“Thanks, Al.”
I couldn’t breathe until I was in the hallway and the door was firmly shut. The worries that had been swirling through my head all day long had only grown, and with the way things were going, they weren’t likely to get better any time soon.
“I’ll have to think about it later,” I said, pushing myself off the door and heading toward my own apartment.
As much as I’d love to sit around and mull over the mystery that had become my life, I had a new job to get to, and I had to get ready. Which meant taking a shower and squeezing myself into the little black dress I’d bought today. Glitter had given me the name of a place to go—I’d never had the need for a slutty dress before—and buying the thing had meant using up the last of my credits. But with any luck it would just take a few hours at Dragon’s and I’d come out ahead.
The entertainment district of New Atlanta had been restricted to two streets, but they were both packed to the brim. Bars, clubs, strip joints, and pool halls lined the road, just waiting for the good people of the city to come in. The signs were mostly hand painted, but a few places had actually managed to scavenge electric ones. Their flash was enticing when it was dark. Like a promise that within those walls you’d be transported to the past, taken to a time when zombies didn’t rule the world and people didn’t die of starvation on a regular basis. Come in, they seemed to say, we can make you forget that you live in this hell. They couldn’t, but that was the trick. These days, people would do anything to feel like things were normal, even spending credits that should have gone toward food or clothes or healthcare. Whatever it took to forget the zombies for just a few hours.
It was early evening, so the electric signs hanging in windows were off as I headed down the street, but the area was still bursting with life. Laughter and music flowed from open doors as I passed them, and usually the sound of clinking glasses or balls slamming into one another on a pool table. The sickly sweet smell of trash hung in the air, but it was the scent of ammonia that burned my nostrils when I passed an alley. Black bags, teeming with garbage, lined the sidewalks, baking under the hot sun as they waited for trash day. The city’s garbage got collected once a month, and then taken outside the walls to be disposed of. Where, I didn’t know, but I had no doubt I’d find out soon thanks to my new job on the maintenance crew. Trash week was coming up very soon.
Angry words cut through the air and a second later a man stumbled out of a bar in front of me, his lips flapping as he screamed over his shoulder, “Didn’t want your ale anyway! Tastes like piss.”
He stumbled over his own feet or the cracks in the sidewalk or possibly even the trash lying around, and I dodged him just before he slammed into me. The man kept walking, not even noticing me as he mumbled to himself about how he just needed a drink so he could sleep. Just one more drink.
I walked faster, wrapping my arms around my stomach and keeping my eyes down as I passed men and women who were leaning against walls, smoking bootleg cigarettes. Some whistled my way while others asked if I was looking for a lay or a job. A few said nothing as their gaze followed my progress down the sidewalk.
At the end of the street, nestled between a strip club whose music seemed to make the entire building vibrate and a stack of smashed cars that helped make up this part of the wall surrounding New Atlanta, sat Dragon’s Lair. The brick building was black and windowless, and above the red door an elaborate mural of a dragon had been painted. The creature was midflight, it’s green scales radiant against the blue sky as it breathed fire into the air.
I took a deep breath, working to calm my pounding heart as I stared up at the picture. Whether it had been here before the apocalypse or after, I didn’t know, but I did know that once the sun went down no one would be able to see it. There were no working lampposts in the entertainment district and no light was mounted above the door. Last night when Jackson, Charlie, and I had arrived, it had been so dark that the mural had been invisible.
After a few minutes of staring at the image, my heart hadn’t slowed, but I knew I couldn’t put this thing off anymore. The longer I stayed outside, the more my shirt stuck to my body, so I pushed the door open and went in.
Three men sat at the bar, all of them leaning over half-empty glasses that seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect on them. None of them looked up when the door shut behind me, and other than the drunken men at the bar, the place felt deserted. Between fights the crowds must have been minimal, but I knew that in just a few hours the place would be brimming with activity. Dragon’s Lair was the only bar in the district that had a ring.
Even nearly empty the atmosphere was stifling. The Georgia humidity had seeped inside the cement walls and mixed with the remnants from last night’s crowd until the air was thick and difficult to swallow. I sucked in a deep breath, hoping to fill my lungs, and it nearly choked me. The foul odor of death had mixed with the coppery scent of blood and the stink of dozens of unwashed bodies, eliminating what little bit of refreshment the humidity hadn’t already stolen from the air.
Working here was going to be fun.
My heels clicked against the floor when I forced my legs to move, but the men at the bar still didn’t bother looking my way. The staff was nowhere in sight and the place was totally silent, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Hello?” I called, and my heart jumped to my throat when my voice echoed back to me.
Where the hell was Dragon? I was right on time—maybe even a few minutes late—so he should have been waiting for me.
There was no response, not even from the drunks, so I moved deeper into the building. Glitter wasn’t behind the bar and neither was the other waitress I’d seen working last night, and none of the other employees seemed to be around either. The long hallway that led to the bathroom was dark and as soundless as the rest of the place. Not that I’d be stupid enough to go down that hall by myself more than once.
