The Secrets We Keep, page 3
My naturally red tresses are now highlighted so much that I’m basically a blonde and I have to admit, as much as I hate using Tommy’s money, it’s really nice not wearing a wig. Plus, having my own long locks framing my face, I feel freer than I have in a while.
Like I’m not hiding quite so much.
Maybe that’s why Tommy kept my legal name here. I can still be Quinn, just a slightly different version of the Quinn I left behind when I ran from Trent. The Quinn I was always meant to be, the one I almost was before I met him.
I make the walk across the city back toward the apartment building. I could grab an Uber, but the sun is shining and the warm air feels amazing against my skin. Spring on the west coast just hits different, apparently. The sights and sounds are a little overwhelming, but that’s mostly my own fault for having stayed in small towns for so long.
There’s just… so many freaking people.
I take a deep breath and remind myself it’s a good thing. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd of this many people and Tommy knows what he’s doing.
We’re doing it his way.
Shaking off the skin-prickling wave of paranoia, I tell myself I can do this. Tonight is my first shift at HellScape—a rock bar that Tommy set me up with a job at. Not so sure about the name, but I checked it out online and it looks pretty nice. Way more upscale than I’d have thought for a rock club, but since my little ball of sunshine self is a total emo girl at heart, we’re not complaining.
It doesn’t take too long to get back to the apartment building where Sam, the daytime doorman, greets me with a warm smile. He looks much younger than Eric, but he seems nice enough and Tommy swore that everyone here goes through extensive checks, so there’s no way Trent can get to them…
God, I hope he doesn’t find me.
I let out a breath as the elevator dings before the doors open, and I startle as I find myself face-to-face with a blond guy who looks like a freaking Adonis.
“Sorry, sweetness. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He places a hand against the door of the elevator and motions for me to get out. I give him a tight smile and a quick thank you as I scurry away.
Really need to work on those people skills, Quinn.
My hand shakes as I attempt three times to put my key in the door, but it’s not until I hear the elevator doors close and I’m alone again that I manage to calm enough to actually get into my apartment. Slamming the door shut, I lean back on it and berate myself for being so jumpy and letting fear override everything I’ve learned the last few years.
If Trent had been out there, I’d have been screwed, my hands shaking so much I couldn’t even get in my door. My heart was racing so much that I couldn’t even say thank you properly to who I assume is my neighbor—who now very likely thinks I’m a neurotic head case. I mean, not that that’s a totally out-of-line assumption, but dammit.
Groaning, I push myself off the door and drop my bags on the counter. I need a shower to wash this whole thing off and freshen up before my shift. I’m going in early to meet the bar manager and learn the basics, but I’ve done enough bartending the last few years that I’m pretty sure it’s not going to take me long to get into the swing of things.
I twist my hair up on my head and turn the shower on, letting the water heat while I empty the bags onto the bed and grab a fluffy towel from the closet.
Got to love Tommy for furnishing this place for me.
Padding back into the steam-filled bathroom, I suck in a lungful of warm, humid air and hold it, counting back from ten before releasing it to try and center myself.
It’s safe here, Quinn. Just go with it.
After my mini pep talk, I undress and move under the hot water, letting out a soft moan as the strong stream pelts against my skin in the most beautiful way. I might still not be totally comfortable with the upgrades Tommy put in place for this new living arrangement, but I can’t be sad or mad about this shower.
This might just be my new favorite place in the world.
I stand under the hot water until it starts to cool, disappointment spiking through my stomach because it means I need to go back to real life. It doesn’t take me long to go through the motions of freshening up, especially since I don’t need to wash my hair, and I shut off the water, wrapping the towel around myself, trying to hype myself up for the first night of work.
Anxiety always tries to get the best of me on my first day at a new job, mostly because Trent found me once on day one. I didn’t sleep for three days after that, wondering how he found me. My brain trips over every tiny thing that could go wrong, runs through every scenario of just how bad the night could go, and every single time I nearly tap out.
Hell, a few times, especially at the beginning, it did win, and I did tap out.
Thankfully, I’ve managed to best it the last year or so, but after the moment on the elevator, I’m more rattled than I’d like.
Telling myself that it’s just first-day nerves and that no one is going to punish me for being human and making mistakes, I pull my new black, ripped skinny jeans from the bed, a tank, and a long-sleeved crop hoodie—the back and arms are just mesh—and set them aside. Perfect for the vibe I caught online. Pulling the clip from my hair, it cascades down my back and I decide to leave it down and a little wavy, but make a mental note to grab a hair tie, just in case I get too hot later.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I roll my shoulders and stretch out my neck. One hour until I need to meet the bar manager. Definitely enough time to get ready and shove some food down my throat. My stomach twists at the thought and I frown.
Or maybe just some coffee. That’ll totally work.
I dry off, run my fingers through my hair, paint on my brows, stick on some false lashes, and finish my face before I get dressed. I glance at myself in the mirror and hope I’ll do. The casual smoky eye with a nude lip looks good with my casual-but-not outfit. I slide on my all-black Chucks and nod.
I’ll do.
