Devious Madness (Vicious Sinners #2)

Chapter 1

M y shift starts with a bar fight breaking out as I clear off one of the booths near the pool table. I barely escape a fist to my jaw before Charlie, the bouncer, gets to the spot and tears the two guys off each other.

“You okay? They get you?” Henry, the owner of the dive aptly named the Dive Bar, looks me over when I get back to the bar with the empties.

“No. Not this time.” I toss the bottles into the recycling bin.

Last week, I didn’t even see the elbow flying in my direction before it hit me right in the side. Knocked the wind out of me for a few minutes, but otherwise I was fine .

Charlie took extra time with that asshole when he tossed him out of the bar.

“Maybe I need to bring in an extra bouncer. Charlie’s got his work cut out for him these days,” Henry says.

“It couldn’t hurt.” It might keep some of these guys from trying to get rid of their pent-up frustrations by beating each other’s faces in, but not all of them.

Dive Bar has a rough crowd. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and most of the guys who come in to drink are either trying to outrun someone, run into someone, or just need to drown out the noise of the daily grind.

But the job pays cash under the table, and Henry’s never asked what my full name was—both of which check all my boxes.

The men around here aren’t the only ones trying to stay hidden.

“Nico, get me a beer. I’m gonna hit the head!” A deep voice penetrates through the noise of the bar, and my attention whips to the other end from where I’m standing.

Nico is an old man with graying hair and a face that’s seen too much sun. It’s not my Nico.

My Nico is dead.

“You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” Sandra, the second waitress working with me tonight, steps up to the bar to get a round of shots.

I take a breath and lie. “Yeah. I’m good.”

As nice as everyone is to me, I don’t have any ties here. It’s better that way, because at any moment I could find myself having to get in my little Beetle Bug and get the hell out of here.

Snagging a basket of pretzels, I take it over to the table I just cleared off. A new crowd of people have taken the booth. As I’m taking their order—a round of tequila shots and four beers—the little hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

“Be right back with your drinks.”

I scan the crowd as I head back to the bar. Being Friday night, it’s crowded, and thanks to the fall festival there are a lot of new faces. I don’t see anyone overtly responsible for my nerves, though.

I put in the order and scan again, sure someone’s watching me.

Maybe I’ve been in town too long. I’m starting to get paranoid.

“Mira, here you go.” Henry slides my tray at me. “You sure they didn’t get you? You look shaken.”

“No.” I pick up the tray. “I’m good.”

I drop the drinks off at the booth, then check on my other tables, collecting empty bottles and taking new orders for second and third rounds. Someone’s got the juke box playing a country-rock song I’ve never heard before.

The bar is a breathing entity when it’s full like this. People dancing to the music while the pool balls smack around the table…the laughing and yelling of the customers. It all melts together.

As I drop off another round of shots for a table, the same sensation comes over me, and my smile turns wooden. I’m not imagining things. Eyes are on me.

But still, there’s nothing when I look around.

“I need a second,” I tell Henry. I leave my tray on the bar and head to the back room. It’s just his office with a restroom for the staff.

Once alone and locked in the bathroom, I turn the faucet on. A splash of cold water usually helps when I get jumpy like this. Quick jolt to the nervous system to reset.

I do it twice, just to be sure, then lean against the sink and take several deep breaths.

No one knows where I am.

Not even my best friend in the world knows.

I’m safe.

I pull out my phone. It’s a throwaway phone that I got when I moved here. Once I decided it was safe enough to get a job and start earning the money I needed, I bought it so I could have at least one safe link to home.

But my messages have gone unanswered lately. Megan is the only person in the world I trust right now, and she’s not answering my texts. Having blinders on when it comes to what’s happening back home makes me uneasy. But we agreed the safest thing for me to do was to leave town.

Even after I get my heart to stop trying to claw its way up my throat, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

I’ve done everything I can to cover my tracks. Both of my jobs pay in cash. No one knows my real name, or at least my last name. I only contact Megan through the burner. And the apartment I’m renting over the dry cleaners didn’t do any sort of a background check. There’s been nothing to trace.

