Page 1 of Servitude to Serpents

Chapter one

To own is to… Take

My open-toe wedges do little to protect my feet from the rain as I make my way down the sidewalk, clenching the handle of my umbrella and hoping I don’t look half as out of place as I feel. I worry that I'm overdressed, or underdressed, considering I took Clara’s advice and wore the sexiest thing I own. It’s not necessarily ideal attire for mid-November, much less in the rain, as I walk down the streets of Hepton City. There’s not a ton here, but enough to have a decent nightlife. Truthfully, it’s a pop-up city crushed between two major highways, the perfect place for those passing through on their way to somewhere better. That’s abundantly clear as I round the corner, staring at the already packed Sour Grape Bar, a place I’ve walked past a trillion times but never had the balls to actually walkinside. I step under the black awning of the building to shake any lingering droplets off my umbrella before heading inside. The warmth of the bar hits me nearly as hard as the glare of the lights. They aren’t particularly bright, just enough to bring water to my bad eye, making the world blur a bit more on that side.

“Birthday girl!” Brady roars from his spot at a large round table filled with people, a mixture of strangers and people from the office. I give him a warm smile before heading over, clutching my bag and coat a smidge tighter. I'm not really a shy person, never have been. My schedule is important to me. I like to know what my day holds, what’s going to happen at noon and six when the day is over. I need the structure like I need air.

It's your birthday. Screw the schedule, Chloe. Live a little.

“Those shoes are so cute! Okay, lose the coat. I need to see the whole fit,” Clara orders, bounding back from the bar, her tight curls wound up on top of her head in a sleek bun. Before I speak, she already has a drink in my hand. I laugh, awkwardly shifting it between my hands as she strips me of my coat. Brady rounds the table along with a few others already drawn in by her. I hand the sweet-smelling drink off to Brady so I can give her a proper spin, showing off the dangerously short, collared peach babydoll dress that has sat in my closet for over two years. She purses her lips, bringing her hand to her chin as she studies me, “It's giving cottage core sugar baby. I’m shocked, Chloe Tyson. I didn’t think you owned anything that wasn’t work-appropriate.” She winks, and I follow it with an exaggerated roll of my eyes.

“Hang on. Let me get my phone out to document this,” Brady chimes in before handing my drink back to me. “It’s your first legal drink. This is a milestone. We’re making core memories, Chloe!”

“Who am I supposed to show my ID to?”

My cheeks heat when laugher comes from the table behind us, Clara and Brady barely suppressing theirs before her hand lands on my shoulder.

“You sweet girl, they don’t card anyone here. Drink up! We’ve got twenty-one years worth of sobriety to undo tonight.”

I frown. “I’ve had a drink before. Kind of.”

“Sure, you have. Stop stalling and drink!”

“Drink, drink, drink, drink!” I stare incredulously at them as the chant from our table spreads, picking up others in the bar. Blush creeping up my throat, I tilt it back, swallowing deeply. It burns like hell, and I damn near hack to deathafterward, but judging by the applause that follows, everyone is pleased. Soon, I'm jerked under Brady’s slender arm. “Maybe pace yourself next time, dork.”

“They said drink. I'm simply giving the people what they want,” I retort with a wink, making his face turn seven shades of red before settling on bright pink. Clara tugs me from him, and I'm already feeling a little more weightless than I was when I got here.

Does alcohol really hit you that fast?

“Me, you, karaoke now,” she states, and I can’t possibly dig my heels in fast enough to stop her from pulling me toward the small, raised platform in the corner of the bar. I laugh it off, hoping the alcohol is enough to mask the tension in my voice. “Hard no. I would, although, like to buy my first drink.Legally. If I don’t get carded, I’ll cry.”

She smirks, changing direction. “It’s your party…”Oh, God, no.“You can cry if you want to.”

“I walked into that one.”

I swear, Clara knows every song that has ever been written, who wrote it and when. She loves music, listens to it constantly, singingconstantly. It annoys half the office to death, but nobody has the heart to say anything. Well, no one but Dr. Abrishon. He’s a kind man deep down, but his bedside manner is pretty awful. Clara has more personality in her pinky finger than he does in his whole body. I smile at myself as she stops just before the long-wrapped bar. “My ultimate goal tonight is to get you trashed enough to sing.”

“Not happening.”

She raises a dark sculpted brow, “HowI,of all people, ended up being friends with a music hater is beyond me.” With that, she turns and resumes tugging me to the bar. I just laugh, but again, she isn’t wrong. I don’tdomusic. It sounds alien to most people, and it is. There was a time in my life when music was everything. I ate, slept, breathed music. It filled every moment of my life, scarred my hands, bled me dry.

Now, it only makes my stomach roll and my chest tighten.

Still, the urge to play is there, to sing along to whatever is playing onthe radio. I constantly catch myself tapping my fingers to a melody in my head. A quick glance at my hands is more than enough of a reminder of why I'm justified in feeling this way. Even if nobody else would understand it, I do, and I most certainlyhatemusic.

“Okay, what do you want?” She asks, edging us into a space at the bar before waving at the bartender.

I just shrug, staring blankly at the bottles on the wooden display behind the bar. “The green one looks cool.”

“What?” She makes a perturbed face. “No. You don’t order the bottle like that; you order a drink made with it. That’s yager, by the way. Ick.”

I bite my lip before shrugging again, racking my brain for drinks I’ve heard ordered on TV as she huffs, smiling brightly at the bartender. “Two mint juleps, please.” He nods, giving her a small wink before heading back down the bar.

“That sounds gross.”

“You’ll love it, or you’ll be too fucked up to care. Either way, it’s a win.” She laughs in that infectious way of hers, and I can’t help but join in. A guy over her shoulder catches my gaze, and I quickly slam my eyes to the countertop, but not nearly quick enough.

“Dude, sick eye. Is that real?”

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