Grabbing my phone, I open the Uber app and put in a request for a car to take me to HellScape while I make myself a coffee, sweet and black like my heart, which I pour into a tumbler I grabbed today for the ride.
Deep breath, Quinn. You got this.
My phone pings, telling me my car is here, so I pocket my keys, my phone, grab a hair tie, and head out, making sure about twelve times that all of the locks are in place before I head down.
“Have a good evening, Miss Summers,” Eric calls out as I dash through the lobby, and I shoot him a smile and wave. Guess shift change happened while I was upstairs.
I scope out the cars waiting at the sidewalk, noting the plate number that lines up with the one in my app. I screenshot my app notes and send it to Tommy—ya know, just in case—before I jump in the blue car.
“Quinn?” the driver asks and I nod. “Great,” is all he responds as I close the door before he pulls away. I pay an outrageous amount of attention to where we’re going, following his drive on my maps app to make sure we’re going where we’re supposed to be. My paranoia might be a little out of control, but you try running for two-plus years and not being a little crazy. That’s without everything that happened before I left Trent. All things considered, I think I’m pretty stable and functional.
Once my panic is sated, I lean my head back, trying not to think about how the hell I ended up in this position. I don’t mean the running… that’s a given considering Trent. What I mean is ending up with a man like Trent after how I grew up.
Living with violence from a young age, I swore I’d never end up in the same position my mom was in. I told myself if a man ever showed me that side of him, I’d be gone. But it turns out that the manipulation makes it harder than I ever imagined. I let out a huff of a laugh. I didn’t even realize it was that bad until I saw the pity reflected back at me from a nurse in the ER. It was my fifth broken bone from a ‘fall’, and while Trent had most people, even me, convinced that it was my own fault—albeit they thought I’d fallen while clumsy, whereas I believed I deserved his anger—she seemed to see through the bullshit. I hadn’t seen her around before, so maybe she was new to town. Maybe she didn’t know Trent, didn’t know enough to believe his lies. But the pity on her face… it broke me. It made me realize I’d become my mom, and horror filled my heart as ice ran through my veins. Shame coiled inside of me like an angry snake.
I’d become everything I swore I’d never be.
It was that day I knew I had to leave.
It took another year before I managed to pull it off, to get the money together and come up with a plan… I’ve been running ever since.
“We’re here,” my driver announces, pulling me from my memories, and I berate myself for being so at ease in this car. Apparently, the lull of a big city and Tommy having my details is making me a little sloppy. Which is hilarious, considering my reaction at the elevator earlier.
Maybe I really am a head case.
“Thank you,” I respond, tipping him via the app before climbing from the car. Once he pulls away, I stare up at the unassuming building. It looks like any other industrial building. Tall, big rectangular windows up high, rimmed in black, and a black metal double door sitting beneath the HELLSCAPE sign.
I blow out a breath and gather my wits before moving to the door and pressing the intercom button at the side.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice filters through the grainy speaker.
“Hey, it’s Quinn. I’m supposed to start here tonight.” My words are barely out of my mouth when there’s a buzz and the door pops open just enough for me to realize whoever is inside is letting me in.
I grab the door handle and shake my head.
Here we go again, I guess.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Quinn?” The voice calls out as I exit the pitch-black hall that I just fumbled my way down, cursing myself out in my head for not thinking about using the flashlight on my phone to light the way.
“That’s me,” I say with way more pep than I feel. I look up, my eyes adjusting to the lit space, and find a dark-haired, somewhat stern-looking woman assessing me. I’d say looking at me, but she is thoroughly assessing me. Her gaze crawls over my body from head to toe and I freeze under her stare. She kind of reminds me of Pam from True Blood, right down to the skin-tight outfit she has on.
“Let’s dial back the pep, it's not needed here.”
I nod, sucking in a breath, telling myself that I’ve gotten over my people pleasing ways—thanks for those, Dad—and that I know I don’t have to be perpetual sunshine all the goddamn time. “Got it.”
“I’m Harper. Don’t you dare call me Harp, I will cut you,” she says with a toothy grin and it instantly puts me at ease, despite her snarky words.
“No Harp or I bleed, understood,” I say back to her as I half laugh.
“Good, now that’s out of the way, Hunter told me to play nice with the new girl, so I’ll give you enough rope that you can hang yourself. If you fuck up, then it’s on you.”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. I like this chick, even if she is brutal. “This is you playing nice? God forbid being on your bad side.”
Her smile widens and her black-lined eyes sparkle. “You’re getting the picture. At least you’re quick. You worked a bar before?”
I nod and run through my experience, watching as she looks more bored by the second.
“Well that’ll help, but this place is a little… different. To start with, you’ll just tend the front bar. It’s tamer out here. But you’re going to need different clothes. Didn’t anyone give you the rundown of this place?”
I blink at her and shake my head. “I just saw online it’s a rock bar.”
She chortles, her laugh as husky as her voice. “Oh, cutie, you have no idea. We are a rock bar… but this is a sex club. The basement and back bar will be off-limits to you until I know you’re not going to royally fuck up.”
I blink at her, trying to work out if she’s joking or not.
