Page 30 of King of Depravity

With a nod, my night begins.

It’s a fine crowd tonight, nobody grabs my ass, and tips are decent. I’d hoped for better, but this will at least give me food money when I pay my tuition on Monday.

My shift flies by, and a few hours into the night, I get my first chance to take a breath. I lean against the dark corner of the bar, Mike busy filling orders for the waitresses, while serving a group at the bar.

Leaning my head back against the wall for a second, my mind goes to my painting and to Killian.

I started with the colors of the sky, painting him in blues and purples but I’m going to add his body around the stars. It’s not just a painting of the man with his tattoo. For me, somehow, Killian feels like he could be as big as the universe.

A smile curves my lips.

“What are you smiling about, Printsessa?” My eyes fly open to find Alexander standing just a few feet away, the other guy next to him.

I push off the wall but I’m too late and they close in. I try to catch Mike’s eye, but his back is to me as he serves drinks.

Alexander pushes me back against the wall. “You’re not running off this time.” He clamps his hand around my upper arm, coming between me and the bar so my view is blocked. “And there is no Smith to save you.”

“This is the one that Triston’s interested in?” The other guy asks.

“Chloe, meet Preston Wingate. He was engaged to Arabella Kincaid before Gris Smith got in the way. Preston is not a fan of the Smiths.”

I know I’m in trouble as Alexander starts pushing me toward the bathroom hallway. The two of them mostly block me from the crowd and I’m trying to figure out how to break away. “Mike,” I call out, but he doesn’t turn. “Mi?—.”

Preston’s hand comes to my mouth, cutting off my call. They’re pulling me into the hall, and I know this is bad. I have no idea what they’ll do if they get me alone.

With a quick jerk Alexander’s not expecting, or maybe he’s too drunk to correct for, I pull my arm from his grasp.

Then I spin, making a run for the bar.

That’s when Preston grabs my ponytail and yanks. He sends me falling back even as his hand comes down hard against my cheek. I cry out as I fall to the ground, my back smacking into the wooden floor. “Consider that a warning and a favor,” Preston spits. “Stay away from the Smiths or you will pay.”

That’s when Mike appears. “What the fuck?”

“She fell man,” Alexander says with a shrug. “It’s those heels, I think.” Then both of them saunter back toward their table like they’ve done nothing wrong.

It feels like my cheek bone exploded, as Mike crouches down next me. “Did that guy just hit you?” he asks, looking from me to their retreating backs.

“It’s all right,” I say, slowly lowering my hand from my face.

“It’s not all right. We should call the cops?—”

“Don’t,” I shake my head. “I can’t afford to cause trouble.”

He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “You should see your face.”

I curl tighter into myself. “How bad?”

“Bad. You gotta put some ice on that.”

He pulls me up and helps me behind the bar, dropping the scooper into the ice bin, he dumps a pile of ice into a towel and hands it to me.

I set it on my face, and wince at the pain. I turn toward the mirror behind the bar and gape at the sight that greets me. My cheek is already red and swollen.

My boss hustles behind the bar. “What are you doing—holy shit. What happened?”

“I fell,” I say, because this is not something I want to deal with publicly or privately, for that matter. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t keep working here if Alexander is going to come after me every night.

He shakes his head. “I’m going to have to send you home, you can’t be out on the floor like that.”

---