Chapter 8
Alyona
The Foundry smells expensive when I step into the back room. It’s like the ridiculous cologne Jak buys and has the cleaners spray here and there. It’s tempting and sultry, but this early in the night it doesn’t quite cover the scent of old beer and citrus cleaner.
I barely have time to tie the half-apron around my waist before Cinn’s voice cuts across the bar.
“Well, if it isn’t the birthday girl.”
I freeze for half a second, then keep moving because reacting is exactly what she wants.
The bar is already busy, and the low thrum of the early evening crowd fills the space.
I focus on wiping down the counter with unnecessary precision.
I’m wearing a bra that I can take off easily.
It snaps in the front, but covers my breasts so they stay mostly out of the way.
“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” she continues, louder now, leaning against the service station like she owns it. “You look tired.”
I know that tone. I’ve known it my whole life. It’s the sound people make when they’re about to say something mean.
“I’ve been working late,” I say evenly, not looking at her.
Cinn hums. “Yeah, I bet.”
Heat creeps up my neck, slow and unwelcome. I tell myself not to engage, to let it slide the way I always do, but she isn’t done. She never is.
“You know,” she says as her eyes deliberately scan over my body, lingering where they shouldn’t, “I don’t know how you do it. Standing on your feet all night, carrying all that weight. Must be exhausting.”
The words land like a slap, sharp and public. A couple of our first patrons glance over, curiosity flaring. My chest tightens, breath hitching before I can stop it, and I hate myself for how immediately it affects me, for how small it makes me feel in my skin.
“Back off!” Devin snaps from behind the bar, her voice hard. She appears like a superhero, but Cinn doesn’t take her sister seriously.
She just smiles. “I’m complimenting her stamina.”
Something cracks, and before I can stop myself, I laugh. It comes out wrong, too loud and too close to hysteria. I feel eyes on me the way you feel exposed under harsh lighting.
“I need a minute,” I mutter, already pushing past them.
I don’t make it far.
The back hallway blurs as my vision swims. With shaking hands, I fumble with the door to the storage room. I slip inside and let it shut behind me. The air is cooler back here, quieter, and I brace my hands against a metal shelf, breathing hard.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want this job, this bar, this feeling of being trapped in a body that feels like a joke instead of a home.
But wanting has never been enough to change anything, and I know that better than most. When my mother died, she left behind a lot of questions and very little money.
I learned very quickly how little sentiment matters when rent is due.
I won’t take my father’s money. I won’t owe him.
So I work here, under low lights and leering eyes, telling myself it’s temporary. Even when temporary stretches on longer than I’d planned. I press my fingers to the cool metal until the sting grounds me, and the urge to cry ebbs. Finally, I can stand upright again.
The door creaks open, and Devin slips inside, closing it gently behind her. Her face is creased with guilt. Even if she doesn’t agree with Cinn, they are sisters.
“Hey,” she says softly. “You okay?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She doesn’t push. She never does. She leans against the opposite shelf with her arms crossed, watching me with a familiar mix of concern and frustration. It isn’t directed at me; it’s directed at the world in general.
“She’s a bitch,” Devin says. “An insecure bitch. She hates that you don’t even try to compete.”
“I do try,” I say, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. “I try all the time. That’s the worst part.”
Devin’s eyes narrow. She pushes off the shelf, stepping closer, a hand hovering just over my shoulder. I know what’s coming: tough love.
“You try to disappear. That’s not the same thing.”
The truth of it hits close to home, and I look away, blinking hard. “I don’t belong here.”
“Not forever,” she agrees easily. “But right now, it’s what you’ve got.”
“I don’t want this!” I snap, then immediately regret it. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“I know,” she says. “You’re stuck.”
The word settles heavy between us, and I hate how accurate it feels.
“You won’t always be,” Devin continues, her tone gentler now. “Someday, you’re going to look back at this version of yourself and barely recognize her.”
I scoff weakly. “Yeah? What version is that?”
“The one who hasn’t come into her power yet,” she says without hesitation. “You might not see it, Aly, but I do. If you stepped into your own, you’d have every man in here wrapped around your finger.”
A choked laugh comes out of me at the very idea. Sure, some customers have thrown curious glances my way, but I’m all too aware of stereotypes. I’d be a one-time hookup, a story for some guy to tell his friends about that time he fucked a fat girl.
“I’m serious,” Devin says, quieter this time. “You have to let people see you, Aly.” She says, a half-teasing smirk on her cherry red lips. “Like your Russian. He sees you and he’s obsessed. Imagine that, but without all the criminal overlord baggage that comes with it.”
I’m suddenly caught off guard by the memory of Kazimir in the dark restaurant hallway with his steel-like arms bracing me. I shake my head in a daze.
He doesn’t want me. Not like that.
But something squirms in the back of my mind. It’s another memory I’ve been trying to suppress since telling him it was a mistake. It’s the sound of his breath, almost a pant, in my ear when he got me off in the alley.
There is a sharp and impatient knock on the door, and we both turn as a voice calls out that they need me back on the floor. I take a steadying breath, squaring my shoulders.
“Go show them,” Devin murmurs. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I don’t believe her, not really, but I nod anyway, because belief isn’t required to keep going.
When I step back behind the bar, Cinn is watching me with a thin smile. It’s like she knows she got under my skin and intends to stay there. I avoid her gaze, focusing on the mechanics of my job, the familiar motions grounding me as the night grinds on.
Still, every time I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, I see her words etched into my posture. They weigh me down, and I wonder how much longer I can carry this version of myself before something gives.
I want to be wanted. I want someone to see me and feel valued. Not the way my mom did, like I was a bargaining chip or someone to manipulate, but like I’m a queen.
“Alyona,” Jak rumbles, his voice gruff and accent thick with exhaustion. “There’s a man who’s been watching you. Take care of him, please. Section C, the corner table.”
I frown.
That’s not Kazimir. It’s the back corner of the bar, and he never sits there.
Looking around, my eyes search the shadows.
But that section is empty. All that’s there is a discarded napkin and a cigarette butt in the ashtray. I scan the bar, but the front door shuts, muffling the sounds of the street and tourists early in the night. A feeling that prey must feel when they’re being observed ripples up my spine.
If it wasn’t Kaz, who was watching? And why?