8. Nim
Chapter 8
Nim
Two Months Later
Electronic dance music drowns out the thoughts playing on repeat through my head. I even manage to lose myself in the incessant thump-thump-thump I can feel as much as hear.
Purgatory is quiet tonight, which is a pity because I could really use a better distraction than loud music. I can’t even appreciate the caged dancers hanging from the ceiling—and I’m always cataloging their sexy moves in the hopes that I’d somehow absorb the ability to dance.
Someone slaps my ass, and I wince before I remember my bruises have long since healed. Maybe I have Post Traumatic Spanking Disorder.
Peggy slides her elbow along the bar, leaning in front of me with a cheesy grin on her face. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Waiting for a hot guy to arrive so I can flirt with him,” I tell her before giving my apron a little shake, rattling some coins inside. “I think I’ve made like ten bucks tonight.”
Peggy twists, leaning on both elbows as she stares out onto the dance floor. “Yeah, I was hoping Jackson would be here. That’s a guaranteed tenner, right there.”
She has no shame. The waitresses’ uniform here is a slip of fabric, barely opaque, that does nothing to hide the curves beneath. Thankfully, I’m allowed to wear a short skirt and low-cut shirt—probably because I occasionally have to set a drink alight and I might scorch my nipples if my hand slipped.
“This is pathetic,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “I love this place, but I’m sure there are better ways to earn money.”
She grimaces at me, and I realize I’ve strayed a little too close to reality for her liking. Of the two of us, she’s the one who’s still trying to cope with the news of my parents’ accident. It was over two months ago, and I moved in with Peggy straight away, so I wasn’t surrounded by memories of my parents every second of every day while I waited to start college.
Which I’m not even sure is still going to happen.
Do séances actually work? Because my parents have a lot of explaining to do. Like why they made it sound like I was going to college next month when they hadn’t even paid the enrollment deposit.
At least they had a good reason. The Winters family is fucking broke . Wasn’t that a big surprise? I don’t even own a credit card, while it turns out my parents were juggling five. Each.
All maxed out.
All behind on their installments.
What the actual fuck, Mom and Dad?
I know I should be livid, but I’ve been stranded in some weird emotional desert ever since the accident. I’ve been to see a therapist, and she told me I’m still in the first stage of grief: denial. How long it’s going to last, she can’t tell me, but it explains why I keep wondering why Mom hasn’t called to find out if I got to work okay, or why the TV isn’t on the sports channel when I turn it on.
I used to love this place. The frantic energy, the sexy guys, the beautiful decor. But on quiet nights like this, all I can think about is how I have a fucking mortgage to pay and no money to pay it with.God knows what’s taking the insurance company so long. I haven’t heard from our family lawyer in over two weeks, and I’ve been waiting to hear when my parents’ life insurance is going to payout.
I slip my phone out of my pocket to check the time.”Do you think Quinton would answer his phone this late at night?” I ask Peggy, raising my voice over the music.
“Doesn’t hurt to try,” she yells back. “I’ll cover you.” She grabs my tray and spins it on her finger before slipping behind the bar.
I don’t live in Liberty anymore. We’ve moved a lot since then, and I didn’t get around to updating my driver’s license the last few times. I started bartending at Purgatory a few months ago. Back then, I was astonished my parents would even let me work in a place like this—it’s renowned as being an underground sex club, after all. Although, there’s nothing underground about this place.
Except Hell, which is in the basement. But I wouldn’t go if they paid me.
Unless they paid me a lot .
After my parents’ lawyer, Quinton, brought me up to speed with the Winters’ financial situation, I’m starting to understand why my parents were happy to let me work here. They’d probably have let me turn tricks on the corner if it could help them pay off their massive debt.
“Thanks,” I tell Peggy, untying my apron so I can slip through the crowds a little less conspicuously.
Romano, the night manager, doesn’t like us taking more than three breaks a night, and I’ve been so bored I already took all of mine. But if Peggy covers for me, I should be able to slip away just long enough to call Uncle Quinton, the Winters’ lawyer.
I hurry into the girls’ bathroom and head for the stall right on the end. It’s beautiful in here—top-class fixtures and stalls that somehow never smell like ass. I don’t know how they do it. Maybe it’s because more girls come in here to snort coke than take a dump.
