Page 5 of Corrupt Shadows

I grab my phone from the mess of clothes. It’s almost ten. “Let’s go,” I say. “We’ll be late to work.”

I lift my high-waisted black jeans up and fasten the three silver buttons. Then, I pull on my lace T-shirt, which cinches in at the waist, causing it to hug my wide hips. The sleeves are see-through, but the lace obscures the rose tattoos enough. I can’t have anyone see them, but it’s becoming hard to cover them, considering how much they’ve spread over the years. Purple roses, skulls, and leaves travel up both of my arms and my thighs, and there’s one growing at the base of my spine.

I grab my purse, and Jay drapes his arm around my shoulders. The halls echo as we navigate the dark corridors, winding around discarded, rusty medical equipment. The walls are stained in splatters of browns, blacks, and crimson. Spiders dangle from webs that glisten when Jay shines his phone’s flashlight toward the ceiling, and we are greeted by the creaking of the wrought-iron gates in the wind as we reach the front doors and step outside.

I pull out my pack of cigarettes and pull one between my middle and index finger.

Jay makes a face, unhooking his arm from around me. “You had one before we got inside. It’s not attractive.”

I shrug, then light it and breathe in the first, satisfying inhale of smoke. I hold it in my lungs for a few seconds, then blow out the smooth, long exhale of smoke away from Jay. “It’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck. Anyway, smoking after sex is the best thing ever.” I know it’s bad for me, but I don’t really care. I’ll stop eventually, but for now, it’s too damn enjoyable.

***

Jay and I barely manage to clock in on time at the diner when Rosa walks in. Her thick, painted lips curve into a smirk when she sees me. I attempt to flatten my stray dark-brown strands but ultimately give up and tie my hair back into a ponytail. It reaches down to the bottom of my back. I really need a haircut. It’s been what… two—no, three years.

Rosa places a hand on her hip, her bright-pink nails matching the ombre of her hair. “Don’t tell me. You were at the asylum?”

I tie my apron around my waist and step out behind the counter separating the kitchen and the tables. My apron is black, like everything else in my closet, except for the logo. I rub my fingers atop the material. “The Ugly Pancake” reads at the top, with a cartoon stack of pancakes that has a face on it. I can’t believe I’ve been working here for four years. What started as a temporary job has somehow become my livelihood. “I didn’t know you were coming by tonight.”

“I wasn’t.” She arches a dark-brown brow, matching her expressive eyes. “I stopped by your apartment and saw you weren’t home. There are only two places you go. Here and that asylum, but I didn’t expect you to be working again.”

I head for the coffee machine behind the register, and Rosa plops herself on a stool behind the counter. She doesn’t get why I like the graveyard shift. Granted, a few of the people we get in at this time of night I’d give a wide berth to in the daytime, but at least it’s slow and quiet.

Jay clears a booth at the back, and our manager, Brittany, is standing next to him, her hand on her hip.

“Someone called in sick,” I say, explaining why I’m working a seventh night shift in a row. “That asylum is just a quiet place to relax at.”

She scoffs. “If you ignore the devil worshippers breaking in to do rituals, sure.”

I smirk. “Or the ghosts screaming in the hallways.”

She shudders. “Be careful out there, unless you weren’t alone.” She tilts her head, and her pink-and-brown hair slides down one shoulder. She shoves someone’s leftovers to the side. “I can smell the sex from here.”

I shrug. “All I smell is bacon and pancakes.”

She drums her nails against the counter. “It’s super creepy, but whatever. To each their own. Although, what’s wrong with your apartment?”

What am I supposed to say? The violent energy makes me feel alive? That I’m secretly hoping someone will catch us? I’m weird enough in this town without adding any of my actual thoughts into the mix. “Gomez,” I reply, pouring myself a coffee and adding a double shot of espresso to get me through the night. “He interrupts.”

“Put him in his cage.”

I scoff a laugh. “Seriously? Gomez in a cage? He hasn’t been in that thing since I bought it. Not to mention the door doesn’t even lock, after Gomez destroyed it in a hissy fit the first time I tried to put him in it.”

“I do love that fruit bat.” She laughs. “I never thought I’d say those words.”

A ghost of a smile crosses my lips. Rosa points at the coffee in my hands. The heat warms my icy fingers, and I breathe in the rich smell.

“Um, where’s mine?”

“Cappuccino, extra sugar,” I say before she can moan. “Coming up.”

She swivels her body on the stool and looks at Jay, who is carrying back a stack of plates. “Poor guy,” she says in a coo. “Does he realize the relationship isn’t real yet?”

“We’re not in one,” I whisper-shout. “Please keep it down. He knows I’m not his girlfriend. I made it clear.”

He shoots me an all-American smile, his pearly whites glistening under the fluorescent lights. I force a smile back, but guilt tugs in my chest. I went too far tonight, letting my magic come so close to the surface. I may not have lost control, but it was enough that it was heightening my emotions. Every. Single. One. I’m still horny as hell. “We’re just…”

“Screwing. Yep, except it’s not for him. He’s looking at you with those marry-me eyes.”

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