Page 26 of Made in Malice

“I really need to finish up. You can leave my key on the table if you don’t mind.” I look down at my computer, dismissing him, but I can still sense his presence in the room almost as keenly as if I were still watching him.

“Well, I do fucking mind,” he says without an ounce of shame.

I lift my eyes, but not my face, and track his movement until he’s standing a few feet in front of me. I give him my attention because it’s clear he has something more to say. “You don’t belong here.”

Ouch. I make sure to keep my features masked so he doesn’t see how his words make me feel.

“That’s not really up to you, is it?”

He takes a menacing step forward, and I actually lean back because I’m not exactly sure what he’s about to do. Something in my expression must show my thoughts, because he stops mid-step and eases back a pace or two.

“You need to leave.” I reach for my phone lying on the table next to my laptop without taking my eyes off him.

Alden looks up at the ceiling and lets out an exasperated laugh as he shakes his head. “You are infuriating.”

I get to my feet, still clutching my phone, and sidestep until I can get behind the couch. Instead of arguing with him, I keep my mouth shut, since everything I say seems to irritate him, and now is not the time to prove a point.

“Do yourself a favor. Get off this island and never look back,” Alden says before pivoting and storming out of the room. I take a step toward the door to lock it behind him, but there’s no point. He could get right back in.

I debate heading to the bedroom, since he said no one had a key to it, but I’m not even sure I could believe him at this point. I don’t know what his problem is. Maybe getting him taken off escort duty got him in trouble, because I swear every time we speak, he gets more hostile with me, and I’m tired of being on alert every second of the day.

I drop back on the couch and finalize my selections, then slam the top of my computer closed. My first class is a little after nine tomorrow morning, and I have the perfect excuse to get out of this house and off this island.

I know I’m breaking my word when I slip past the guard shack at the end of the bridge to get to the mainland. Rory’s request about letting him know if I plan to go to the mainland echoes in my head, but I ignore it. I need some space from this island and a few necessities.

The small town is busy for a weeknight. Most of the restaurants have full parking lots, and the streets are teeming with people walking. It doesn’t take me long to find a Walmart, but it does take me forever to walk to the doors since I parked way at the back of the lot so I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone scratching up the side of the car with a cart.

Walking through the large doors gives me a sense of familiarity that I’ve sorely been missing. I know what to expect here. The stores are laid out almost the same, and I can find the same stuff I would at home.

My cart has more notebooks, pencils, and pens than I’ll probably need for the next year, but I did wander up and down the stationary aisles three or four times, trying to kill time. Before leaving, I head to the back of the store and find a portable door lock. The video I watched after scanning the package seems pretty convincing, and it’s easier than changing the locks or screwing it into the molding.

Still not ready to head back, I take a drive along the coast. I get stopped at one of the lights and can’t help but notice the packed bar and grill with a large “help wanted” sign hanging in the window. At the last minute, I decide to find the nearest parking spot and head in to ask for an application. I’m not ready to commit to full-time work with school, but surely I could do some evenings and weekends, which means less time where I’m reminded just how much I don’t fit in on the island.

The place is on the small side, but the wide open doors leading to a huge deck with more seating on the other side of the bar and an amazing view of the ocean make up for it.

The hostess gives me a quick once-over and a practiced smile before saying, “How many?”

“I was actually hoping to get an application.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t want to tell anyone else there’s an hour wait.” She sighs with relief. “Head over to the bar and ask for Mickey.” She points toward the right.

I make my way through the bar, shimmying past people gathered at tables too small for their party size, but everyone is all smiles. I can only guess, but I think it has something to do with the view and atmosphere.

I end up leaning over the end of the scarred wooden counter to get the bartender’s attention. “Just because you’re pretty don’t mean I can get to you sooner,” the salt-and-pepper-haired man drawls thickly.

I smile at the compliment, knowing it’s just flattery, and raise my voice to be heard over the crowd. “I’m looking for Mickey.”

“Well, you found me, darlin’. What can I do for you?” He gives me his full attention but still pours a shot into a short glass without spilling a drop.

“I was hoping to get an application.”

His slightly bushy brows rise higher than I would have thought possible. “Got any experience?”

“I’ve been a server for a few years.”

“When can ya start?”

“I’m going to school, so I can do a few evenings and weekends,” I warn before he begins assuming.

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