Quinton answers on the fifth ring. “Nim?”
“Hi, Uncle Quinton.” It’s what I’ve always called him, and it feels weird to change that now even when he’s technically my employee. “Sorry to bother you so late at night.”
“Actually, I’m glad you called. I was going to ring you first thing in the morning.”
My heart gives a thump. “The insurance paid out?”
Thank fuck. I was starting to stress about how to pay the mortgage, and what would happen when Peggy’s generosity—or patience—ran out. I’m not usually a bad house guest, but I haven’t exactly been myself lately.
“Uh...no. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
I groan quietly. “How bad?”
He lets out a noisy breath. “The insurance company says they need more time to investigate the claim, Nim.”
“What? Why?” I realize I’m holding the phone too tight when the cheap plastic creaks. I switch hands and dry my palm on my leg. The motion makes the scar on my thigh tingle. If my thoughts linger for too long on that day in the woods, the raised pink scar starts aching.
I haven’t told anyone about where it came from.
“Don’t worry,” Quinton says hurriedly. “This is standard procedure for newer insurance policies with such a high death benefit. It’ll only take another week or two.”
If it was so standard, why didn’t he tell me this would happen? “So I’m screwed,” I say through a sigh. “No college is going to hold a spot for me in case I get the money together in time. And then there’s the mortgage?—”
“Actually…I have some good news too.”
“Really?”
“I found a tenant for your paren—for your house.”
“Oh, thank God.” My shoulders sag in relief. “That is good news. When can they move in?”
Oh shit, where am I going to live? I’ll have to hold a massive yard sale to get rid of everything in the house and hope that can cover me until I can find a better-paying job.
“End of the week,” Quinton says. “But, Nim, I’m afraid in the state the house is in, their lease will only cover the mortgage repayments.”
“So there isn’t enough for me to lease an apartment?”
“I’m afraid not. But that’s where my second bit of good news comes in.”
More good news? Be still, my pounding heart.
“You’ve been accepted into Cinderhart Academy. They called me this afternoon to confirm your enrollment.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m as shocked as you,” Quinton says in that same dry monotone as before.
“But…I can’t afford it. I can’t afford to go anywhere . I’m broke.”
“I’m aware,” Quinton says, and with a touch of disappointment I don’t feel he has any right to direct my way. “Thankfully, your first year’s tuition has already been paid for.”
“By who?”See, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to say whom. That’s something an academic would know right off the bat.
“It was an anonymous donation, so I’m afraid I have no idea.”
“Oh.” That disembodied feeling is coming back again, like I’m peeping into someone else’s life. Only, this time, it’s a good thing. Right?
“Yes, Nim, it’s excellent.”
Shit, I didn’t realize I said that last bit out loud.
“This means you can start school straight away.”
“Wait...did you say Cinderhart Academy?” I swallow hard, and will away the ache throbbing through my thigh. “That’s...that’s where my parents went?”
Quinton’s voice is hushed. “Yes.”
“And that’s where they were before...”
“Yes.” When I don’t say anything for a beat, Quinton adds, “But don’t let that affect your decision, Nim. You’ve been given a fantastic opportunity here. The tuition includes food and board which puts you in a great position?—”
“To pay back their debt,” I cut in quietly.
Quinton is clearing his throat so much, I’m tempted to ask him if he’s coming down with something. “Look, Nim, obviously this is a big decision, so I suggest you?—”
“But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“You always have a choice, dear. Why don’t you sleep on it and we’ll talk in the morning.”
I put the phone down and stare at the screen for a second before slipping it in my pocket.
When I get back to the bar, the owner of Purgatory is there, sipping on a whiskey. I nearly trip over my feet when I recognize him, and I’m blushing to my roots by the time I get back behind the bar and tie my apron strings around my waist.
“Good evening, Mr. Black.”
Lucian gives me his signature expression—faded smile, intense eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what you’d be willing to sell your soul for…and that he has enough money to buy it.
“Quiet tonight,” I say, earning a cringe from Peggy before she decides to find something else in a different part of the floor. She always says Lucian’s hot as hell, but whenever he’s around she disappears. I’m convinced she’s low-key terrified of him.
I am.
“You could be dancing tonight,” Lucian says, a growing smile briefly obscured by his crystal glass. “Then you wouldn’t care how quiet it was.”
