Page 46 of Oliver

A group of guys surround a pool table, taking turns shooting the ball. When one looks up, I avert my gaze, a kernel of awareness slipping down my spine.

A girl, no older than me grinds against a man sitting near the makeshift stage. His head is tipped back with his mouth open on a moan.

Three other girls lean against the wall, surveying the crowd.

Okay, so not a run of the mill restaurant with shitty food and overworked waitresses. I have a feeling I just stepped into a scenario that places me as the hired help and it’s not bussing dishes.

This is confirmed when a skinny fucker with crooked teeth and greedy eyes steps in front of me and says, “How much?”

“No thanks,” I say but he grabs my arm.

“Lookie, so polite and everything. I asked how much.” His hold stings but I hide my flinch.

Behind him, another dude chuckles and to my relief, my captor lets me loose to swing around and say, “Fuck off. Asshole.”

“Who’s the asshole now, Skeeter? You can’t even pay to get a chick to suck your balls.”

The man guffaws and Skeeter bellows, “I ain't got to pay for shit.”

He stalks off and I exhale slowly, glancing toward the door. Although I want answers and badly, pretending to be a fucking prostitute is not part of the plan and once again I wonder what the fuck Dixie was thinking.

While I contemplate my options, a shadow forms over my shoulder. When I look up, it’s to find the scariest dude I’ve ever seen staring at me once again through arctic blue eyes.

Idly, I consider the fact that Hate could give Oliver a run for his money in the soulless fuck department before he grabs my arm and pulls me back the way I came.

Truthfully, I’ve already scanned the crowd. No one here looks like the guy from the picture. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve walked into a den of illegal sex and the sooner I leave the better.

This is why I don’t protest when he shoves me out the door and barks, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Who’s this?”

I look up into the eyes the color of emeralds, and my jaw drops to my knees. Who the hell is this?

“Nothing but trouble,” Hate grumbles. “Take her to the car.”

“Hey,” I protest but I’m ignored.

The beefy dude grabs my arm but pauses when Hate says, “Cyn?”

Sin?

“What?” he grunts, and Hate rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, call McCafferty and tell him to get over here and clean up his mess.”

“Wait! No!” I squeak but Cyn just chuckles.

At the SUV, he opens the door and I stare at a pretty girl sitting inside. She raises her brows and Cyn says, “Scoot over.”

Once I’m inside, he shuts the door and climbs into the front passenger seat. Sitting in the driver's seat is a blue-eyed devil with matching wild blue hair and a devilish smirk.

“What’s going on?” the woman says.

Cyn sighs and pulls out his phone. “Nothing but trouble, I’m betting.”

“My car is right there…,” I start to say but this Cyn guy is already speaking to Diem I presume.

“Yo, your bitch is here,” he grunts and the woman beside me sighs.

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