Page 31 of Mace

Her hand pulls free of mine, and to my annoyance, I lose her heat. Maylie gives me a look over her shoulder as she wanders to the machine, returning a moment later to hand me two sachets of sugar.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

I lower my head, focusing on the mug and emptying the sugar into it.

This girl is looking at me as if I’m going to be her knight in shining armour, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’m not the hero. I’m the prick who kills that guy and takes the girl.

EIGHT

MAYLIE

Music pulses through the floor,vibrating my bones as the spotlights flick around the room. I don’t know the song, but I sway my hips in time to the heavy bass as I pour a line of shots on my tray.

I’m acutely aware of Mace sitting at the end of the bar, where he’s been perched for the last three shifts I’ve worked. He’s barely said two words to me all night, but his hands are wrapped around the can of Coke I gave him an hour ago.

I don’t know what to make of him, but he’s an easy distraction from the shit going on in the rest of my life. Ivy hasn’t been home since I confronted her about Link, though she has at least messaged me to tell me she’s alive.

Small mercies, I guess.

Toby’s been staying between friends for the last few nights, but that can’t continue indefinitely. I’m going to have to leave him alone at some point and just hope he’ll be okay.

But that’s a problem for Future Maylie.

Right now, Present Maylie is enjoying the view at the end of the bar.

Casting covert looks in his direction as I move around the back of the counter, I try to figure him out, but I can’t. There’s this gruff, scary exterior to him, and a darkness that honestly scares me a little, but there’s something else too. Something I want to bring out of him.

A roar of excitement goes up, and I lift my gaze towards the stage in time to see Candy letting her bra slip down her arms to reveal her dusty pink nipples.

Candy’s set is always the one that gets the customers acting feral. The wig she’s wearing tonight is platinum blonde and curled in loose beachy waves down to the dip at the base of her spine. The pleated skirt covering her thong is so tiny, I can see the apex between her thighs. It’s a look designed to stop men in their tracks, and it does.

“That’s my cue to get out there,” Bella yells to be heard over the music as she moves to the end of the bar and grabs a tray.

I don’t know what the correlation is between seeing boobs and buying drinks, but as soon as there’s a hint of nipple, money gets flashed around. It isn’t only the dancers who benefit from this but also the servers, which means I need to be out there too.

Bella has disappeared into the shadows of the room the next time I glance up, so I pick up my pace, careful not to spill anything as I add the final two drinks.

Time to get my arse moving.

I risk glancing at Mace again, but his attention is on his phone as he swipes his fingers across the screen. His heavy frown tells me whatever he’s seeing isn’t a good thing.

Not my circus, and my own monkeys are running rampant.

Pushing Mace out of my mind, I grab the tray and sashay towards my section, rolling my hips in a seductive motion as I walk. The black hot pants barely cover me while the tight tank top shows off every single curve, including the mounds of my breasts. I hated wearing this for the first month I was employed, but I reasoned I’d wear less on the beach than I am now.

But no one at the beach has ever grabbed my boobs or asked me to fuck them in the toilets.

I drop off the drinks before I sidle around tables, moving through the closely packed room to scan my section.

I locate my next target—a table of seven on a stag weekend. They’re trashed and have probably had far too much already, but I think I can get another tray of drinks out of them… and hopefully, a good tip.

I stop at the table, and a hand slides up the back of my thigh. Getting groped at work is an occupational hazard, and at first, it bothered me, but I’ve learned the best way to defuse these kinds of situations is to step aside, which forces him to drop his hand.

“If one of the bouncers sees you touching me, they’ll kick you out, and that’s going to ruin your night,” I warn.

His smirk is cheeky, but also something else. Eager to chance his luck, maybe.