I turned away before the memories from last night made me lose my nerve. I needed this job, and it didn’t matter what had almost happened here or how much I was going to hate serving the scum that came into this place. Credits were credits.
“Dragon?” I called as I headed away from the dark hallway and back toward the room Donaghy and the zombies had come out of last night.
The door was cracked and I paused long enough to rap my knuckles against it. Once again, the sound echoed through the room, but no one answered. When I pushed the door open, the hinges creaked, and a second later the stink of rot slammed into me. My legs trembled as they begged me to run. I didn’t, though. I stayed the course, pushing the door open the rest of the way and stepping inside.
The room was dark, and before my eyes had time to adjust to the sudden blackness, I was greeted by the snarls of the dead. My feet rooted themselves to the ground even as I reached for the knife I had strapped to my thigh. I didn’t pull it out as I waited for the room to come into focus. When it did, I found four zombies chained up inside the cages that lined the walls. The clink of metal as they fought to get free grew until it nearly drowned out their moans and growls. The sounds only became more violent when I stepped further into the room.
I headed for a door that was just past the cages, but thankfully out of the reach of the zombies. It seemed to be the only room that Dragon could have been hiding in.
Once again, I paused outside the closed door and knocked. The thud of footsteps on the other side was barely audible over the zombies. Every move they made had the hair on the back of my neck prickling even more. Standing with my back to them felt wrong. Dangerous, and so opposite of what I’d always been told to do that I was having a tough time not pulling out my knife and stabbing them in the head.
In front of me, the door was pulled open and I almost jumped back when the cool, blue eyes of Donaghy greeted me. “It’s you.”
“Yes.” I glanced toward the zombies, who were fighting against their chains like crazy. “Is Dragon here?”
Donaghy’s eyebrows shot
up and he stepped aside so I could enter. The room was small, with three cots and a tiny, stinking bathroom to the left. No door on it as far as I could tell. Just past the beds was yet another door. Probably Dragon’s office.
At my back, the door clicked shut, muting the sound of the zombies.
“Dragon’s busy.” I turned when Donaghy threw himself onto one of the cots. “They’ve been at it for fifteen minutes, so I’d be willing to bet he’s about done.”
“They?”
Donaghy lifted his eyebrows as he stretched out on the bed. “Helen.”
Helen? That must have been name of the older waitress I’d seen last night.
“Oh.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and hugged the plaid shirt I was wearing closer to my body. Underneath, my new dress clung to my curves. Next to the one Glitter wore last night it probably didn’t look very provocative, but even with the shirt covering it I felt naked.
Donaghy put his hands behind his head and stared at ceiling.
Silence fell over us, disturbed only when the sounds from the rooms on either side of ours grew louder. Moans. The clink of chains. Grunts from Dragon’s office. Growls. Gasps of pleasure. Wood scraping against the floor. Helen’s raspy voice begging for more.
“You fighting tonight?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the noises anymore.
My arms tightened around my chest as Donaghy tore his gaze from the ceiling and looked my way. The plaid shirt made me sweat, but it was soft and comforting against my skin.
“It’s Friday, which means two fights.” His tone was bored, or maybe resigned. It was hard to tell.
“You don’t get nervous?”
Donaghy pushed himself up so he was sitting, his eyes never leaving mine. “No reason. Zombies are dangerous, but predictable. Nothing I can’t handle. It’s people you have to worry about.”
He sounded like my family. It was what I’d grown up hearing, and even though I didn’t know everything that had happened to my parents after the virus hit—or my biological parents for that matter—I did know that at times, men had turned out to be more of an enemy than even the zombies had.
Donaghy couldn’t be old enough to remember all the uncertainty of those first few months, though. He was maybe twenty-five, meaning he had probably been around five years old when the virus had broken out. Too young to have more than a vague recollection of what went on. Maybe he was older, though.
“How old are you?”
Donaghy’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t blink before saying, “Twenty-six.”
I was close. “Do you remember what it was like before the virus?”
It was an odd question to pop out of my mouth because it wasn’t what I’d been wondering about at all. I’d been wondering how he handled the outbreak, or more importantly, how he’d survived. Instead, I asked him about before. Figured.
“I remember some things, but to be honest it’s hard to pin down which memories are real.” He pressed his lips together and frowned as he looked me over, making my skin prickle. “You can’t be older than nineteen, right?”
“Twenty,” I said.
Donaghy nodded and his head was still bobbing when the door behind me opened. I spun around just as Dragon stepped out, still in the process of zipping his pants. Helen was adjusting her black crop top, a grin on her face as she sauntered by. She was tall and thin, and she’d probably been an attractive woman at one time, but now she just looked worn out. Her tan skin was so wrinkled and tough that it reminded me of leather, and her short hair had been bleached until it looked white.
She winked when she walked by, and despite the disgust rolling through me at the thought of her and Dragon, it was a welcoming gesture that I was pretty sure had been meant to put me at ease. And it had.
“You made it!” Dragon’s smile stretched wide as his gaze moved over me, revealing the gap in his mouth that was shockingly dark against his white teeth. “Wasn’t sure if you’d have the nerve.”
“You have to do whatever it takes in this world.”