“Stop looking at me like I just blew your mind and get your ass back here so I can show you how our registers work,” she snaps and I jump into action, scurrying across the room to follow her behind the bar. I try to take in the space as I haul ass and realize she’s not joking. There’s nothing obvious on display, but taking in what she’s said, with the booths that have privacy curtains, the oversized birdcages that hang from the ceiling, and the sign above a door that says, ‘Toy Chest’… yeah, it’s enough for me to realize she’s not fucking around.
“So, the front bar is a typical club, anyone can come here to party, but the back and the basement? Those are members only. They have their own separate entrances, but some like to come through here. If you notice people with masks or red bands on their wrist, they are members. Be extra nice, but not too nice, you understand? We do not fuck the members.”
Her tone is so harsh. Mixed with her raspy voice, it just kind of works, but once she’s done scolding me on appropriate fuckery decorum, we jump into general bar function—what’s on offer, what isn’t, and other such bullshit.
Aside from the stuff out back, it’s a normal club.
“You got all that?” she asks, glancing up at the clock.
“Yeah, it’s pretty standard stuff.”
She glances me up and down again and sighs. “Fine. Now we need to sort out what you’re wearing. Lose the tank.”
“Excuse you?” I blink at her like she didn’t just tell me to get half naked.
She rolls her eyes at me like I’m a tantruming child and sighs again “You’re overdressed, Pep. You’re going to feel out of place if you’re wearing all that once the others get here. So take off the tank. I’m assuming you have a pretty bra on?”
“Well, yeah,” I stammer, as she struts away from me.
“Good, I’ve got a harness that should fit you just right.”
A harness?
What the fuck has Tommy gotten me into now? I never thought I was a prude, but apparently I’m learning some new things about myself tonight.
Harper returns with a leather and metal contraption dangling from her finger. “This is one of mine. If you fuck it up, I’ll fuck you up, understood?”
I nod at her and reach out to take it from her, but she pulls it back. “Take off your goddamn tank. You’re going to need help doing this up. Why the fuck did Meyer hire you? You’re going to be eaten alive in an hour. And that’s just with Jessica, let alone the others. Jesus fucking Christ.”
My ego takes one hit after the other, but I shrug out of the hoodie and take off my tank, fighting every instinct to cover my stomach with my arms as she takes in the artwork that covers a good chunk of my skin. Thankfully, it hides my scars, which is exactly why I have the ink. She finally grins at me again. “Much better. Now you’ll fit in. Turn around.”
I am going to yell at Tommy so bad later. I typically have zero issues showing my body, but I wasn’t prepared for this, and being caught off guard has my inner meltdown switch hovering dangerously close to the ‘on’ position.
Regardless, I do what she says, the people pleaser part of myself I despise so much taking charge, and she helps me get into the leather straps and snaps the buckles into place on my back and at the back of my throat. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar and my eyes widen. It’s a choker that descends into a pentagram over my chest, loops around my tits, and there’s a band of leather that wraps just under my bust.
It’s beautiful in its own way and, while it’s not something I’d typically pick for myself, it could be much worse.
“Better,” she says as I hear voices coming toward us. “The others are here, so get yourself ready, Pep. It's time to sink or swim.”
I’m four hours into my first shift and I’ve broken three glasses and slipped twice. Oh yeah, I’m making a great impression already and well on my way to figuratively hanging myself with that rope. What I have learned, however, is that there is definitely a pecking order here and I am on the lowest rung of the ladder.
The people working the basement and back rooms definitely have that air of ‘we’re better than you.’
Harper has been watching me like a hawk all night and I already made an enemy of one of the other five bar staff working the main floor with absolutely no idea how. But Jessica—my apparent new enemy—has made it her mission tonight to slam into me every chance she gets.
I guess Harper was right about her.
So far I’ve worn two of the drinks she ‘accidentally’ spilled and her stiletto heels have bruised my feet so much that I’m fairly certain I’ve broken my toe because of her.
But it’s fine, it’s totally fine.
Mikey seems nice enough, but he is flamboyant as hell and makes my people-pleaser pep look like a walking thunderstorm. Tori has been the nicest to me, helping me out when I’ve been obviously drowning in cocktail orders, and seems to be just generally nice. The others have just gotten on with their night and left me to it.
I have to admit that my fascination with the dancers in the cages has been more than a little distracting, but I guess this is one of the differences between working in a small town bar and working in a hotspot nightclub in the middle of the city.
Thankfully, I’ve been too busy all night to even think about the sheer amount of people in here, or Trent, or well… any of the things that haunt me.
“Take your break,” Harper tells me, nodding to a door behind the bar, which I learned earlier leads to the break room. I open my mouth to object but change my mind and nod. My feet will absolutely thank me for getting off of them for ten minutes, so will my very aching knee that I’ve been ignoring for the last hour since I reluctantly took some pain meds.
I push the door open and it’s like I step into a bubble once the door closes. My ears ring in the silence and it takes a few seconds for me to even out. Murmurs finally reach me as my hearing comes back properly and when I turn into the break room, the conversation stops entirely as I find myself being stared at by people I haven’t met yet.
