Chapter 2 2

I froze.

My hands tightened around the edge of the bar, and a bead of sweat trickled down the valley of my breasts. The air was thick, causing my throat to swell up. He knew my name. How did this fucker know my name?

"Your brother," he paused, sliding off of the bar stool. "Let him know that he has exactly forty-eight hours to pay the debt-and trust me, he knows what I'm talking about-and if it's not paid, the two of you will be decaying in the fucking Atlantic." His playful tone had vanished, and his voice was suddenly harsh and menacing. "Right next to your dad."

A ball of fire tightened in my chest; it's grip was feral and deadly. Goosebumps scattered over my skin, and I blinked. Once, twice, and then again.

He knew my father.

It was then that I looked around me, seeing as most of the customers in the bar were now staring in my direction but not at me. At him. They looked almost scared, and it was then that the light bulb in my head flickered on. He practically had the words 'Boka Civente' written across his forehead in red ink.

I suddenly felt cold. So damn cold.

The man tilted his head, an amused expression on his face. "Pass the message, will you?"

"Get the hell out." I bit out, pointing towards the exit near the back. He held his hands up in surrender. "All right, duchess. I'm gone. I'll see you again, though. Count on it." And just like that, he turned and walked away, pushing past the throng of people by the door and leaving, his chuckle following behind him, ringing in my ears like mockery.

What the fuck did he do this time?

Throwing a few nervous glances around the bar, I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and quickly slipped through the thin crowd of people beside the bar, headed straight for the back. I pushed past the door that led to the locker room and quickly gathered my bag from the hook behind the door.

I fumbled through the mess in my bag until I found my cellphone and powered it on. Cursing low under my breath, I quickly ran through my options and then dialled the last number I remembered my brother having.

It rang ten times before I hung up, sending him a quick text to call me immediately.

The bastard wasn't answering me.

"What the actual fuck?" I murmured, twisting the string of my hoodie around my index finger as I pushed my black-framed glasses up the bridge of my nose. They were bothering me, sliding down my nose and tickling my flushed cheeks. I should've worn my goddamn contacts.

I tried calling one more time, and when I realised he wasn't going to answer, I glanced up at the clock above the door, seeing it was past midnight already. Fuck. My shift didn't end until...well, when everyone left the bar. And who the fuck knows how long that'll be?

The laughs and voices of customers coming from outside filled the air around me, causing unease to prick at the back of my neck in the tightest grip.

My brother was never reliable, and he would only ever remember me after it was too damn late.

I snatched the rest of my belongings from my locker and slid my phone into my back pocket before I slipped on my hoodie with an aggravated growl. "Where are you going?" I turned my head as Jersey walked in, a deep frown of confusion on her angelic face.

"I uh," There was hesitation in my voice, and to distract myself, I glanced back down at my phone screen before plopping down onto the bench and re-tying my black Chuck Taylors. "I have to go," was all I told her. My knuckles stung as I worked my shoelaces, courtesy of my weekly regroupings at the gym.

"Do you need me to do anything? Is it that dick outside? Because I'll make-"

"No, M. That fucker isn't worth any of my time." My co-worker was the closest thing I had to a friend, and she truly was a good person-way too good for someone like me. I may have been here physically, but I was truly never here mentally. "Then what's wrong with you? You're nearly pale." She reached out and pressed the back of her palm against my forehead. "But no fever."

"I'm not sick. It's a family thing."

Jersey nodded as if understanding, her sky-blue-colored hair falling over her shoulders as she peered down at me. "I can work the bar for you." She offered.

"Thanks; I'd really appreciate it." I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the room before she could stop me, shoving my way towards the back exit. The door slammed shut behind me, and a wave of harsh wind rushed to greet me, making me regret my decision to wear shorts tonight.

I scanned the busy parking lot for my shitty Corolla hatchback and let out an indignant breath as soon as I spotted it.

• • •

Turning down the radio, my car slowly came to a complete stop, and the sound of my tyres rolling over cement and gravel was the only thing I could properly hear over the pounding of my heart. I looked around me, at the empty parking lot I was in, and then brought my eyes back up at the brothel, where I knew my brother had been crashing in for a few months.

A shiver licked my spine, and I stepped out, wary clawing its way to the surface as I approached the door. I flipped my hoodie over my head and knocked twice, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. This morning's rain still gripped the air. It was humid and so cold.

The holes in the walls of the house were so deep that even from outside, I could smell the weed and Thai food.

The door was ripped open, and an older-looking guy answered, his pants hanging low on his waist and a white tee hugging his big belly. He scowled, but then paused and smirked as he ran his eyes up and down the length of me. I rolled my eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "What can I do for you, baby?" He purred.

"Where's Jimmy?" I bit out, pulling the strings of my hoodie. Next, it'll be my fucking hair.

"Oh, mute boy? He's-"

"Move." I recognised that voice immediately, and my brother pushed past the dude and stepped outside, slamming the door shut in the other man's face. And then his hard eyes came to mine, and he said, "What are you doing here?"

I glanced at his face, having not seen him in person in so long. In the span of eleven months, he'd grown a beard as blond as his eyebrows. He looked like he belonged in the psych ward with his dilated pupils and purple-rimmed eyelids. He was definitely on something, that was for sure. His upper lip was busted, and his eyebrow was cut with a trail of dry blood trickling down the side of his face.

"You know what I'm doing here." I sneered.