Dragon’s eyebrows shot up and his gaze went over me again. “Very true…” His smile widened when his eyes met mine. “Most of the people who come through the doors of my bar can attest to that.”
“I’m just looking to serve drinks.” I uncrossed my arms and stood up straight. Show no weakness. I’d been taught that from an early age and now was no exception.
Dragon chuckled. “Whatever you say.”
The tone of his voice made it seem like he had more in mind for me, or like he expected me to do more when desperation took hold. He was probably only speaking from experience. These days, desperation was an epidemic even more destructive than the original virus had been.
Dragon headed for the bathroom where he washed his hands. As he ran his hands under the water, the muscles under the tattoo covering his back flexed. His head was up, and he used the cracked and filmy mirror in front of him to study me. I squirmed, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t.
When he finally flipped the water off and turned to face me, his hands were still dripping. “Take the shirt off so I can see what I’m working with.”
I shook my head and pulled my shirt tighter against my body.
“Not for that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You look healthy enough, but I want quality waitresses.”
The bar owner’s smile didn’t fade, and I couldn’t look away from the black gap where his teeth used to be as I unbuttoned the flannel shirt covering my dress. Behind me, the growls and snarls of the zombies were deafening, but they didn’t drown out the pounding of my heart. I took a deep breath and slipped the shirt off, allowing it to drop to the floor like I was undressing for a lover, not in the middle of a job interview. Dragon pressed his lips together as he looked me over and I had to resist the urge to cross my arms. It didn’t matter that my legs were trembling, I needed to appear strong and in control in front of men like this.
“Turn around.” Dragon spun his hand in a circle as if he thought I wouldn’t understand the words coming out of his mouth.
I did as I was told, stealing a look at myself once my back was to him. The black dress was skin tight and sleeveless, the neckline coming down to a deep V that accentuated what little cleavage I had. In the back, the V was even lower, ducking down my spine and stopping less than an inch above my waist. The dress was tight and short, going only two inches past my ass. The knife strapped to my thigh peaked out, a warning to any man who thought he was going to get something other than drinks from me. I’d never owned anything like this dress before—never had the need—and being in it made me feel naked. Especially with the way Dragon was studying me.
My gaze met Donaghy’s as I turned back to face Dragon, and the way the fighter’s jaw was clenched made something inside me buzz. The expression in his blue eyes was similar to the one from last night when he found me in the bathroom. It was like he was considering ripping Dragon’s head off.
I tore my gaze from his and focused once again on the man I was hoping would be my new boss.
“Looks good, and the knife is a nice touch. You won’t need it, though.” His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes did cloud over. “Working for me means no one will touch you. If they do, I’ll rip their limbs off.”
I swallowed at this savage tone, but it was oddly comforting. And for some crazy reason, I believed him. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it to be nice or if it was just his possessive nature coming out, but it made me feel a hell of a lot better about working here.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Dragon nodded once before heading toward the door Helen had disappeared through a few minutes earlier. “Follow me.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Both of you.”
I followed my new boss into the other room, pausing just long enough to swipe my shirt up off the floor, and behind me Donaghy got to his feet. The zombies went nuts when we walked past them, growling and reaching for us, their mouths chomping at air. I made a wide arc
around them, staying at least four feet out of their reach, but Dragon got so close their fingers almost brushed his arm. He snarled back at them, and then chuckled before heading out into the bar.
“Prick,” Donaghy muttered behind me.
I glanced back, but his eyes were on the floor.
“We have an hour to get you some training before things start getting busy. Shouldn’t be hard. We only have three options, after all.” Dragon lifted three fingers, ticking the options off as he listed them. “Moonshine, Ale, and shots of whiskey.”
“Seems easy enough.” A total lie. There wasn’t going to be an easy second of working here.
We stopped in front of the bar where Helen was serving the three men already trying to kill themselves with booze, while at her side Glitter was busy getting ready for the night. The younger girl lined glasses up along the bar top so they were easy to fill, then pulled bottles of amber and clear liquid out from under the counter. She counted them, her lips pressed together in a purse that, oddly enough, reminded me of my dad.
The thought caught me so off guard that I found myself staring. Then, out of nowhere, I found myself thinking about the scar on Donaghy’s chin. I stole a glance at the fighter as Dragon went over my duties—which didn’t include much more than filling glasses. Donaghy was leaning against the counter, staring across the open room toward the ring, as silent as usual.
“I get ten percent of any tips you make.” Dragon’s voice boomed through my thoughts, and I turned to find his brown eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t try to cheat me or you’ll be sorry.”
I swallowed. “Of course not.”
Like I would ever consider cheating this guy out of anything.
He nodded once, satisfied that I was taking him seriously, and then turned and headed over to where Helen was standing. “Glitter can take it from here.”
I didn’t move for a second, watching my new boss walk away. The interview had been even shorter and easier than I’d thought it would be, but knowing that I had the job didn’t make me feel any less uneasy than I had before I set foot in the place. If anything, my stomach was tighter than before.
Twisted World Series Box Set | Books 1-3 & Novella Page 9
