Chapter 1: A Big Fish Is Still A Shark
Adrien’S POV
"You’re so amazing, Mr. Richard!" The two hostesses squeal as they pour their newest big fish an especially strong glass of beer.
"Just call me Richard, loves." He smirks smugly and pushes hundred-dollar bills into the waistbands of their very short shorts.
It’s nauseating to watch, but at least they are having fun. I wish I could get five of those hundred-dollar bills so I’d just quit now.
"Really? We can?" They’re really laying it on thick.
"Of course you can! You, Server! Keep the drinks coming!" He calls out, words slurring drunkenly.
Well, that’s my cue, because I’m the server.
I try very hard to ignore his gaze raking down my face and body as I place our strongest bottles of beer on the table.
His obvious leering doesn’t make it easy for me.
"Do you come with the drinks too?" His gaze drops to my padded chest. "Because I could make space for you, if you did."
"No, Sir. I’m strictly a server, it’s a shame but I’m not qualified to work with our esteemed hostesses here." So, stop ogling me and focus on the two lovely ladies sitting beside you.
I turn to leave, clutching my tray underneath my arm, when he grabs my wrist with surprising strength and pulls me down into his lap.
His grip should not be this strong, not after all the drinks he’s had. He should be feeling the buzz right about now.
"What are you— "
"Who says you’re not qualified?" He hooks a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. "You certainly look qualified from where I’m sitting."
I can feel my face burn the moment he rocks his hips against my ass. This is why I hate working in private rooms. There is always one overly enthusiastic customer with no sense of right or wrong!
I carefully signal to the hostess on my right— Marie— to press the button under the table that will alert security to my situation.
I try to keep my voice calm yet high-pitched, and ignore the way my padded chest feels pressed against his. "I’m going to need you to let go of me now, Sir. You might not know it, but this establishment— "
"It’s high-class, and you probably have security right outside the door who will barge in if they hear you scream, right?" His lips curve into a slow smile.
Wait...why isn’t he slurring his words anymore?
"Sir, you can’t touch the servers. It’s against the rules." The hostess on my left, whose name I never bothered learning, nervously tries to reason with him.
"I know, darling," his tone takes a lighter note. "But you see, I really have to touch this server, because if I don’t, I think I might die." His hand drops to my hips, kneading my flesh gently.
I signal desperately to Marie to press the button underneath the table, but she’s not even looking my way anymore. She’s sitting ramrod-straight and staring at the wall with focused intensity.
Almost like she can’t make herself turn to me.
This is fucking bullshit. The night I decide to quit this job, I end up serving some madman? How the hell does that make any sense?
"Get your hands off me, right now, or you’ll regret it." I don’t care if we’re not allowed to hit the customers, I will slap the shit out of this fucker.
The hostess on the left keeps glancing between us nervously. Now I know why I didn’t learn her name, she’s fucking useless anyway.
He says nothing as he lifts my hair— my wig— to his nose and inhales deeply. It’s fucking eerie to watch.
Goosebumps break across my skin. "I’ll say it one more time, get your hands off me, or I’ll kill you."
"You can’t kill anyone. You wouldn’t even know how to if you had a gun in your hand." He looks up at me with a lazy smile.
"Don’t talk like you know me! You don’t know me and I don’t know any creepy fucks like you either!" Who the hell spends two minutes sniffing someone’s wig like a dog?
Isn’t that pure insanity?
"No, we definitely know each other," his smile sharpens. "We’re even matching, you see."
Matching? Us?
I’m trying not to think about it, but there’s something oddly familiar about his tone. There’s something strangely nostalgic about the way he behaves— his mannerisms.
It’s weird to call an insane person familiar, but with the kind of people I’ve met, it wouldn’t be a lie.
"I don’t know you for shit, and that was your last warning, fucker."
His actions are not nostalgic in a good way though, because the only madman I know who could even act like this is...the only madman I know...the...
Jesus fucking Christ.
"You’re wearing a wig and contacts because you’re crossdressing, while I’m..." his smile widens, "doing it because it’s fun."
He yanks my head down so fast, my forehead slams against his. "You don’t know how happy I was when I saw you standing in that corner, little duckling. It felt like I was fucking high, you know?"
I think...I might be screwed.
I can see it now. The brown wig on his head isn’t even set right, like he just put it on for show, and the green contacts don’t even look right.
"This cannot be real..."
I didn’t even know those contacts were green because the dark of his eyes swallowed any trace of colour, but I should still have recognized that freakishly smug smile.
"Of course it is, duckling. Be grateful that you’re once again in my presence." He pulls away from me, sticks his fingers in his own damn eyes, pulls out the contacts, then yanks off his wig— all with a grin on his face.
"I missed you, you see." Hair as black as midnight falls to subtly frame his face, and eyes so dark, they seem to absorb all light.
I need to leave. Now.
"But before we start catching up," his grin turns sly, "let’s take care of the real reason I came here."
I can’t move. His grip on my waist isn’t even tight anymore, but I can’t make myself move. I can’t do anything...because I don’t know what this psycho will do after.
I just wanted to quit this fucking job, so why the hell did this have to happen today?
"Hold tight, duckling." I hate that nickname. I hate it so much.
He turns to Marie, who hands him something, which he then forces into my hand. The weight and chill of the object snap me out of my shock.
Holy shit. It’s a gun.
"Well, you did say you wanted to kill someone, but you definitely can’t kill me, so you’ll have to settle for this," his voice drips with sickly-sweet glee.
"This one doesn’t come with a safety or silencer, so enjoy the experience, duckling."
"Orion, wait! I didn’t mean— "
I reflexively try to throw the damn thing away, but he wraps a hand around mine, lifts the gun to the pale, terrified face of the second hostess, and empties the cartridge into her skull.
The world explodes in a flash of sound and gunfire. He fires seven shots...seven shots with my hand on the trigger...into her face.
She looks like a bloody sieve, like—
"Don’t look so pale, duckling. Be happy!"
I can’t breathe. My ears won’t stop ringing.
A flash goes off in my face— he just took a selfie of both of us, and he did it while looking so damn proud of himself too.
"I can’t believe we just shared our first kill! This is fucking gold! You probably wouldn’t understand how much I’ve missed you, but I really have, duckling."