My blush deepens. My interview with Lucian when I applied to work here was the strangest experience of my life, until I met those three boys in the woods, of course.I was told how to dress, and I arrived in a little black number that I’d hoped was short, tight, and low cut enough.
I didn’t expect Mr. Black to ask me to dance in a cage instead of tending bar.
Mixing drinks? I know all about that. Mom was a bartender all through college, and she loved teaching me how to shake things up. Literally. But dancing? I have two left feet and a broom handle for a spine. Peggy laughed so hard when I told her the story, she wet herself.
“I, uh...I’m good,” I manage. “Can I get you another?”
Lucian just has to lift a finger to indicate “no”. Actually, even just a cocked eyebrow would have done. He has ways of cramming essays into the twitch of a single facial muscle.
A woman in a lime-green minidress slides onto the stool beside Lucian and orders an appletini…I’m guessing because it matches her outfit. I go to work, happily losing myself in a little flaring before sliding her martini glass over the bar.
Then I remember Lucian is watching and drop her credit card on the floor.
When she leaves—after giving Lucian a smoldering come hither look he pointedly ignores—Lucian stands and considers me for a moment with hard eyes.
“You’re distracted tonight.”
Oh God. He’s going to fire me for dropping that woman’s credit card, isn’t he?
“Oh, I?—”
“Go home and deal with your shit, Nim.” He glances around, then pins me with his dark eyes again. “You’ll work a double shift on the weekend to make it up to me.”
I drop my head until he’s out of sight. I swear he’s punishing me for saying “no” to him. Again. I’m betting that’s a word he doesn’t hear very often...unless he’s upstairs in Heaven. I’ve heard rumors about the kind of stuff he’s into. It makes me shiver...and I can never decide if it’s in a good way or not.
“What are you doing?” Peggy asks when she reappears a moment later and sees me cashing up my register.
“Lucian sent me home.” I glance over at her and roll my eyes. “He says I’m distracted.”
Peggy says nothing, but the purse of her lips makes me think that she was thinking the same thing.
Is it really that obvious how messed up I am?
I take an Uber to Peggy’s apartment and sigh as I sink onto the couch in the living room—which is where I’ve been sleeping the past few weeks.
Cinderhart Academy.
Their website comes up first when I search on my phone, but there isn’t a ton of information on there. The only picture is a scenic mountain view of Cinderhart town itself. No shots of the actual building. When I search Google for more images, I get some user-submitted pictures, but not enough to give me a feel for the place.
Google Maps shows that the academy is close to Scarstone Lake, at the end of Academy Road.There are plenty of buildings on the campus, and more scattered through the woods surrounding it. I’m not sure which are part of the campus, and which might just be businesses profiting off the students.
I’m not surprised that there’s no street view for the school. Not a single road in Cinderhart has been cataloged by Google’s Street View. Just goes to show how remote the place is.
Great. So I have to make a decision based on...what? The list of subjects they offer and the short bio that explains what a “sterling” institution the academy is? How great their football team is? GO STAGS! How abundant their extra-curricular activities are?
Free schooling.
That’s what I should be basing my decision on. And free board, too. Quinton is right...All I’ve inherited from my parents are my mom’s eyes, my dad’s hair, and massive amounts of debt. I should have told Lucian I’d dance in his cages every night this week, then at least I could start making a dent in my parents’ bills.
But it’s the idea of living in Cinderhart that gets me.
It’s such a small town. What are the chances I could go a year without running into those hunters from the woods? What are the chances they’d see me and not immediately assume I was there to report them?
I need to know that I’ll be safe. Would the academy let just anyone through the door? Because if they don’t have state-of-the-art security and metal detectors and shit like that, then I’m not interested.
But do I really have a choice?Because right now my alternative seems to be dancing— badly —in a sex club every night of my life until my employer thinks I’m too distracted and tells me to fuck off.
I groan as I throw my arm over my forehead, staring at the featureless ceiling above me. School would be a welcome distraction, that’s for sure. Maybe they even offer a hospitality course. They only listed basic subjects—I’d have to call them to find out more.
Reluctantly, I make a mental note to call Cinderhart Academy in the morning. Just to get more info...and maybe make a few pointed comments about their pathetic attempt at a website.
Then I’ll decide.