Page 4 of Pray for the Damned

When the woman at the soup kitchen I frequent offered to get me a trial at this place, I thought she was joking. But her eyes were genuine, and although I’ve always struggled to trust people, I found myself doing just that.

And hell, what could she possibly gain from giving a poor woman a chance?

I slow to a walk and try to get my erratic breathing under control. Fuck. When was the last time I ran? Actually, have I ever?

I’m sweaty and disgusting as I stop just short of the building that I know holds the illustrious adult club, taking a second to gather myself.

I need this job.

The diner doesn’t pay enough to make ends meet, and the regulars that frequent certainly don’t tip well. But in a place like this, I could finally make enough to buy my own food instead of relying on the one meal I get from the diner during my shifts and the soup kitchen. I could maybe even move to a safer neighborhood.

I shake the thought from my mind. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m allowing hope to creep in when I know better thanthat. I know that this probably won’t work out, because nothing ever does.

Taking a deep breath, I move toward the hulking security guard standing beside the door. His presence is intimidating as hell, and I swallow heavily, shoving back my fear.

When you’ve spent your whole life alone as a five-foot-nothing woman, you know better than to underestimate any man, but especially ones that could overpower you without even breaking a sweat.

“Hi,” I choke out the greeting and internally cringe, but he doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness, or maybe he’s just polite enough not to show it.

“You Waverly?” he grunts, his eyes flicking to the darkening street behind me.

I nod, my words caught in my throat. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe I should just stick with the diner and the cash jobs I’ve been barely surviving on.

“I’m Brodie,” he tells me, his dark eyes settling on me for the first time since I walked up. “I’m the head of security. If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know.”

“Okay,” I squeak.

He gives me one last appraising look before he opens the door for me. “Head to the front bar and let them know who you are. Wyatt is on his way down.”

“Wyatt?”

“One of the owners.”

I nod my understanding, but my chest constricts. When the woman at the soup kitchen told me about the position, she mentioned her husband owned the place, but I didn’t realize he’d be the one I’d be meeting tonight.

“Thank you,” I say quietly as I slip past him and into the air-conditioned front bar, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool air moves over my overheated skin.

Now that I’ve stopped, my legs are weak from the run, and I’m beginning to question my own decision-making skills.

You’d think after so many years on my own, on the run, that I’d be able to trust my instincts. But there have been too many times I’ve been wrong for me to ever trust them above all reason.

It takes too long to realize I’m standing just inside the entrance with every set of eyes on the front bar staring at me, and my stomach clenches under their attention. Fuck. This is a bad idea.

The thing about the diner is that no one of note is ever going to stumble into the place for a cup of shitty coffee and a meal that will clog their arteries. The likelihood of me being discovered there is so low I’ve allowed myself to let my guard down.

But here? In the exclusive adults-only club with a clientele that pay top dollar to play out their wildest fantasies, there’s every possibility someone could recognize me.

I’m about to turn on my heel when I notice a man approaching me. His dirty blond hair is pushed back messily, and his button-down shirt sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, uncovering his tattooed forearms.

The smile he wears is easy and non-threatening, but I don’t trust him.

I don’t trust anyone.

“Waverly?” he asks, stopping a few feet in front of me.

I nod, unable to find my voice as my mind wars with the rest of my body. I need the money, but I also have to stay off the radar, and that’s going to be really fucking hard in a place like this.

“Perfect. We’re so excited to have you here! I’m Wyatt,” he beams, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine emotion. “Leighton said you have experience behind a bar?”

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