Into the Light
Immortal Hearts, Volume 1
Katherine Hastings
Published by Flyte Publishing, 2019.
INTO THE LIGHT
Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Hastings
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact :
http://www.katherinehastings.com
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-949913-16-3
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-949913-17-0
First Edition: October 2019
Editing: Tami Stark
Proofreading: Vicki McGough
www.katherinehastings.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AWAKENED LIGHT
OTHER BOOKS TO READ
THANK YOU FOR READING
CHAPTER ONE
Emilia
“TWO GIN AND TONICS. More gin than tonic, darling.”
The forced smile on my face looked no more authentic than Lizzy Dillon’s when she got back from her “vacation” in Scottsdale, looking twenty years younger and like her face had been stretched within an inch of its life. Frozen, fake, and lacking all emotion. An expression I’d mastered since taking this crappy job as a cocktail waitress.
“So, you’d like a double?” I asked.
“No. A single, just heavy on the gin.” He winked and flashed a smile so white the airport could have used him to guide in planes. Either those were veneers, or he brushed with bleach every day. Judging by his spray-tanned skin and the perfectly coiffed grey mustache, I’d put my money on veneers.
“Coming right up,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted to say piss off.
Anyone who has ever worked as a server knows that there should be one of those conversation bubbles over our heads displaying what we are actually thinking when we nod and smile.
Of course you can have a double for the same price as a single. You can also have a kick in the face.
These regular responses clamored for attention in my head to the constant stream of ridiculous requests these Chicago people bombarded me with the five nights a week I worked here.
I turned and moved through the dimly lit club, sliding between tables and trying to avoid bumping the swanky guests in their designer clothes... the ones I couldn’t afford even if I worked here a hundred hours a week. The new Birkin bag two tables down caught my eye and for a moment I considered a life of crime. If I grabbed it and ran, I could live a pretty happy life sleeping on the street with it until the police ripped it from my hands and dragged me off to jail. Glancing at it again I seriously considered it.
“Emilia, behind you.” Sharon startled me from my visions of running screaming through the street clutching the beautiful red leather bag with a dozen police tearing after me.
“Sorry.” I stepped forward allowing her to pass. “Gin and tonics,” I mumbled to myself as I got back on task.
A loud woman in a pink velour track suit with diamond earrings as large as my now-widened eyes stood at the small spot marked “server station.” She flapped her money in the air while shouting out a drink order to the bartender, Eric, who continued ignoring her. The fastest way to not get served involved waving your money in a bartender’s face. That was rule number two, right behind don’t whistle at them like they’re a dog. Rule numero uno.
“Excuse me,” I said with no attempt to mask the irritation in my voice, “this is the server station.”
She glanced at me and shrugged then returned her attention to Eric as he shook yet another specialty craft cocktail in his metal shaker. “Yoo hoo! Bartender! Two cosmopolitans straight up!” she shouted into the abyss. He didn’t even glance in her direction, continuing his ruse of pretending she didn’t exist.
“Ma’am, you can’t stand there. It’s for employees only,” I said, pointing to the mat on the bar marked in bold letters ‘Server Station: Employees Only.’
“I’ll only be a minute; I think I’m next.”
“Ma’am, I need to get in there,” I said through gritted teeth, irritated she took up my time... and in cocktail waitressing time equaled money.
With an exaggerated groan, she shot me a look. I matched it and raised her a pair of arched eyebrows.
“Fine.” She spun around and pushed her way past me. I stumbled into a hipster as he took a sip of his craft beer. The overpriced ale sloshed over the edge of his glass when I bumped him and rode its way down his beard, making a beeline for my cleavage. I cringed when the cold liquid slipped between my breasts and pooled in a place I couldn’t reach until I could get to the bathroom later.
“Damn!” I wiped the trail it left behind. He shrugged an apology and turned back to his conversation.
“Having a good night, Emilia?” Eric’s voice startled me as I stood with my fingers pushed down between my breasts wiping up the beer as best I could.
“A real doozy,” I answered with an accompanying eye roll.
He laughed and handed me a cocktail napkin. “I’ve been shaking the same shaker for over a minute waiting for that Housewives of Chicago wannabe to get lost. Did you see the freaking velour tracksuit?”
Of course, I had. Every middle-aged, bored housewife in the city sported them, attempting to look young and casual. “The rhinestone ‘Juicy’ across the ass when she stomped away was the icing on the cake,” I snorted.
“Nothing but class.” He laughed. “What do you need?”
“Chomps Houlihan over there needs two gin and tonics, more gin than tonic, but he’s only paying for singles.”
“Chomps Houlihan?” he asked.
“He has these freaking veneer chompers that are literally hurting my eyes. Like Chiclets. It’s not even right.”
