by Evelyn Glass
The girl was a complication. One massive complication. The restaurants acted as a great cover for my less than legal businesses, and keeping my two worlds separate was imperative to both of them being successful. I couldn’t just kill one of my waitresses, especially when the last place she would have been seen was working the late shift at my restaurant.
My image had already taken a massive nosedive in recent months, and having waitresses turn up dead would certainly not help the situation. Police would investigate, and though I did well to cover my tracks, I couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t find something. The local police could occasionally surprise me by being remotely competent.
The girl looked more like a cartoon princess than a waitress – a peaches and cream complexion and bright blonde hair that tumbled around her shoulders in shampoo commercial style waves. Even in her Jasper’s Grill polo and grease-stained jeans, her curves were obvious.
She was unconscious. That’s what I needed to focus on. Not her face or her body. She’d fainted, and I now had a very limited amount of time to decide what I wanted to do with her. Letting her go felt like a non-option, even if by some miracle she didn’t immediately go to the police, she would certainly quit her job and explain to her waitress friends what happened. That gossip would spread quickly, and the police would end up on my doorstep regardless.
Likewise, killing her was a non-option for obvious reasons. What option did I have, then?
A soft moan alerted me to the fact that I no longer had any time to think or plan. The girl was waking up, eyelids fluttering, pouty lips pursing as she stretched. Her limbs retracted in and then stretched out as she finally opened her eyes and looked around. I saw the exact moment when she realized the last half hour had not been a dream, but a horrible reality. Her eyes flicked from fatigue to confusion to horror, and she was on her feet and pressed against the back wall of the small office within seconds.
“You’re all right,” I said, though I hadn’t actually determined how long that statement would be true. “You don’t need to panic.”
Her eyes were wild and trapped, but as I spoke, she looked at me, and they hardened, crystallizing into tunnels of hatred. “You’re a murderer,” she whispered.
“That seems a little harsh. Especially since, if you’ll remember, I was in my office when that man was murdered.”
“You’re a murderer,” she repeated, seemingly oblivious to what I’d just said. “You killed an innocent man.”
I held up a finger to silence her. “Now that is where you are mistaken. Innocent is not the word I’d use to describe a drug dealer and a thief. I do not kill innocent people.”
This gave her pause. Her lips fell open for a minute, her chest rising and falling in hurried movements. Then, she tightened her lips and stood straight, her eyes never leaving my face. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
The question took me by surprise. I’d suspected that she, like so many other people who had stood in the same place she was standing now, would beg for her life. That she would drop to her knees to beg for her freedom, promising not to tell anyone. Instead, she had chosen to meet me head-on, and I couldn’t help but respect her for that.
“I don’t have many other options,” I said, deciding to be honest. “Truth be told, I do not wish to kill you, but I don’t see what choice I have.”
“I’m innocent,” she said, her caramel brown eyes pinning me to my seat. “You said you don’t kill innocent people, but I’m innocent. In fact, I’m good. I’m a good person.”
“How good?”
Her mouth opened and closed several times. “What?”
“How good are you?” I asked. “You say you’re a good person, but do you have proof?”
“Uhmm…” Her feathery eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “I’m not…”
“Come on,” I said, interrupting her stammering. “Tell me why you’re a good person. Make me believe it.”
An idea was hatching in the back of my head, but I wanted to give it time to form. I needed to think through the complications. If this girl really was a good person like she claimed, perhaps I could use her to solve some of my own problems. People were questioning my moral integrity, and many of my Texas patrons thought I was gay. Perhaps this girl could help with both problems. Plus, it meant I wouldn’t need to dispose of another body.
“I volunteer,” she said, finally. “I work with underprivileged youth. I help raise my siblings. I give them part of my paycheck every month. And I’m in school to become a social worker so I can help children find healthy, stable living situations.”
I paused, taking it all in. “Holy shit. You’re a great person.”
“Thank you,” she said hesitantly.
“Really, you’re amazing. This is going to work out great.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What is?”
“Our relationship. We’re going to date.”
She shook her head twice as if she were trying to clear the cobwebs out of her brain. “Excuse me? No, we aren’t.”
I laughed. “You aren’t really in a position to argue with me,” I reminded her. “What’s your name?”
“Marin.”
“Okay, Marin, here’s the situation. My reputation has taken a real hit, and it’s affecting my businesses. You would be an amazing facelift for me. You’re a kind, selfless, beautiful young girl – everything the public loves,” I said, hoping I was making the right decision. “So, the deal is: you pretend to date me, and I won’t have you killed.”
She shook her head. “No. No way. I can’t.”
