The Darkest Pleasure Read Online Free Page B

What are you doing? She couldn’t think about her family now. “What if” would paralyze her.
    “You’re wasting time,” Enrique said, tugging her from her dark musings. “Shake your ass like I told you. Your customers are waiting and if they send back their food ’cause it’s cold, you’re going to pay for it.”
    She wanted to throw the plates at him, but “No attention!” was screaming inside her head, so she just smiled and pivoted on her heels, ratty sneakers squeaking. Chin high, back straight, she marched toward the table with dread congealing in her stomach. Both men watched her with those hard eyes. They were clearly middle-class with their inexpensive clothes and average haircuts. Tanned and buff as they were, they could have been construction workers. If so, they hadn’t come straight from a job. They were clean, their jeans and T-shirts unstained.
    One had a toothpick sticking out from between his teeth and was rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other, the motions faster and faster the closer she came. Her hands were shaking from fatigue, but she managed to set the plates in front of each man without accidentally dumping the food in their laps. A lock of inky hair escaped her ponytail and fell down her temple.
    Hands finally free, she hooked the strands behind her ear.BB—before Budapest—she’d had long blond hair. AB—after Budapest—she’d chopped it to shoulder length and dyed it black to alter her appearance. Another crime to lay at the monsters’ door.
    “Sorry about the fry.” Despite their clear disdain for her, these men were good tippers. “I wasn’t trying to eat it, just to keep it on the plate.” Liar. God, she never used to lie.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Bird One said, unable to mask the slight twinge of irritation in his voice.
    Don’t send the food back. Please don’t send the food back. She couldn’t afford the cut in her pay. “Can I get you anything else?” Their cups were almost full, so she left them in place.
    “We’re fine,” Bird Two replied. Again, polite enough words but uttered in an unmistakably waspish tone. He waved one of the paper napkins and settled it on his lap.
    She caught a glimpse of a small figure eight tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Surprising. Had anyone asked her to bet, she would have put big money on a dark-haired female with a bloody hatchet coming out of her back.
    “Well, holler if you need anything.” She forced herself to smile, knowing she probably resembled a feral wolf. “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Just as she was about to move away—
    “When do you take a break?” Two asked abruptly.
    Uh, what now? He wanted to know when she went on break? Why? She doubted he’d asked for romantic reasons, since he was still watching her with mild distaste. “I, uh, don’t.”
    He popped a fry in his mouth, chewed, then licked his grease-smeared lips. “How about taking one tonight?”
    “Sorry. Can’t.” Keep smiling. “I have other tables.” She should have added: Maybe next time. Encouragement might have softened him at tip time. But the words clumped together in her throat, forming a hard knot. Go, go, go.
    Pivot. They disappeared from view. Her smile—gone. Six quick strides and she reached Gilly, the only other waitress onduty tonight, who stood in front of the drink counter, filling three plastic cups with different sodas. Though Danika should’ve been checking on the patrons she’d used as an excuse only seconds before, she needed a moment to fortify her composure.
    “God save me,” she muttered. She flattened her hands on the bar and leaned forward, cocking her hip. Thankfully, a half wall blocked her from the customers’ view.
    “He won’t.” Gilly, a sixteen-year-old runaway—eighteen if anyone asked—flashed Danika a tired grimace of sympathy. They’d both been working fourteen-hour days. “He’s already given up on us, I think.”
    Such pessimism seemed wrong in someone so young.