by Nyna Queen
Alex was so absorbed in her emotional tangle between relief and misery, she didn’t even feel Mitja approaching until he stubbed his toe at the crate she’d dropped in the middle of the dark closet. He swore with surprising creativity and bounced up and down like a jack-in-a-box whose lid had been capped.
Ouch! Alex flinched. That must have hurt. Ugh, human eyes. So easy to forget how limited those senses were in the dark.
When he had finally finished his little step dance performance, his eyes fell on the obstacle in his way and despite the dark, she had no trouble to see them widen when he realized what he had bumped into.
Ah, shit!
His gaze found her cowering at the back wall and a frown knitted his forehead.
“Alex.”
Uh-oh, never good when he said her name in quite that way.
“Please tell me you didn’t just carry over the whole crate.”
Alex gritted her teeth. No point in lying, really. The crate was proof enough in itself. And it wasn’t like he really expected an answer to this question, anyway. This conversation wasn’t exactly a first.
His gray-blue eyes pinned her against the wall. Waiting.
Defense rule number one: if pushed against a wall, attack is your best defense.
Her chin rose on its own accord. “So? What if I did?”
Despite her best effort to sound perky, there was a slight quiver in her voice. Damn that trueborn to the bowels of hell!
Mitja swore again, issuing another row of obscenities that would have made a sailor proud.
“For heaven’s sake, Alex!” he finally ground out. “How often do I have to tell you? Don’t always carry the whole fucking thing!”
“And why, pray tell, not?” Who was he anyway to tell her what she could and couldn’t do?
He looked at her with a tortured expression and raked a hand through his shaggy brown hair as if he wanted to tear it out one by one.
“For the hundredth of times: they are too heavy for one person to carry. Especially you. When does that finally penetrate that thick skull of yours? I mean the frekkin’ things weigh half as much as you do.”
Oh, a fragile little woman, now, was she?
“You have to take out the single packages and carry them over one by one,” he went on with the same lenient patience he always used whenever he thought she was acting particularly stubborn. Yeah, blah, blah, blah, she’d heard it all before. “Might take a while longer that way, but honestly, no ruined back is worth the saved time and—” He paused. Watched her through narrowed eyes. “Why am I even talking to you?” he muttered. “You’re not listening anyway. Like talking against a damn brick wall.”
Alex crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. “You done with the lecture, Dad?” There. That came out with the right amount of sass.
Mitja opened his mouth. Closed it again. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something, but finally, he just shook his head. “You know what? Forget it. Here, I’ll help you with that.”
And before she could say anything, he bent down and grabbed the full crate, bottles and everything, and heaved it up from the floor. So much for that!
His lean body swayed under the weight. He wasn’t a pushover—the physically demanding work in a bar didn’t tolerate weaklings for long—but he wasn’t a bodybuilder type either. Yet he must have at least forty pounds on her and he clearly had trouble with that one crate. No wonder he thought it would put the boot into her.
Under visible effort, Mitja hefted the crate toward the tap room, muttering something under his breath about women and knuckle-white insanity.
Alex slumped back against the wall and buried her head in her hands. Bitch! Here he was worrying about her and all she could do was fuck him over for it. But sometimes he just made her so … aaargh! Always so wrong for all the right reasons.
Alex sighed. Why he’d made it his personal mission to watch over her wellbeing was beyond her. Certainly not because she was so damn thankful for it.
As soon she felt sure enough that she wouldn’t land on her ass the second she let go of the wall, she peeled herself off the paint and slowly followed Mitja over into the taproom.
The room had suspiciously emptied during the last couple of minutes. Having a trueborn serial killer appearing in your bar wasn’t beneficial for business. Luckily, in the Bin, people easily forgot. And what they’d lost in customers who had left, would most likely be equaled out by what they earned out of those who had stayed and needed a couple of strong drinks on the shock.