I sighed. “You’d rather die?”
“Maybe I would,” she shouted.
Tears gathered in the corners of her bright eyes, and I hated that this happened to her. I hated that she’d seen Tats and Bear kill someone and that I now had to figure out what to do with her. She had so much life ahead of her, and something like this would certainly scar her. I couldn’t do much to change it now, except offer her best shot at staying alive. I hoped she’d take it. The thought of death dulling her eyes and marring her perfect skin left a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“What about your family?”
“Are you threatening them?” A fire blazed behind her eyes.
There. Her family. That was my in.
“No,” I said. “But I can make their lives a lot easier. You said you share your paycheck with them. What if you didn’t have to? What if I helped you take care of them?”
She leaned back against the wall, and I could see the exhaustion in her face and her shoulders, the way she had begun to stoop forward. “Why would you do that?”
“It would be part of our deal. You live, and your family is taken care of – food, housing, money. In exchange, I gain your company for the foreseeable future,” I said, leaning across my desk, hands folded together. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get, and I won’t offer it more than once. I suggest you think it over carefully.”
She shook her head a few times, and I thought she’d reject the offer, but then she looked up at me, lips pursed, shoulders squared and nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You accept?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” she snapped.
I gritted my teeth. No one spoke to me the way she did. Even strangers treated me with a timid kind of respect. Marin, however, treated me with contempt, as though I were nothing more than a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe. That would need to change.
“Perfect. Then we should get started,” I said, smiling at her.
Her angry mask faltered ever so slightly, and I saw how scared she was underneath it all, the fear palpable.
“Strip,” I commanded before she could say anything.
“What?” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“Strip,” I repeated. “I want to see what we’re working with. Take off your clothes.”
“No.” For the first time, I heard a plea in her voice.
“Then the deal is of
f.” I had to be tough on her. I had to know I could trust her, that she would listen to me and do what I asked. This was her first test. Failure would prove lethal.
I stood up and reached for a random drawer in my desk, but by the way Marin’s eyes widened, I knew she thought I was reaching for a gun. Immediately, her hands shot to the buttons on her black Jasper’s Grill polo, undoing them one by one.
I leaned back in my chair, trying to remain calm, emotionless, though there was an annoying flutter in my chest that I couldn’t get under control.
Chapter Five
Marin
I didn’t look up at Jasper as my trembling fingers grabbed the starchy fabric of my polo and pulled it over my head. Cool air hit my torso, and I shivered, though I didn’t know whether it was because of the cold or the situation. How had this happened? How had my normal night at work turned into this?
Kayla and I had been sitting in the alley mere hours before, gossiping about Jasper Black and the rumors and mysteries surrounding his business and his personal life. I never once imagined they were true. Now, I was stripping for him. I hadn’t stripped for anyone in my entire life. I had always been a “lights off” kind of girl in the bedroom, so getting naked beneath a yellow fluorescent bulb was as far away from my comfort zone as I could possibly get.
Plus, it didn’t help that Jasper was staring at me as though trying to decide the best way to carve me into bite-size pieces. His blue eyes raked over every inch of my torso, lingering over the black lace of my bra. Why had I worn such a nice piece of lingerie? I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I hadn’t been on a first date in months, but lace made me feel sexy. It was my own little secret, and it gave me confidence. Now I wished I’d opted for the stretched-out cotton bra I’d been wearing since high school.
I didn’t want Jasper to enjoy this.
The black polo landed in a puddle at my feet, and I moved to the button on my jeans. My fingers were shaking, and I did my best to disguise it. I didn’t want him to see me afraid or nervous. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Wait.”
I froze, still not looking at him, but when his desk chair groaned, and footsteps sounded on the concrete floor, I glanced up. He was looking into my eyes, his face an unreadable mask, as he moved across the room and stopped in front of me. He was a head taller than me, and I could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne clinging to his white button down. I hated how good he smelled.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
I didn’t know what he meant until his fingers replaced mine on the button of my jeans, and he deftly undid it. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to imagine I was anywhere else in the world, but the light graze of Jasper’s knuckle along my hip bone kept me firmly in his small office. He curled his fingers around the top of my jeans, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of my sides, and tugged.
Out of habit, I shimmied my hips to help him remove the jeans. They were a little too small, but I wore them to work because I didn’t care when I spilled food or grease or beer on them. Now I wished they were bigger so they would have slid off easier. He had to practically peel them off of me, and his fingers left a wake of fire on my skin.
