Page 2 of Cruelly Fated
“Yep.” I darted to the stockroom and gathered six vodkas by their glass necks.
Back in the club, I slipped behind the bartenders and replenished the liquor wall. The shelves’ mirrors reflected the sea of patrons, their facial expressions, clothing, where and howthey sat… It’s been a while since I sketched people. The visual tempted me to paint it later when I got home.
Larry’s leery stare and his slick, raven hair slid into my view. Instinctively, I hunched my shoulders and averted my gaze. I slinked to the back to fetch a couple more bottles, giving myself a chance to rehearse my spiel. He usually avoided this part of the club, perhaps because it was dead here—no patrons to make money off and definitely no glamour.
I balanced two tequilas and a couple of margarita mixes in my arms and whirled around, then slammed the brakes at the sight of Larry leaning in the doorway.
“Oh, hello. I need to—” I gestured with the mixes. “—get these to the bar.” I gulped. He’d sought me out, which was never a good sign. Perhaps the ass-grabbing client had complained, but he couldn’t blame me for the bouncer’s actions, could he?
Larry cleared his throat and straightened, adjusting the collar of his white shirt that peeked from beneath his suit jacket, along with his array of ostentatious gold rings and the thick chain around his neck, all displayed for all to see. He always dressed impeccably, though he could do without the flashy jewelry. In many ways, he seemed to aspire to the image of a Mafia lord, his hair slicked back and shining like a character fromThe Godfather. Perhaps that explained why his personality genuinely repelled me; he gave me that unsettling, crawly feeling.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he drawled.
“Me? Avoiding? No…” I laughed nervously, the sound fading quickly.He noticed. I had to fess up now. I parted my lips, but Larry beat me to it.
“I know you’re nervous,” he said, edging closer and draping an arm over my shoulders. His gaze lingered on my cleavage and denim shorts as we walked. “You’re graduating,” he continued, his piercing gaze finally clashing with my wary one. Like most men, Larry towered at least a foot over me. I didn’t like being leered at, especially from this close, especially by him.
“Yeah, I’m just a bit worried, that’s all,” I said, my mind on my pending application to the art institute—my only chance at a better future.
Larry squeezed my shoulder. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, to ease your mind. Our franchise is expanding, and they’re looking for talented and pretty girls like you.”
“To do what exactly?” I asked, suspicion tinting my voice.
“Entertain, of course. Your mother—may the fae gods bless her resting soul with eternal peace—was the best dancer I ever had. I know you’ve got that talent, too, yeah?”
I winced at the mention of her and froze in place, stunned by his proposal. Unease crawled up my spine. My thoughts scrambled. Should I bring up my AIA application? He had that intensity in his expression, the one that said he wouldn’t tolerate my refusal.
“Oh, uh… You caught me off guard… Can I think it over? My grandpa—”
“Yes, yes, of course. How’s Old Pete?” He interjected, ushering me into the club along with him. I forced my tied tongue to cooperate, my response ready, when he pivoted on his heel and strolled away.What?I scrunched my eyes shut hard, reminding myself this self-absorbed miser had no soul and no genuine interest in others. But if I got lucky, I’d be away from here, Larry, and the district soon.
My shoulders slumped lower. Getting lucky wasn’t my forte. If I didn’t take decisive action soon, I’d live my mother’s life and not my own. She’d wanted me to quit the club and move to the inner city. With AIA on my resume, I could get a lucrative job and move Grandpa too.
I toed dark scuffs on the cheap linoleum floor, lost in my thoughts, when a whistle snapped me out of my daze. Loud music whooshed in and engulfed me at once, as if someone had turned on a faucet. I shook off the dread that slipped through my bones.
A bartender motioned for the liquor in my arms. I rushed behind the bar and threw myself into work, trying to put everything behind me.It’s fine… I’m fine.
My heart knew better, though, and refused to listen. The disastrous convo with Larry looped in my head without mercy. After completing another sweep of the club, I returned to the back room and strolled toward the nearest empty barrel. I lifted the lid, stuck my head inside, and screamed.
Two
KYON
How many guards did it take to escort a prisoner to the visitation center?
I swiveled my head to recount, six guards maintained a tight circle an arm’s length away like a school of sharks circling blood in the water, with another six positioned along the outer perimeter. Twelve in total.
The count depended on the color-coded band each prisoner wore on their arm, the prison’s rainbow of risk.
Greenbands—typically, one leash sufficed. Still, the protocol mandated a backup, so two guards accompanied each green-banded prisoner beyond the high-voltage barriers.
Yellows with their yowling tempers in waiting drew four wardens.
Avari Penitentiary reserved red bands for the most dangerous criminals—those who acted first and asked questions later; their escorts ranged from six to eight guards.
And then there was me, red with a black X across it.
I rolled my eyes. Even with twelve guards, they wouldn’t be able to stop me if they removed the bracelet from my ankle. With the shifter-blocking manacle in place, escaping would be challenging but not impossible if I genuinely desired freedom. But then what? Flee the city and abandon my people?
