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Chapter One
V
“Hey, asshole,” I shouted across the shit heap I worked in. “Get your goddamned feet off the bar.”
The redneck in the cut-off jacket blew me a kiss, but removed his feet. I was amazed he’d gotten them up there in the first place, considering the amount he’d been drinking. I should have probably cut him off, but I couldn’t be bothered with the fight I knew he’d give me.
With a sigh, I wiped off the shiny mahogany surface with a damp rag and collected a couple of empties. One of the regulars motioned to me for a refill, so I poured him another shot. Cigarette smoke filled the air. No one was supposed to smoke in public areas anymore, but the patrons here never took any notice of that rule. It wasn’t as though the police even cared. In this backward little town, they were probably more bent than the perps they arrested.
“Hey, Johnny,” I called out to my boss, a guy in his mid-forties, who was also working alongside me that night. “Mind if I take my break?”
“Sure thing, Viola,” he yelled back over the music and raucous laughter coming from a group of guys near the pool table.
“Hey, I told you not to call me that. It’s Vee, remember?”
Viola. Ugh. The name made me want to puke. It was from Shakespeare. I didn’t know if whoever chose my name was trying to be funny, but I was about as far from being Shakespearean as it was possible to get. Some people in the program were allowed to keep their first names, and sometimes even their initials, but it was considered too dangerous for me to do so.
I grabbed a drink and headed out through the back of the bar and out into the alleyway behind. The unpleasant tang of stale alcohol, mixed with a hint of old urine, filled my nostrils. The alleyway was shrouded in darkness apart from the light which illuminated the rear of the building, and the light from the streetlights at the far end. To my left were a number of large industrial trashcans, the cool of the night preventing them from adding to the not-so-lovely aroma of piss and booze in the air. At the end of the alley, the street brightened, and I watched as several vehicles drove by on the main street, only catching glimpses of them as they did so. Female laughter sounded, and then a young couple passed by, arm in arm, and vanished again, unaware of me watching them walk by.
I dropped onto the step leading down to the ground from the back door and took a swig of my drink—straight bourbon which burned a fiery path down the inside of my throat and then settled to warm my stomach. I drank most of the time, but managed to get it to a level where the pain was dulled, but I was still able to function like a normal human being—well on the outside, anyway. I wasn’t stupid. I was perfectly aware the alcohol was my way of coping with the disaster my life had always been, but it had been made so much worse since that day. I tried to exist with the memory of what I did. That was the best I could do, but I’d never go on to live a normal life. How could I? I was haunted by the knowledge I killed someone I loved, and it wasn’t something I’d ever get over. I was broken inside, and I couldn’t be fixed.
It didn’t matter anyway. I just needed to make it through the next few months in order to get my revenge. After that, I could die and no one would care. Especially not me.
A scrape sounded from the opposite end of the alley, tearing me from my thoughts, making all my muscles stiffen. I held my breath, my ears straining, and I peered into the night.
Was someone up there, hiding in the dark?
I leaned forward, my ass already growing numb from sitting on the cold stoop. “Hello?”
I didn’t get any response—I wasn’t really expecting one—but I couldn’t shift the certainty that someone was out there, watching me.
Narrowing my eyes, I began to rise from my position on the step …
Sudden movement came from behind me, from the rear exit of the bar, making me jump. I twisted slightly to see who it was. I figured it was most likely Johnny coming to call me in early from my break. Perhaps the bar had suddenly filled up, but instead, the redneck I’d shouted at came stumbling through.
“If you’re looking for the bathrooms,” I told him, “they’re back there.”
He gave me a grin, exposing bad teeth. He was probably twice my age, in his forties, at least. “Nah, sweetheart. I came looking for you. Figured you could use some company.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, dude. I’m seriously not interested.”
His already lined forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “Huh?”
“You heard me. Go back to the bar. You’re interrupting my break.”
He scowled. “Did anyone ever tell you that you ain’t got no manners?”
Slowly, I got to my feet. “I’m sorry, you must be confusing me with someone who gives a shit.”
He took another step toward me. “I should teach you some good behavior, little lady. I think you need to be taken in hand.”
His threat simmered in the air between us, and I stared at him, every muscle in my body poised to react.
He took another step.
I moved quickly, reaching down the front of my scoop neck t-shirt and plucking the knife from the sheath which had been pressed against my solar plexus, the belt clip attached to the center portion of my bra. I brandished the wickedly sharp five-inch blade between us, my shoulders squared. I would have liked to have carried larger, but that was impossible without it being noticeable—I knew, because I’d already tried. A gun would have been even better, but I certainly wasn’t going to get a license to carry, and the cops were on my back too much to allow me to purchase a weapon illegally. Besides, I had no contacts here—something that was done deliberately—so I had to make do.
His eyes flicked down to the knife. “What the fuck, you crazy bitch!”