Mitja was behind the counter, busily unpacking the crate and storing the bottles in the fridge under the bar. She joined him wordlessly. They worked in silence for a while, their well-attuned movements quickly turning into a typical rhythm: Slash, rip, thud. Slash, rip, thud.
Oh, she knew it wasn’t over. She could feel him silently bristling beside her. It didn’t seem like a good moment to mention the other crates still waiting outside. She’d just sneak them in later.
At some point, Mitja dropped a bottle on the counter. It rolled against the beer pump with a clang, swayed a little, and lay still.
Alex raised her eyes from her package. Braced for a hissy fit, the expression on his face took her completely by surprise. He looked … resigned, almost sad. It hit her more than any yelling could have done.
“Why are you doing this, Alex?”
“Doing what?”
“All of this!” He waved his hands in a gesture encompassing the whole room. “This place. This job. Just … all of it.”
Alex frowned. Now, where was he going with this?
Mitja heaved an exasperated sigh. “You act like this is it. The end. Like this is the best you can expect from life.”
Alex’s throat constricted painfully. It was. For her, it was. Only there was no way she could explain this to him.
Mitja seemed to wait for a reaction. When none came, he raked a hand through his face.
“Come on Alex, throw me a bone here. You’re young, you’re smart. You can even be nice if you make an effort—no, don’t scowl at me like this—what I’m saying is, the whole world is open to you. So why are you still here? Help me out here, ‘cause I just don’t get it!”
She just stared at him, unable to speak. Somewhere in the back of the bar, some drunken guys broke into an argument, but Mitja ignored them. He picked up the bottle and rolled in between his hands.
“Look, I know why I’m here. I have my sick mom to care for, but you—”
Don’t have anybody? He didn’t actually say it, but the words hung between them, unspoken and heavy.
“You’re not weighed down by such a burden,” he finally said with a sigh. “Nothing holds you here. You could just leave, you know. Quit. There are tons of better places than this shithole. But no, here you are, working your ass off, shift after shift after bloody shift—and for what? Nobody’s gonna thank you for it! Mahoney certainly won’t.”
No, their boss wasn’t one to thank. But he was quite generous when it came to rebukes and extra shifts.
Mitja closed the empty crate with a snap. “I mean, have you recently taken a look at yourself? You look like a freaking ghost!”
Oh, she could imagine that. If she was only half as pale as she felt, she must be white as a sheet.
“Why, you flatter me Mr. Piotri.” The remark didn’t come out as scoffing as she would have liked. Even to her own ears, she sounded worn and exhausted, hammering home his point with a flourish.
Mitja gave her a hard look. “I mean it, Alex. How many hours have you been here? Sixteen?”
Not even close. Alex avoided his eye. A hint of the truth must have registered on her face, though, because his mouth set into a grim line.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Nobody can go on like that and expect that they won’t have to pay for it eventually.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Now you’re starting to sound like my mother.” Or, that was, like any decent moth
er would likely sound in such a situation. Hers had made a rather lousy job at that. That would have required presence, in the first place.
Still, Mitja was right. Since John was on sick leave, she’d been on double shifts for the better part of the last two weeks and it was finally taking its toll.
Shapers, like most kinds of mongrels, were a tough breed; their bodies could cope with a lot more strain than those of normal humans and they endured much longer under extreme circumstances, like a substantial lack of sleep or food. Yet like everything in life it came with a price. And as Mitja had noted so Mr. Smart-Alec: everyone had their limits. That held true for shaper kind as well. And hers were clearly in sight.
Mitja leaned toward her, jolting her out of her thoughts, his gray-blue eyes serious. “Do you really want to play Mahoney’s bitch for the rest of your life?”
Alex recoiled. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
Mitja gave her a flat look. “It’s called caring. People do that occasionally.”
“Well, I never asked for anyone to care for me!”
“You don’t always get to choose, Alex.”
