Page 51 of Veil of Death and Shadow

I felt his gaze on me, like lasers burning holes, even though I refused to look at him. My brain went all loopy every time I did.

Was I breathing too loud? I counted the seconds between each breath that I took, trying to even it out, though I suddenly wasn’t sure how to judge a normal break between inhales. Could he hear the absurdly loud beat of my heart as it drummed against my ribs?

I pressed each of my nails, one by one, into the tip of my thumb, counting to four over and over again, relying on the brief flares of pain to center me.

When I swung open the heavy, wooden door, Chase’s hawkish gaze tracked me instantly—a predator homing in on his favorite prey. There was a grin hidden in the creases of his eyes, not because he was happy to see me, but because he was pleased he’d have a chance to scold me for being two minutes late.

He tossed the bar rag on the table he’d been pretending to clean, then closed the distance between us in three wide steps. “You’re?—”

“Late.” I swallowed back my annoyance, offering a sheepish grin instead, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t get your prep work done, does it?” He grunted, his nose curling. It was a more malicious version of one of his father’s tics. “My father might bend over backwards for your excuses, or whenever you bat your eyelashes, but I won’t.”

Never mind that I was doing Chase a favor today. I wasn’t even supposed to work this shift. I got called in because Rick was sick, though judging by the loud music on the other end of the line, he was actually just at a party he didn’t feel like bailing from.

“He took a chance on you,” Chase continued, hitting a stride in his righteous fury. “Always had a soft spot for charity cases. And you—what do you do? You continuously take advantage of his kindness.” That cut like a blade through my gut, and try as I did to hide the sting, the gleam in Chase’s eyes confirmed he was more than aware that his blow had landed. But he wasn’t done. “He might pity you, but I won’t have someone fuck up this business—my grandfather built it ground up, you know? You’re not worth the trouble, not if this insubordination keeps up. Your lateness affects us all, Mareena?—”

“I’m two minutes late,” I snapped, then took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to lash him right back. It would be so easy to point out how everyone who worked here hated him, how the back of house always used shifts with Chase as punishment for whoever lost the biggest bet that week, or how in the quiet of closing, after a particularly busy rush, his own father would often confide in me about how frustrated he was with his son, about how entitled he was, how he wasn’t ready to take over the business. Instead, I dug my pointer fingernail into the flesh of my thumb and swallowed the words back like bile. “I’m sorry, Chase. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

Three hours. Not even a full shift. I just needed to get through three hours without killing him, and then I could go home.

“Your word is only worth as much as you live up to it, Mareena.” Something about the way he said my name—stretching it out on his tongue—always made me want to snarl. He arched a brow, eyes pinning me like I was a frog he was eager to dissect. “Two minutes or not, I’ll be noting this on the record, and I’ll be sure to have a word with my father about it next time I see him.”

I had no doubt that he would.

I bit my tongue, nodding as I pulled my apron belt from my bag. The dining room was empty. We still had an hour before the dinner rush even started—and it was Monday, our slowest night. Most bars in the area took the day off.

Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I jumped.

One anxiety bled into another until I’d momentarily forgotten about the icy stranger at my back.

Heat crawled up my neck as I realized he’d witnessed all of that.

Well, this guy had been a bit of a dick as well. He and Chase would have a lot to bond over.

I shot him a tight grin, though I couldn’t muster any true kindness behind it.

“Well, welcome to Mac’s,” I said, gesturing absently at the empty room as I tied the apron around my waist, tugging the strings a little too tight. “You can grab whichever seat you want at the bar and Chase will fix you a drink. Legally.”

Though truth be told, I wouldn’t complain if he got Chase in trouble with the city. Of course, then, that would fuck with his dad—who I actually really liked—and my job—which I very much needed. Especially now that a pricier apartment was on the horizon.

“Not in your section?” the stranger asked.

“I’m eighteen. I don’t work the bar.”

Until I was twenty-one, I was technically not allowed to serve drinks. I just ferried them to my tables whenever my customers ordered. And since Chase was on tonight, that meant I’d get most of my drinks about ten minutes slower than if anyone else was working behind the bar. Half because he was a shitty bartender, and half because he was a smarmy dickhole who took advantage of the fact that my tips were negatively affected by his slow and mediocre service.

I fished absently in the wide apron pockets, searching for a pen.

Empty.

Of-fucking-course. Why were my pens always disappearing? I swore it was magic. Didn’t matter if I had five in my pocket or fifty—one way or another, I always ended up with exactly none by the end of a shift.

Chase glared at me, nodding his head towards the man, like I was the rude one in this situation.

I sighed, flattening out the wrinkles in my apron. I wasn’t even clocked in yet but leave it to Chase to refuse doing even the bare minimum of his job.

With a deep, grounding breath, I forced my temper down.

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