I haven’t used a debit card or credit card since I left home. After pulling all my money from my bank accounts, I’ve stuck to cash or prepaid debit cards.

“No one has found you. You need to chill out,” I chastise myself in the mirror.

If I have to pick up and move again, it could take a month or more before I’m able to scrape the two grand I need to send home each month.

“So relax.” I soften my voice a little.

No need to be so hard on myself. It’s been a really shitty past few months. Of course, the stress is going to get to me sometimes.

But there’s no time for panicking. The bar is filled with customers, and I have tips to collect. After another deep breath, I emerge from the bathroom to find Sandra waiting for me with a concerned frown.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m good now. I just needed a second. Been a long ass day.”

It’s not a lie. I was able to grab the breakfast and lunch shifts at the diner I work at during the day. While it helped fill my pockets and feed me an extra meal today, it also made my feet throb.

“Well, it’s not even close to being done.” She scrunches up her face like she’s about to give me bad news. “Danielle just called; she’s not coming in. Mind closing with me tonight?”

My feet beg me to say no, but my purse wins out.

“Not a problem. I can do that,” I answer .

Her relief is immediate. “Thank you. This fall festival has brought more tourists in than usual.”

As we get back to work, another group has moved near the pool tables, packing the area to wiggle room only. It’s nearly one in the morning before there’s enough of a lull that I’m able to get a drink for myself.

And through the whole time, I’ve kept one eye on my orders and another for whatever is causing this eerie feeling I can’t shake.

“Last call!” Henry finally bellows over the crowd. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Sandra rolls her eyes at me. Henry yells the same worn-out line every night at last call. It’s his thing.

The juke box finally goes quiet, and the last remaining drinkers get poured into their rideshare or friend’s car. The only sounds now are the clanking of the bottles as we toss them in the dumpster out back and the chairs as we hoist them off the floor so we can push the mop through.

Even with the bar empty, aside from the limited staff, the heavy feeling of being under the watchful eye of some stranger still weighs on me. I really need a day off. That has to be the problem. I’ve worked at least one shift every day for the last two months in a row.

I’ll see if I can get Monday off. Dive Bar is closed, anyway, so if I can switch shifts at the diner, I should be able to rot in bed for a day. That should take care of this nagging paranoia.

When I reach the last table in my section, a chill runs through my body. I pause a moment to look at the front door. Charlie’s already locked it and put the crossbar in place, which means he’s done a sweep of the bar. No one but staff is in the building.

“This is just getting out of hand,” I mutter to myself as I swipe the folded-up dollar bills from the table to pocket my tip. A piece of crumpled white paper falls from the bundle.

My eyes land on it as though it’s a rattlesnake just fell on the table and not some random piece of scrap paper.

I leave it at first, shoving my tip into my apron pocket and snatching up the half empty bottle of beer. Tempting as it is to just crumple it up and throw it away, that dark cloud forms over me again.

“Fuck it.” I put the bottle back down and grab up the paper, half expecting it to be a phone number when I unfold it. It wouldn’t be the first time some customer left me his digits scribbled beneath some cliché pick-up line.

But there’s no phone number.

The little chill turns to ice in my veins. I frantically look around—still just us in the bar.

Who sat here? It’s the farthest table from the bar, tucked against the far wall. I served so many people tonight, I can barely remember the last customer I spoke with.

It was a guy. I remember that much. He never looked up when I came over, he just kept swiping through his phone. He ordered one beer, and he never finished it.

I can’t recall anything else about him. His voice, or what he looked like, other than he was wearing a leather jacket. But hell, a lot of guys in here wore leather jackets.

A tattoo. I remember that—a snake that coiled up from his collar and around his neck. But that’s it .

I look back at the paper.

My stomach twists as the paper crinkles beneath my grip.

It could be a message for anyone, not just me. No one knows I’m here. Megan doesn’t even know where I am.

This message has to be just some random scribble.

It has to.

I bring it to the trash can, carrying it like it’s covered in poison. Just as it lands in the can, the words flash at me once more. Taunting me.

Four hastily written words: Time to go home.