I hated this man. He was a murderer. Or, at least, he ordered men to be murdered. I couldn’t allow him to make me tremble and burn. I willed the senses in my body to ally with my brain. Jasper Black was despicable. It didn’t matter that he smelled like pine and fresh air. I hated him.
When my jeans finally pooled around my ankles, Jasper bent down and wrapped his long fingers around my ankle, lifting my feet out of my jeans. When he finished, he stood back and inspected me, his eyes moving slowly from my feet to my face.
He whistled long and low, shaking his head and biting back a smile. “This could have gone a lot worse for me. Out of all the waitresses in all the world, you walked into the middle of my execution. How lucky is that?”
“The luckiest,” I said, barely disguised rage seething in every word.
“Have you seen Casablanca?” he asked.
I shook my head, though it was a lie. Casablanca had been my favorite movie. Had been because it couldn’t be anymore. Not now that I knew Jasper liked it.
“Shame.” He stared at me expectantly.
Eager to end the humiliation, I reached for the clasp of my bra, prepared to unhook it.
“No, that’s enough,” Jasper said, turning around and drumming his fingers on his desk. “You can go.”
I tugged my jeans on and pulled my polo over my head as soon as the words left his mouth. I needed more clothes. A parka, a hat, gloves, a scarf. I wanted every inch of my skin to be wrapped in fabric.
“Tell them you’re sleeping with the boss,” he said.
“What?”
“When your friends ask why you’re getting home so late, tell them you’re sleeping with the boss. Tell everyone. It’s your alibi for the murder,” he said.
I nodded numbly. What would Kayla say? Would she even believe me? What would Joy say?
Jasper laid out a whole story – how our relationship came to be, explaining in excruciating detail how he swept me off my feet, how I fell for him instantly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said once he finished, still not looking at me.
The words felt more like a threat than a promise. I didn’t say anything as I slipped through his office door and pulled it closed behind me.
***
The front door of the apartment Kayla and I shared was unlocked when I got home. I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the lock into place.
“That you, Marin?” Kayla called from the kitchen. Even though it was nearly midnight, I could smell onions and peppers.
“Yeah,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. Being back in the familiar space of my apartment felt unreal. How could something this normal still exist? Hadn’t the world as I knew it come screeching to a halt only an hour ago?
“I’m making omelets. You want one?”
“No. Thanks.”
I dropped onto the center of our worn tan sofa. We’d found it at a garage sale a few years earlier and talked the man selling it down from one hundred dollars to fifty. His wife was less than pleased. The rest of the furnishings were from thrift stores and IKEA, with a few personal touches thrown in. A few paintings I’d done in high school art class, photographs Kayla had taken on vacations with her family, and a smattering of books – Pride and Prejudice, To the Lighthouse, The Bell Jar. Kayla liked to call our style “Broke Chick Chic”.
“Why are you so late?” Kayla was still flitting around the kitchen, and I was glad she couldn’t see my face. I needed time to compose myself, especially if I had to make her believe the story Jasper had laid out. For Kayla’s own safety, she needed to believe it.
“I closed up tonight,” I said.
Kayla popped her head around the kitchen door. “I know that, but closing doesn’t normally take two hours.”
When she saw my face, her eyes drew together. She left whatever she’d been doing in the kitchen and moved to stand across from me, arms folded. “What’s going on, Marin?”
“Nothing,” I said, hoping I could make it at least twelve hours before I had to lie to my best friend. I didn’t feel emotionally ready for it.
She shook her head, dismissing my feeble attempt at being evasive. “Spill,” she commanded.
I took a deep breath. I needed to sell this. I needed Kayla to believe it. My lips turned up into the smallest smile. “I slept with Jasper Black.”
If my life hadn’t felt so incredibly backward, I would have cracked up at the look on Kayla’s face. Her jaw went entirely slack, hanging open so long I could see spit pooling behind her lower lip, and her eyes were wide and unblinking. For a few seconds, I actually pondered whether she could be having a stroke.
“How?” she stammered. “When? How?”
The smile on my face felt as if it weighed one thousand pounds, but I kept it there, struggling against the urge to break
down and cry. “Tonight, after everyone left,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re going to need to explain a bit more thoroughly. How in the hell did you find yourself sleeping with our heavenly hunk of a boss?”
Heavenly? Jasper Black was the furthest thing from an angel. In fact, he was the leader of the Hellions Motorcycle Club. Demon definitely described him more accurately.
Kayla must have taken my silence as hurt feelings because she continued, “Not to mean that you couldn’t land someone as handsome as him. It’s just… well, you know. He is way out of our league.” She took a deep breath. “Please just tell me how this happened before I shove my foot and my leg in my mouth.”
