Page 3 of King of Sinners

These are not words I usually say to my boss, but the guy has asked me to stay late every night this week and I’ve got the biggest project of my life due at the end of this week. I’ve got to ace this one, graduate, and finally leave Vegas.

The glittering city of lights has a dark side and I’m tired of being under its heel. Well, it’s not Vegas’s heel, really, it’s the Kincaids’s.

I shiver as I remember that night. The one where I realized that I was dating a monster, and his brother, the one I was ridiculously attracted to, was the biggest bad guy of them all.

I push a section of my long brown hair back from my face. I’m the only brunette on staff. At least, I’m the only one that’s still a brunette. I’ve been working here for years and despite not looking like a typical Vegas girl, I make the kind of tips that has paid my rent and the gap in tuition my scholarship doesn’t cover.

“Sorry, Char, but Candy and Destiny called in sick. I’m stuck.” We all have silly names in this place, it helps to keep the customers from tracking us down outside of work. Something I should have remembered two years ago when I told Leo my full name.

Gus scratches at his neck, sweat making the back of his hair wet. He’s got to be pushing fifty and he’s got the extra weight around the middle to show for it.

Not that I dislike Gus. He keeps it professional and he keeps his temper. Both characteristics I really appreciate in a man with power over me.

“Look, Gus, I know I usually take the shifts, but I’ve got to work on the editing for my project and I could use a few more pictures too. All those extra tips won’t mean anything if I have to pay for another semester.” My scholarship ends at the finish of this term, my four years up, and if I don’t pass my visual arts class, I’m doomed.

It’s the class that should be an easy A for me, but my professor has been giving me a really hard time. He’s Kincaid-worthy.

Actually, he’s worse. The Kincaids only threatened my life. My professor? He’s trying to blackmail me into having sex with him. Creep.

I need to get out of this city. Every day I stay is a day closer to the Kincaids deciding I’m a problem they don’t feel like keeping around.

Maybe they’ve forgotten about me? It’s possible. Except, sometimes, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. Maybe I’ve just grown incredibly paranoid, but either way, a change of scenery would do me good.

“I’ll give you tomorrow night off if you’ll stay tonight.” Gus holds his thick hands up in a plea. “I know I can count on you, Char. I’m not trying to screw you over.”

I let out a long breath, looking down at Gus. At five feet eight inches, I’m taller than him by a few inches normally, but he also insists the waitresses wear these ridiculous platforms as part of our uniform, so I tower over him now.

Tugging at my super-short skirt, I sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

But inwardly, I cringe. I have this project planned that’s going to force Professor Burke to pass me. Leaning into my strength, photography, it’s a piece on the gritty beauty of Vegas. The small things that actually make this place beautiful but usually go unseen.

But I need time to get those shots, and finish all the edits, and I’ve had so little of that lately.

With a sigh, I tie my apron back on, and adjust my skintight white top that’s part of our uniform. My boobs have always been bigger than anything else on me, which makes the shirt strain across them. It’s a detail I dislike but I ignore it, just like I do most details in this place.

Or I try…

Moving to the next table, I start taking orders and bringing drinks, the night passing in a blur of alcohol, not that I’m drinking.

I’ve mostly steered clear, other than an occasional glass of wine with dinner. By two in the morning, when we finally close, I’m exhausted and wondering if I ought to change my stance and have a shot of vodka.

I don’t even know how I’m going to drag myself home tonight.

Taking off my platforms, I pull on decent walking shoes, white sneakers, to make the trip faster. Then, I collect up my money and start for my shit apartment. Rebel’s is on the edge of new Las Vegas.

But my place…it’s in the dumps. A tiny studio, at least I get to live alone. I’ve always liked things to be orderly, neat. But after my dad died, my former roommates said I became obsessive. Whether I’m difficult or they’re pigs, it’s much easier to live alone.

I usually stay on the main drag to get home, but it takes longer and I’m just too tired tonight. So cutting down first one alley and then another, I work my way east, eager for the sanctuary of my bed.

I just want to sleep and then I’ll worry about life tomorrow. At least my apron pocket is full of tips. Money I can add to my collection for when I leave this place.

My plan is to go to New York with my best friend, Kim. I know that city has just as many sharks as this place, but first, I won’t have accidentally dated one of them and second, I need to be in a hub of some kind.

My major is marketing, but my passion is photography. Two things that pair rather nicely but only if I can get a job at a marketing firm with a department big enough to create some of its own marketing materials.

I tug at my skirt, which has ridden up at the quick clip I’m currently walking and take the final corner before I reach my street.

Where I stop dead in my tracks.

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