There was so much genuine concern in his eyes, she wanted to smack him over the head. Why couldn’t he just yell at her? That she knew how to deal with. When confronted, you could always counter with a witty remark, and if that didn’t work, she always had some sharp arguments stashed up her sleeves. But dealing with this … mushy-slushy emotional stuff … It was like finding a wounded doe at the side of the street. You wanted to help it, but you had no clue how to stop the bleeding and suddenly your hands would be red and those doe eyes would look at you like you’d been the one who’d run it over. And then you suddenly wouldn’t be sure if you actually had.
She tried to avoid wounded deer on the road. Hell, she tried to avoid roads at best. But here she was, seeing that bruised look in Mitja’s eyes, and there was no way to pretend she hadn’t been steering that damn vehicle.
Alex lowered her eyes first.
“Just the rest of the night,” she muttered, as she rolled up the packing material, incidentally popping a few bubbles of the air cushion foil. “Then I have the whole weekend off.”
And hell, she was looking forward to it. Resting. Sleeping in. The whole program. She didn’t even remember how it felt to get a full night of sleep. She shoved the package into a free space below the bar. It would be a real epiphany.
“Most exhausting thing I’ll have to do is to drag myself from my bed to the couch and back again.”
Mitja didn’t look fully convinced but finally graced her with a curt nod. “You better stick to that.”
She would. Oh, how she would. Spending a cozy afternoon on her old beat-up two-seater, snuggling up with a blanket and a mug of tea and perhaps one or two of the books she’d bought at a little peddlers’ market a couple of weeks ago. Just a bit of time for herself. Sounded too lovely to be true.
Alex stored the last bottle in the fridge and checked the clock above the bar. Only two hours to go until she could draw the shutters closed and bid this hellhole goodbye for a few days. Two more hours. Doable.
Her spirits rose substantially at the mere prospect—just to hit rock bottom, when the angry vibrations of stomping high heels caused an earthquake inside her skull.
No!
Alex buried her head into her hands and groaned.
CHAPTER THREE
WHY me?
Alex pressed her forehead against her fingers. Her delicate shaper senses picked up vibrations much like the human ear attuned to sounds and enabled her to distinguish between different vibrational patterns. With a bit of concentration, she could identify most people around her by the “feel” of their steps.
Well, no concentration was needed to know who was approaching right now. She knew damn well who those skull-shaking steps belonged to. Just about the last person in the world she wanted to see at the moment.
Peeking through a slit between her fingers, Alex immediately spotted the voluminous figure of her most flamboyant colleague Darcy, pushing her way through the taproom, bullying people out of her way with her sheer presence.
Calling her plump would be a compliment. Stuck somewhere between the youth she’d left behind and the real age she wouldn’t accept, Darcy was a walking no-go: the tight pink top provided a too deep insight into her cleavage but failed to mask the layer of pudge that had built around her middle over the last few years. The skirt was a bit too short, the heels a bit too high. All things considered, she looked like she had squeezed herself into an outfit of her supposedly glorious, wild twenties, in a desperate attempt to prove to the word that she was still young and desirable. The thing was, those clothes might have fit her then—and that was a big might—but they certainly didn’t fit her now and only turned the spotlight on the signs of aging they were supposed to cover up.
Alex felt a strong urge to hide behind the counter, no matter how childish that would be, when Darcy spotted her over the heads of the customers and waved a cheerful hand at her.
Game over! Hiding a grimace, Alex dropped her hands, straightened up and placed her elbows on the counter, anxious to await her fate with whatever dignity she still had left. Considering the events of the night, it wasn’t much.
Darcy reached the counter, huffing as if she’d just finished a marathon, and slapped her frilly handbag on the top. A cloud of sweet perfume almost made Alex gag.
Darcy graced her with a big, make-up distorted smile and leaned over to her, revealing way more of her big tits than Alex wanted to see.
“Alex-darling, how are things going?”
Just fine, until you showed up.
Alex gritted her teeth to keep the words from tumbling out.