Eric laughed and craned his neck to see him across the crowded room. “Doubles for the price of singles? So, you’re saying to pour even less gin than a normal single for Mr. Chomps Houlihan?”
“You know it.”
We exchanged smiles and a fist bump. Since Eric had been at this for years, he rolled with the punches better than me. Every night while we counted our tips and sipped on our one free shifter, he’d tell me it got easier with time and gave me advice on how to control my temper when the customers shredded my sanity. But it had been three months since I’d accepted this second job and I swore it got harder each day not to lose it on my customers.
“Two really weak gin and tonics.” With a wink, he set the drinks on the server mat in front of me.
“Thanks, Eric.” I grabbed one in each hand and surveyed the best way
to get back to my table. Friday nights always proved tricky as the place filled up with over-paid, over-worked business types looking to blow off the stress of the week. The group of gold diggers in six-inch stilettos and skintight dresses moved like a school of fish toward the booths and left me an opening. If there was one thing you learn as a cocktail waitress, it was evasive maneuvering. I spun my way through the crowd toward the opening, but it filled with bodies before I could make it.
Damn. New plan. I jumped in behind the Glamsquad, letting them break the path to get me closer to my table. Their high-pitched squeals nearly shattered the glasses I guarded as I looked for an opening.
“He’s gorgeous!” one cooed.
“He’s mine!” another said.
“He’s looking at me. Suck it, bitches,” the one with the legs up to my ears argued.
Who are they looking at? Craning my neck around I searched to get a glimpse of the man they still bickered about. The thick crowd and the Glamazons blocked any chance I had of sneaking a peek. No luck. Oh well, not like I could do anything other than stare anyway.
“Waitress! We’re thirsty!” It was Chomps Houlihan. He waved his hands like a man stranded on a desert island trying to hail an overhead plane. I rolled my eyes and gave up my quest to see the man causing an all-out girl war in front of me.
Holding my breath, I squeezed between two lawyers debating who had argued their case better today. They made no attempt to move or acknowledge my awkward maneuvering trying to get two full drinks and my ample breasts between them. Rubbing your boobs on strangers all night while you squeeze between them was a part of the job I would never get used to.
I made it through with both drinks still intact, but when I turned the opposite way to begin my next military-style maneuvering the last ten feet to my table, I ground to a stop and growled. The Glamazon pack had managed to get there before me and once again blocked my way.
Son of a...
“It’s him. That’s Henry Cavill. Swear to God!” The tallest of the girl squad peered over the heads of the others.
Henry Cavill is here? He’s so hot. Okay, this I need to see.
I saw a parting in the pack and took the opportunity to sneak a peek. Standing on my tiptoes, I craned to see the corner booth where they focused all their attention.
And then I saw him.
Holy shit.
My jaw slackened while I soaked in the sight of him. He looked the other way, but it gave me a great profile view of his chiseled jaw and straight, perfect nose. His dark, thick hair was swept back into a style that would send Ken Barbie into a jealous fit. A designer suit flowed over his broad shoulders and tapered to a set of perfectly chiseled abs hiding behind the table. At least they were in my mind’s eye. Now I could understand all the fuss.
He was talking to someone I couldn’t see because the redhead in the black Prada dress I had eyeballed in this month’s Vogue blocked my way. His head turned back, and blue eyes the color of ice passed over the crowd and found their way to mine.
Sweet Jesus, he’s looking at me.
But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me. My skin prickled and my spine shivered with the intensity of his gaze. I knew I shouldn’t stand there gawking at him, but my feet and my eyes both ignored my pleas to move. I stood there clutching those gin and tonics for dear life while arguing with my jaw to stay shut. As I soaked in the sight of the gorgeous man at the booth, my breath stalled in my lungs. Not Henry Cavill after all. Similar, yes, but this man was even more striking. He was... beautiful.
The girl with the legs up to my neck wobbled on a too-tall heel and stumbled back a step. Her lanky arm swung for balance and collided with the bottom of the gin and tonic in my right hand. It tipped backward, and ice cubes and liquid chased the path the beer had laid between my breasts.
Shit!
I broke his gaze and looked down at my breasts that were now covered with gin and tonic. Another glance at the glass showed it only half full. The smell of junipers mixed with beer wafted from my breasts to my nose and I choked down a gag.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
To add insult to injury, she didn’t even turn around to apologize. My cheeks flushed with heat as my blood heated to scalding. Would this shitty night ever end?
“Oh, come on! Waitress!”
Chomps Frickin’ Houlihan.
“I’m coming!” I snapped at him loud enough he could hear me over the din of the crowd.
A quick glance at the man in the booth showed the pair of icy eyes still fixated on me. As much as I wanted to continue drinking him in, there was no time to dream about men out of my reach. There were bills to pay, and I wore half of a drink that should have been to the table a while ago. At least one gin and tonic had survived. While I tried to gather up the last shreds of my composure, I pushed my way through the crowd to Chomp’s table.
