It had been six days since I'd done the walk of shame out of Silas Mercer's mountain-man mansion, and I was still waiting for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. It was taking its sweet damn time.
The diner smelled like wet wool and ancient frying oil. I was back in the uniform. You know, the one that made me look like a box, moving like a zombie between the counter and the booths. My brain was a total dumpster fire.
Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see my mom or my empty bank account. I saw Silas's hands. I saw the way he'd looked at me when I'd called him a creep right after he'd basically rearranged my DNA on his kitchen island.
Nice one, Alina. Real class act.
"Alina! Table four needs more water. Quit daydreaming and move your ass," Martha barked from the pass-through.
"I'm on it, Auntie. Chill," I snapped back. My voice sounded like I'd been gargling gravel.
I grabbed the pitcher and headed for table four, a couple of old guys who looked like they'd been carved out of driftwood. I filled their glasses, listening to them drone on about some local property tax bullshit. This was my life now. This was the 'great future' everyone talked about.
I felt like a total fraud. I was slinging hash and acting like a snappy brat, but underneath the apron, I felt... different. Heavier. Like Silas had left a mark on me that I couldn't scrub off with cheap diner soap.
Forty-year-old farmer, I thought, wiping down a sticky counter. You slept with a forty-year-old farmer because he was nice to you in the snow. You're basically a cliché in a country song. Just add a dog and a broken tractor.
I was halfway through a mental rant about my own stupidity when the bell over the door chimed. I didn't look up. I was too busy trying to scrape a mystery substance off a dinner plate.
"I hope the service is better than the decor," a voice purred.
The plate nearly slipped out of my hand. It wasn't Silas. It was the other one. The one who looked like he spent his weekends hunting humans for sport.
Julian Vane.
He was wearing a coat that probably cost more than Martha's house, looking entirely too polished for a place that served grit-filled gravy. He didn't sit in a booth. He stood by the door, his eyes scanning the room until they locked onto me. A slow, oily smile spread across his face.
"Alina," he said, and the way he said my name made me want to go back to the walk-in freezer and never come out. "You've been making yourself scarce. I went by your little apartment, but the neighbors said you were 'working.' Such a diligent girl."
My stomach did a slow, nauseating roll. "How do you know where I live?"
Julian walked toward the counter, his steps silent. He sat on a stool, leaning his elbows on the laminate like he was at a five-star bar. "I make it my business to know where interesting things are kept. And you, Alina, are the most interesting thing to happen to this town since the fire of '98."
"I'm working, Julian. You want coffee or are you just here to be a weirdo?" I gripped the counter, my knuckles white.
"I'm here to offer you an out," he whispered, leaning closer. He smelled like expensive cologne and something cold. "Silas is... limited. He sees you as a tragedy to be managed. A little bird with a broken wing. He'll keep you here, in the dirt, because it makes him feel like a man."
"You don't know shit about what he sees," I spat, my voice low and dangerous.
Julian's eyes flashed, not with anger, but with a sharp, predatory amusement. "I know he's distracted. I know he's soft. And I know that someone as vibrant as you shouldn't be wasting her youth serving eggs to fossils. I have a project in the city. A real job. A real life. One where you don't have to hide in a ditch to feel warm."
He reached across the counter, his fingers brushing my wrist. I flinched back, but he didn't let go. His grip was light, but it felt like a shackle.
"Think about it, Alina. Before Silas finishes turning you into another piece of his collection. He's already got the land. He's already got the name. Don't let him have you, too."
He stood up, dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. "I'll be in touch. Don't bother with the coffee. It smells like despair in here."
He turned and walked out, the bell chiming a mocking little goodbye.
I stood there, staring at the fifty dollars. My skin was crawling. Julian was a snake, but he'd hit a nerve. He'd said exactly what I was afraid of, that I was just a 'collection' for Silas.
A project.
I looked at the kitchen door. I wanted to call Silas. I wanted to tell him that his creepy partner was stalking me. But then I remembered the way I'd left his house. I remembered the names I'd called him.
I couldn't go back.
And I couldn't stay here.
Fucking great, I thought, crumpling the fifty-dollar bill into a ball. Out of the frying pan and into the literal, designer-clothed fire.
"Alina! Where's that water?" Martha yelled.
"Coming!" I screamed back, but my hands were shaking so hard I had to hide them under the counter.