“That’s harsh, Bug. You’re calling me a boy and a liar?”
Smiling and backing down the hallway, I ask, “Where’s Jimmy?”
“In the kitchen, probably. Come and talk to me if things aren’t too busy,” he says, watching me head down the hall.
Approaching the bar, I can see that the bartenders are getting slammed already. The place is at near capacity and it’s not even ten o’clock yet. Jimmy’s talking to the wait staff, and begins rapidly nodding his head as he sees me approach. Over the noise of the crowd, he yells, “GO TO THE BAR. THEY NEED YOU. FUMBLING FRANK DIDN’T SHOW AGAIN.”
I nod, turn towards the bar, and see the look of relief on Tina’s face when she sees me. “WE NEED ICE…AND A CASE OF HEINEKEN…CORPORATE ASSHOLE NIGHT!” Tina yells, and I nod again. I rush to the kitchen, filling two large buckets with ice. I haul them through the crowd to the bar, dumping them in the ice bins. Taking the steep stairs leading to the basement behind the bar, I run down to the refrigerators. Locating a case of Heineken, I take off my coat and backpack, stowing them. I climb the stairs to the bar and begin stocking the small refrigerators. The night progresses quickly and I’m sweating from running up and down the stairs, keeping the bar stocked. I watch Tina and Sean work, making sure that whatever they need is available to them and refilled before they have to ask for it to be done.
Sipping a glass of water, I glance at the world beyond the bar. It’s a crush of people and I’m glad that I mostly get to stay back here and don’t have to venture out there except when we need ice. Drunken people make me nervous. I dislike their predictable unpredictability—the emotions that are so intense and seem to turn on a dime. I’ve been subject to too many drunken people in my life. Once I get out of my situation, I plan on staying away from bars and nightclubs…and drunken people.
“HEY…HEIDI…HEIDI.” I hear a male voice slurring behind me. A handsome man dressed in a dark suit is hailing me. His tie has been loosened rakishly at the neck while his short, brown hair is falling artfully over his brow. He’s leaning over the bar between us. Seeing that he has my attention, he shouts, “I DON’T LIE, HEIDI. WHERE ARE YOU FROM, SWEDEN OR SOME SHIT? HEY, COME OVER HERE.” He crooks his finger at me, trying to get me to approach the bar.
I shake my head and continue sipping my water.
“HEIDI…I LIKE YOUR BRAIDS—COME ON—I WON’T BITE. I DON’T LIE! I SWEAR I’M TELLING THE TRUTH WHEN I SAY THAT YOU HAVE THE SWEETEST ASS I’VE EVER SEEN,” he calls with the look of drunken earnestness.
Glancing down the bar, Tina approaches the man calling to me. “YOU NEED SOMETHING?” she yells above the din, throwing down a napkin in front of him.
“I NEED HER,” he points to me, leering.
Before Tina can answer him, an enormous man behind the drunk reaches down and pulls him off his feet by his necktie. “Apologize to her,” I hear him say, just above the noise of the crowd. The look on the corporate man’s face would’ve been comical if I wasn’t so absorbed by the sheer size of the man holding him. He’s at least a half-foot taller than the man he’s holding. In this light, his hair looks blond—platinum, the same as mine. It’s long, to his shoulders, pulled back from his face and tucked into his black, leather jacket.
“I’M SORRY!” the drunken man shouts hastily. I give him a mute nod, accepting his apology. The giant blond man in front of me lets go of the drunk’s tie, dropping him to the floor. The intoxicated man fumbles backward away from the bar, disappearing into the crowd behind him.
“Thank you,” I sigh in relief to the tall stranger, beginning to step forward to speak to him. Then, I see his neck. Large, inky, tribal tattoos shoot up one side of it. I stop and my eyes widen. Two other blond men, each around the same size as the one in front of me flank him then, their eyes focused on me.
As I step back, Tina gets closer, dropping a new napkin in front of each of them intending to take their orders. Backing up further, I put my hand on the wooden doorframe leading to the basement. Feeling like I just hit a tripwire of a trap, I place my foot on the top step leading to the basement and see what I don’t want to see. The tall, blond man tenses and begins to spring over the bar.
Pounding down the stairs, I dash toward another set of stairs that lead up to the cargo doors. My braid is seized from behind and my head snaps back brutally, knocking me off my feet. A meaty arm goes around my waist pulling me back into a tree-like chest.
“Kricket, you can’t outrun me,” he whispers in my ear.
“Who’s Kricket?” I ask, clenching my teeth against the pain from the whiplash he just gave me. “Let go of me, freak!”
“You’re Kricket,” he says lightly, turning me around to face him. “Daughter of Arissa Valke of Alameeda clan.”
Holding my neck and staring into his blue eyes, I retort, “I’m Jane Klume…of the White Sox clan, so let go of me before I scream, you piece of sh—” He shakes me roughly.
“You’re a little rebel and you’re definitely Etharian—I’ll prove it,” he says sternly, pulling out a knife from a shoulder holster. Holding my braid in his hand, he slashes the sharp edge over my hair, severing it. Immediately, the hair in his hand turns black and becomes dust while the stub of hair that’s still attached to my head begins to lengthen and grow until it’s the exact same length it was before. I’m not shocked. It has been doing that since before I can remember. He smiles. “Greetings, Kricket.”
“Who are you?” I ask, watching the stairs as the other two men tread cautiously down toward us.
“My name is Kyon and this is Forester and Lecto…we’re your friends,” he replies, attempting a smile that looks more like a shark showing its teeth. Visions of every social worker I’ve ever been assigned to bounce rapidly through my head. They were all very different, but they all have one common thread. They always claim to be my friend right before they leave me in the deepest pit of hell.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to buy time so I can figure out how to get out of this.
“We want to return you to your family.” He watches my reaction.
Feeling a deep sense of déjà vu, I try to think of what to do next. “What family? What are you talking about?”
“The family from which you were stolen. You’re a very important member of our clan,” The shark smile comes back to his face.
“Is that right?” I ask sarcastically, not believing a word he’s saying. “What am I, royalty?”
“No…you’re much higher than that. You’re the daughter of a priestess, which makes you a priestess, too,” he replies, his eyes assessing me.
I laugh, but not with humor. “Okay…glad we cleared that up. This is a joke, right? Did you and your buddy Trey get together, pick me out—decide to play with my head or something? It’s not funny, freak!” I try again to pull away from him.
Kyon’s eyes shrink to slits. “You’ve spoken with Trey Allairis of Rafe clan?” he asks angrily.
“The conversation was really one-sided, kind of like this one,” I reply, flinching as his grip becomes even tighter before he shakes me hard again.