“Darcy.” She forced a smile that couldn’t quite hide her testiness. “Thought you were off duty tonight?”
“I am, darling. I am.” Her colleague waved a plump hand. “I was just around the block, see? Thought I’d stop by for a quick chat. Say hello and so forth …”
Yeah, sure. And she would run for the next trueborn gubernatorial election.
Alex exhaled slowly. “What is it this time, Darce?”
She still felt rattled and wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat. Since she had a fairly good idea what was coming, she could as well get it over with.
Darcy gave her a scandalized look. “Bah, how you make me look, Alex. As if I only showed up if I wanted to ask you a favor.” She broke into guffawing laughter like she’d just made a hilarious joke, clearly expecting Alex to join in. Well, she wouldn’t do her that favor. Not tonight.
When Darcy realized that Alex wouldn’t comply, her laughter faded into a little frown, but after a moment she shrugged it off like a coat that didn’t fit the occasion.
Her wide mouth split into another big smile. “Alright, alright, darling. You got me there. I have a big, big, big favor to ask of you.”
And here we go again …
“I know I recently asked you once or twice”—a dozen times was more like it—“but, you know. My friends and I, we want to go out tonight, see? Hit the bull and stuff. They opened this new club just ‘round the corner of Leechens’ Road. Nice stuff. Really nice. But I got that naaasty shift tomorrow, see? So, I thought, Alex, is what I thought, would surely be so kind as to swap shifts with me.”
Expectant eyes watched her from under half-closed eyelids.
“Again, Darce?” This time Alex didn’t even bother to hide her testiness. She was dead on her feet and the last thing she needed was another bone-ragging shift tomorrow. Especially since “swap” usually meant that she would end up doing both shifts.
“Oh, come o-on,” Darcy whined, making an extremely unattractive pouting expression with her mouth. “Be a deary!”
Alex leaned back her head. “I was on double shift all week. And tomorrow is my first free day in …” When had her last free day been, anyway?
“Now, don’t make such a fuss, darling. It’s not like you had any plans for the weeke
nd, anyway.”
Alex flinched at the verbal slap. It wasn’t a big secret among her colleagues that she didn’t have a brimming social life. She knew they were gossiping about it—or rather, its absence—when they thought she couldn’t hear. Too bad her senses didn’t only work when she wanted them to. Still, it was one thing to catch a few hushed words that guiltily stopped when she walked around the corner. To get it rubbed into her face so blatantly, was quite another.
So, she didn’t go out. Well, she had her reasons. The closer you came to people, the more careless you got. The harder it became to keep your secrets. And she had plenty of those in stock. That didn’t make her work for free, now did it?
Sensing her vulnerability, like a shark sensed blood, Darcy reached over and grabbed one of Alex’s hands between her own big, warm, sweaty ones. It took all of Alex’s will not to pull away.
Her colleague’s words sounded solemn enough for a vow. “It will be the last time. I swear.”
Yeah, sure. Like it had been the last time the other dozen occasions when she’d begged and pushed her into taking her bloody shift.
Something calculating crept into Darcy’s mascara-overloaded eyes. “I’ll even give you the money upfront.”
She reached into her bag and waved a bill right in front of Alex’s nose, baiting her with that unfair leverage. It wasn’t a secret either that she was rather short of cash on a constant basis.
Alex chewed on her lip. She could use that extra money, no question about that. Rent was due in a few days and her fridge was gaping empty, too. With the extra pay, she would be able to afford some real food after paying her bills. Maybe even some dark meat … As if to show her up, her stomach growled loudly, sticking a mean knife into the open wound. The heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
Calculation was superseded by a triumph.
“Please,” Darcy coaxed, shaking their hands between their bodies. “Pretty please.”
Alex sighed. Why take the long and stony road? Darcy wouldn’t give her any peace until she yielded anyway. And she needed that money. Period! They both knew she did.