Page 6 of Filthy Hot

This is as small and obscure as I’ve ever seen. Rolling my window up, I decide this is what it is, whatever that could be. I said I would stop when my car did, so this is where I am meant to be for now.

Grabbing my purse from the floorboard of the passenger seat, I push the door open and unfold from the seat, then open the back door to reach for my only bag—a weekender duffel.

Throwing it over my shoulder, I start to walk toward the town. I don’t even know if it has a downtown or anything. I’m completely out of my territory here, but it’s not the first time I’ve been a stranger in a strange place.

Sucking in a breath, I walk down the side of the road. It’s a rural highway, without much space for my feet, not without walking in the dirt, which is more like mud. I can almost smell the rain in the air, but with the heat, I’m going to assume it’s just humidity from a recent storm.

I walk for a few miles before I see a building. It’s sitting by itself, with a dirt parking lot, which is packed full. Then, as my gaze travels to the top of the building, I notice it has a name.

A flashing neon sign boasts:Sal’s Bar.

Making my way toward the front door, I reach for the handle and tug it open. I’m smacked in the face with a wall of smoke. Wow. I didn’t realize you could smoke in bars anymore. It should offend me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it reminds me of my grandfather.

I loved my grandfather.

My world would have been a whole lot different had he not passed away when I was only twelve. My parents might have been absolute trash, but my grandfather was amazing in every way a man could be.

He raised me. He was my mother and my father most times, too. When he was gone, my world fell apart, and then my world became a tragic story of trauma. Packed on top of more trauma, and then just for fun, a little more sprinkled in.

The music in the bar is loud, and thankfully, it keeps my mind from dipping further into itself. I have to stay alert and be on my toes. I have no idea where I am, and at the same time, I have no idea when Xavier is going to appear. Because I have no doubt he will appear.

Walking straight up to the bar, I take a seat, not paying attention to anyone else around me. Turning my head, I watch as an older gentleman makes his way toward me. He’s got to be at least sixty, maybe seventy, wearing a kind smile on his face.

“Get you somethin’, sweetheart?” he asks.

I think about just asking for water, but then I decide I need something else. I’m still shaky from running and the car breaking down. I need something to calm my nerves. Relax me just a little bit.

“I’ll take a glass of red wine.”

His eyes widen, but he shakes his head once. “Typically, I do not serve it,” he says.

I open my mouth to order a beer instead, but he lifts his hand, his palm facing me as if he knows exactly what I’m about to say. “But for you, a pretty girl, you can have some of my special reserve.”

He bends slightly and brings out a bottle of wine. “But you’ll have to be okay drinking it in a lowball. Got nothing else.”

I smile, thank him, and watch as he pours the glass for me. “I’ve never seen you in town before,” he grunts.

I like his rough edges and his kind smile. I’ve been around enough people in my life to know who is bad and who is good. At least, I do now. Not many of them have been about to pull one past me.

“I’m new and looking for work, if you know of anywhere—for cash.”

CHAPTER

THREE

KYLE

The manbehind the bar introduces himself as Sal. He is, indeed, Sal of Sal’s Bar. I love it. There’s something to be said for small towns, and while I’ve never been immersed in one, I hope that this one lives up to the hype.

He watches me, tilting his head to the side, his eyes taking me in, and then he jerks his chin as if he’s made some kind of decision. He’s animated in his own way, and I’m here for it. I also can’t help but smile as I look at him.

“You come in here tomorrow at noon. I’ll get you all trained up, and you can work the floor. I always need the help, and my best waitresses usually leave for more… lucrative positions,” he says.

I don’t ask him what that means. I’ve also been through enough in my life to know that you don’t ask questions when someone is being specifically ominous. They’re doing it for a reason, and that reason is none of my damn business.

Sinking my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, I think about the offer. It sounds too good to be true, honestly. But Iknow how to do the work, it’s comfortable, and it will keep me busy.

“Most of the bars around here have closed. Downtown used to be seedy bars, but that area’s been cleaned up. I’m the biggest, busiest place around until you get to the town of about a hundred thousand people, and that town is twenty miles away.”

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