“Here you go,” I said, setting the drinks down in front of Chomps and his equally ridiculous-looking friend. Maybe I should find the Juicy tracksuit lady and introduce them. They seemed like they would get along famously. “That will be twenty-two dollars.”
“What is this?” He pointed to the half empty drink.
“Someone bumped me. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not paying for half of a drink.”
My body quaked with rage. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but he had no idea what I had been through just to get him that drink.
“Fine. Just pay for half. We’ll call it fifteen.”
He took a sip. “This isn’t Beefeaters.”
The temperature of my blood rose from scalding to near boiling. “You didn’t request Beefeaters, sir.”
“Yes, I did. I said two Beefeaters and tonic. Isn’t that right, Harry? You heard me, right?”
His friend, presumably Harry, nodded in agreement. “I only drink Beefeaters. I’m not paying for these. Run back and get me two Beefeaters and tonics. Did you get it this time?”
Despite my exploding head, like a good waitress I nodded and bit my tongue instead of spitting out what I wanted to say.
You said gin, douchebag. At no point did the words Beefeaters pass between your horrifyingly blinding teeth.
I reached for the glasses to take them away, but he caught me by my wrist.
“Whoa, there!” He laughed. “You can leave them here. No need for them to go to waste!”
My eyes moved from the glasses to the wrinkled fingers holding my wrist. The moment I felt his weathered hand touch my skin, my near-boiling blood started to bubble. “If you’re not paying for them, you’re not drinking them. Let go of my wrist.”
“Ah, come on, sweetheart! Don’t be such a sour puss! Just give me a little smile.” His blinding teeth offended me once again as he beamed.
That. Is. It.
Unwritten server rules number three, four and five. Don’t touch me. Don’t call me sweetheart. Don’t tell me to smile. As my blood hit a rolling boil, I knew I was so far gone rage was no longer visible in my rear-view mirror.
“You want me to smile?” I said, my voice rising with each syllable. “Why in the actual fuck would I smile? Should I smile because I just wasted all this time dragging the two gin and tonics you ordered across the club only to have you tell me they’re wrong, which they’re not? Should I smile because my boss makes me wear this ridiculous black dress with my tits popping out, my tits that are now covered in not only beer, but beer and your gin and tonic? The one you’re refusing to pay for that I will get docked for tonight? Should I smile because I already worked an eight-hour shift today crammed in a cubicle in my dead-end career? Should I smile because my piece of shit husband walked out on me six months ago for a twenty-two-year-old stick figure and left me with a mortgage and thirty-five thousand in credit card debt, hence why I now work here as a mistreated cocktail waitress five nights a week on top of my full-time job? You tell me, Chomps... if you were me, would you fucking smile?”
He stared at me blinking, his veneers now hidden a
way. A quick glance around confirmed that my overdue outburst had not only reached the ears of Chomps and Harry, but everyone in the near vicinity. Another glance revealed the stranger with the icy eyes had been listening as well. His lips weren’t smiling but I could swear his eyes were.
I rarely indulged in tears, but the non-stop work, the exhaustion, and the stress of rebuilding my life after Jeff walked out all built up in my tear ducts. Turning on my heel, I pushed my way through the crowd to the storage room behind the bar. I could feel the man in the booth’s eyes on me all the way. He must think I’m a freak.
This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I snapped.
I slammed the door to the storage room and with it, shut out the music and voices that had resumed since my outburst.
“Damn it!” I pushed back the tears and exhaled a cleansing breath.
You’ve got this, Emilia. Get it together. No. Tears. We had a deal.
The day Jeff walked out I had given myself seven days to cry. Seven days to wallow in self-pity and curse myself for all the bad decisions I had made since the day I met him. After seven days, no more. No more tears would get shed because of that lying, useless, cheating asshole. Another deep breath and they slipped back away to the recesses I had forced them into. It wasn’t so much Jeff I was ready to scream and cry about, it was the situation he had put me in. The situation I had allowed myself to get into.
A soft rapping on the door startled me back to my senses. “Emilia?” Eric asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I’ll be right out.”
I stood up straight and smoothed my ponytail. A quick swipe with my fingers under my eyes confirmed I had won the battle against the tears. With a deep breath I opened the door, cringing at the wave of sound that assaulted my ears. I would kill for a hot bath, a good book and silence.
You need the money. Get your shit together and get out there.
I closed the door behind me and walked over to the serving station. All eyes were on me as I tried my best to pretend the unfortunate incident was just a figment of their imaginations.
Eric leaned on the bar. “You sure you’re okay?”
Into The Light (Immortal Hearts Book 1) Page 1
