Page 1 of Ruthless Salvation

Present

Every handshake wasa game of Russian roulette. When I told people I worked in a strip club, they always asked how I could stand to be around all the creepers who flocked to those places.

My response? At least that lot didn’t pretend to be anything but what they were.

What scared me more than anything were the chameleons—people adept at camouflage. Nothing was more terrifying than a handsome, well-mannered psychopath.

I’d learned the hard way that you never knew what lurked beneath the surface of a pretty face. That charming man at the coffee shop who struck up a conversation could be the bullet that got you.

Every day, we spun the chamber, went out into the world, and pulled the trigger.

A chat with your Uber driver.

Ordering lunch in a small café.

Picking up dry cleaning.

Every interaction bore the potential to be catastrophic.

Thankfully, the barrel was usually empty because most people, no matter how seemingly odd, were harmless. If that weren’t the case, we’d all be agoraphobics hiding in our homes. Instead, we greeted new acquaintances with a smile and hope in our hearts—even those of us who’d played the game and lost.

No point in living if I was going to live in constant fear.

And besides, what were the chances a girl would get thrown together with two psychos in one lifetime? Surely, fate wouldn’t be so cruel.

That wasn’t to say I was naive. I liked to hope for the best but plan for the worst. And I also liked to surround myself with people who didn’t hide behind false pretenses.

Cue the strip club.

Most of our customers were ordinary folks who wanted to unwind. The troublemakers were easy to spot and generally harmless. If I’d been a dancer, I might not feel the same, but I was a server and had relatively few altercations that I couldn’t handle.

Despite being a strip club, Moxy had become my home away from home. It was the perfect balance of nice enough to keep out the seediest parts of society but not upscale enough to draw in the repulsive sort who hid their malignant souls behind fancy clothes and flashy cars.

So I might have been a tinge jaded.

I generally enjoyed being at work, and I even liked my boss—possibly a touch more than I should have. Technically, I had two bosses, both devastatingly handsome with eyes so deep blue, they should have been illegal. A warm blue that reminded me of the beach and sunscreen and coolers packed with snacks. But what appealed to me most was the gruffness of their beauty. These guys were shady AF but weren’t the clean-shaven, suit-wearing type who cloaked themselves in an air of refinement. These Irishmen were salt of the earth and didn’t give a crap what anyone thought of them. Unapologetically transparent in their nature.

In my book, that type of honesty outweighed a manufactured facade every day of the week.

Keir Byrne was cool in an unnerving way that made a person wonder if he felt emotion at all. His younger cousin Torin might come off as similar because they were both relatively reserved, but Torin was nothing like Keir. Where Keir’s impassivity came from genuine stoicism, I sensed that Tor’s detachment was owed to a great deal of effort. He worked hard to keep the world at a distance, which fascinated me.

News flash.

Torin Byrne was the last man on this planet I should have found interesting. And yet…

My eyes drifted to where he sat with Keir and one other cousin, a woman named Shae who came by on occasion. All three seemed to be in good spirits as an expensive bottle of whiskey passed between them. That alone was enough to stir my curiosity. Neither of my bosses was the celebratory type.

They’d had a family meeting at the bar two days ago. It had been very hush-hush, so I knew something was happening. Whatever it was must have turned out well. The three talked with ease, and I wasn’t above listening in on their conversation as I moved closer to enter orders into the main computer.

“Flynn got better than he deserved. Better than he would have if I’d gotten ahold of him first.” Torin’s casual comment roused my curiosity, but I knew better than to ask. Men like the Byrnes preferred to keep to themselves. They wouldn’t have said something in this setting had it been confidential, but that didn’t mean they welcomed questions.

“Well, at least you were there,” Shae shot at him. “Some of us got left off the phone tree and never got the call. As if I can’t outshoot and outfight every one of you.”

“You were busy with something else, and you know it.”

“Notthatbusy,” she grumbled.

Keir smirked as our eyes met. He gave me a nod. “Evening, Stormy.”

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