Page 1 of Marked
CHAPTER 1
Kendra
I sighed as I stared up at the blinking neon sign. This was a part of the city I never ventured into, but right now I didn’t have much of a choice. Rent was due in a few days, and I didn’t have the money to pay my landlord. Not only that, but I was certain he wasn’t going to take any more of my excuses. He’d said that the last time I was late with rent was the last favor he’d ever give me. That pretty much meant that I was out on my ass if I was late again. My electricity and water bills were already past due, too.
Every other place I’d checked into hadn’t wanted to hire a girl like me. One without a resume or any sort of stable work experience. One who couldn’t get a single positive recommendation from any of my previous bosses because I’d pissed off every last one of them. I wasn’t exactly a delicate fucking flower. Fuck them. They were all assholes anyway.
So, here I was. Standing outside The Salty Dog, watching as the lowlifes of New York City wandered through the filthy door thatseemed to be at least fifty years old. I stared more closely at the entryway, realizing that the bar’s patrons had carved messages into its wooden surface with knives. I looked harder in the fading light, reading all the carved words, and I wondered if any of those people were still alive today. There were notes of love and hate, but by an overwhelming majority, most of them were messages of lust.
I pulled back my shoulders and quickly adjusted my bra, ensuring that my cleavage was on point just in case anyone was interested in looking. Then I pulled the elastic band from my dark brown hair and shook it out, running my fingers through the long, soft strands.
I needed a job.
I’d been a bartender before and knew what they looked for: pretty, young, and available. I’d be whatever they wanted me to be so that I didn’t end up living on the streets of Brooklyn. I needed the money, and I’d do whatever I had to do to get it.
When I was finally ready, I reached for the door, opened it, and walked inside. As soon as I strolled into the bar, I could feel a number of eyes staring at me.
At my tits.
At the way I swayed my hips back and forth.
At the cherry blossom tattoo peeking out from the low neck of my tank top.
Men outnumbered women here by a fairly wide margin, and that was more than obvious with just a single glance. This was a dive bar at its finest, that was for sure. I’d been here a few times before, so it was vaguely familiar. Mainly with past boyfriendsthat hadn’t quite worked out for some reason or other. Most of them had said I had an attitude problem. Others I’d threatened with a knife.
Whatever.
I was just more woman than they had expected. No one could handle me.
I took a seat at the bar and watched the scrawny redheaded bartender scramble back and forth to serve whiskey and beer to the men clamoring at the counter. There was a jukebox in the corner playing some Metallica loud enough to be annoying, but soft enough that the conversations screaming all around me could still be heard. There was a small dance floor stuffed in the corner where the few women who had dared venture into this place were grinding on their picks for the night. Cigar smoke swirled around me, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
Gross.
This was the type of bar where they didn’t follow the rules. Like no smoking in a public establishment.
Or sex.
Cause that was totally happening on top of the pool table right now.
I turned away with a snort. The man next to me cocked his head in my direction, and I could almost feel his eyes on the tops of my breasts. I was wearing a black lacey tank with a rather low-cut sweetheart neckline that made me feel all sorts of sexy, and it had definitely not gone unnoticed the moment I walked in the door. My choice of top had been intentional.
“What brings a pretty little thing like you around these parts?” the man asked, his voice gruff. I sniffed the air, catching a whiff of body odor along with that overwhelmingly fragrant cigar smoke. Classy.
“I’m thirsty,” I answered curtly.
The man wasn’t particularly attractive. His hair was dark blond and stringy, almost as though he hadn’t showered in a week. He smelled like smoke, and when I turned my gaze in his direction, I realized he was the one smoking a cigar. He smiled and revealed a particularly grisly set of yellow crooked teeth. Yeah. A definite catch to bring home to Mom.
I rolled my eyes and looked back at the bartender. He caught my gaze and smirked with a certain sense of arrogant amusement, his stare rolling from me to the man sitting by my side. He chuckled at me, entertained by my misery as I dealt with Smokey the Dirty Bear beside me.
“What are you drinking?” the cigar smoker asked.
“Whiskey. Or bourbon. Not that Fireball shit though. Tastes like ass,” I replied.
My new friend snorted back a laugh and shook his head.
“You’re not like most chicks, are you?” he chuckled.
“Nope. Definitely not,” I answered and leaned back against the chair.
