man and fooling myself into believing he could want me was pathetic enough. I had to at least find a job where the boss hadn’t tried to assault me.

So I slipped into my teeniest pair of denim cutoff shorts and assured Tony that I could increase business, bring in more male clientele, blah blah blah. He couldn’t have cared less about that, though. It took me about four seconds into my first shift before I figured out why.

Tony’s Watering Holeis for the drunks who have been banned from every other bar. The people sitting across from me aren’t motivated by tiny shorts or flirting; they’re motivated by endless drinks and no questions. The best thing I can say about Tony’s is that it’s quiet.

Which is why I look up the instant the bell above the door rings.

And when I see the familiar figure standing under the dimming neons, my heart stops.

“Long time, no see,” Roger says, ambling over to the bar with a Cheshire cat smile.

Suddenly, eighteen inches of solid wood bar between me and the patrons isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

“What are you doing here?” I croak.

“Getting a drink. Think you could help me out with that? That’s what you do now, right?”

I clench my jaw. I could try to kick him out, but Tony would be pissed. Unless someone is tearing up the bar or refusing to pay, Tony doesn’t kick anyone out. “It’s bad for business,” he always says.

“What will it be?” I grit out.

“Dealer’s choice.” Roger grins mischievously. “You’re the professional. Did you go through training for this? Do they teach you to spin the bottles without spilling?’

I pour him a flat, foamy beer and slide it across the sticky bar top. “No.”

He’s so busy staring at me that he doesn’t even touch his drink. “You should have had your new boss call me. I could’ve given him a recommendation. Glowing, of course.”

Roger is loving my fall from grace. I want to shatter a glass over his head. The last time I saw him, he was unconscious on the floor of Zhukova Incorporated.

I preferred him that way.

“Or maybe I would have told him to choose another applicant,” he hisses. “Someone who isn’t such a tease. If you’re gonna hire a girl for her tits, she better be willing to put out.”

The grizzled man at the end of the bar calls for another round, but I can’t take my eyes off of Roger. Turning my back on him feels like turning my back on a wild animal. He’s unpredictable. I have to stay focused.

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