Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (7 page)

Reggie glanced at her, face deadpan, but eyes glinting with that light she was quickly beginning to recognize as pure boyish impishness. “No, that was just for him being such a massive man-dork.”

“Man-dork.” Riley snickered. “So he’s usually this fun and cheerful with everyone?”

Reggie seemed to consider this a moment. “Octavian has his moments, but he’ll eventually rub off on you. We’re loveable like that.”

“He’s your brother, isn’t he?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels. “That’s what my parents claim, but I have my suspicions.”

“So how many of you are there?”

“Just the four,” he answered, moving deeper into the room. “I think you’ve met all of us.”

“Four boys.” She hissed through her teeth. “And your parents are still sane?”

Reggie cast her a lopsided grin. “Again, I have my suspicions.”

“So who’s older?”

“Octavian.” He seemed to think of something, glanced around and changed the subject. “So, this is the staff room. You can leave your stuff in one of the lockers.”

Riley nodded, moving forward, stripping her coat as she went. She picked the locker closest to the wall and stuffed her things inside. She closed the door and smoothed down her top before turning to Reggie again. He held out a neatly folded apron in faded black and a notepad and pen.

“Everything you may, or may not need, is in the bins.” He motioned to the Rubbermaids.

She accepted it with murmured thanks and tied the scrap of fabric around her waist. “Do I need a hairnet?” she asked.

He gestured for her to follow with a jerk of his head. “No, you’ll mainly be on the floor taking orders. The kitchen is open until eleven. After that, Gorje closes it up. Most of the people who come in after those hours, they’re not really looking for a meal anyway. It gets pretty crowded, but most of the people are more interested in drowning their sorrows rather than starting a fight. That’s not to say we don’t get our share of brawls, but we usually put a stop to it before it starts. If you run into trouble, just give a shout and one of us will be there.”

She followed him quietly back through the kitchen towards the doors. He swung them open and led her through, talking the whole way.

“Any tips you make, you put into the jar at the counter. At the end of the night, someone will convert it for you. We don’t do the whole sharing thing so you keep what you make.” He turned his head over his shoulder to give her a once over. “But I would reconsider…
that
.” He gestured up and down at her.

Riley glanced down at her clothes. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Reggie shrugged. “Nothing, but if you want the good tips… the later crowd get a bit more generous if you show a bit more… flesh.” At her baffled expression, he grinned. “Think about it.” Then he was strolling away to a nearby table full of women. He leaned over the back of one of their chairs and jumped right into a conversation with them.

“What does that even mean?” she called after him, but the low thrum of chatter through the room drowned her words.

“It means wear less.” Gideon stood leaning against the bar, a glass of something resembling apple juice, but probably wasn’t, in his hand.

Horrified, Riley gasped. “That’s not mandatory, is it?”

He shrugged mildly, studying her through thick lashes. “Mandatory? No. But men are pigs. They are bigger pigs when they’re drunk and have a pretty girl to ogle.”

There was no suppressing the hot wave of embarrassment that creeped into her cheeks. “Well, I’m not going to go strolling around naked—”

“I’m pretty sure we’re not licensed for naked waitresses.” He took a swig of his drink. “But I think we can just skim by on a partially naked one.” There was an unnatural grace to his movement as he pushed away from the bar and ambled lazily towards her. “Undo a few buttons, hike up that skirt a few more inches and lose the stockings. You’ll be a big hit.”

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he gave her a once over that fueled the heat washing through her, before strolling away to a nearby empty table. He dropped unceremoniously into a chair and threw back the rest of his drink in a fluid motion.

Flustered, Riley turned away, tugging down on her shirt. No way was she going to dress sexy for a room full of drunken men. Yes, she needed the money, but she wasn’t going to sell her pride for it.

“Don’t listen to them.” Riley glanced up to find Octavian watching her, his expression frustratingly blank.

Embarrassment sharpened her voice when she spoke, “You don’t think I should lose a few buttons and hike up my skirt for tips?”

Octavian said nothing for a moment as his large hands worked deftly over the glass he held. His eyes roamed languidly over her in a way that felt almost physical. The phantom caress touched every inch of her body, stealing the last wisp of breath from her lungs. Liquid warmth rippled down her spine, arousing areas that had been dormant for much too long. The latter brought a flood of color to her cheeks.

Behind the slow dance of firelight, his eyes darkened. “Not unless you want me to start digging graves out back.” Then he reached beneath the counter with his free hand and drew out a plastic container. He passed it over to her. “The tables need to be cleared and since you’re adamant to be here…” He let his words trail off, but she got the hint.

Without a word, she took the bin and got to work.

The crowd was somber, most too preoccupied with whatever was troubling them to take notice of her as she made her rounds. She refilled drinks and brought out bowls of stew that smelled delicious but looked questionable. She mopped up spills, passed out checks and took really strange money to the till. It wasn’t Canadian currency that much she was sure of and when she showed Reggie, he assured her the bits of dented metal in silver, bronze and gold were perfectly acceptable.

“So how do I know what I’m getting paid?” she asked, staring down at the handful of coins. “Where are these even from?” She picked a bronze one up to study. “There’s nothing on them.”

Reggie patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry about it. Our customers would never short change us. Just toss it in the till and Dad will sort it out in the morning.”

Uncertain, but doing as she was told, she dumped everything into the till with only the one button that accessed the lever that popped open the drawer.

The rest of the night was fairly quiet, a sort of routine calm that she could easily get used to, even if the cliental sent a chill of unease through her.

It wasn’t anything anyone did or said. Most of the time, no one even spoke to her. But there was something not quite right about the crowd. Maybe it was the lightning in the room or grit in her eyes, she just couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she was seeing things, weird things, things like massive wings unfurling, or massive clawed hands, or faces flickering like an old TV screen. It only happened when she looked at someone from the corner of her eye, but it was enough to make her question her sanity.

She pressed the tips of her fingers into the back of her eyelids, wondering if she should take a trip to an optometrist, or a shrink. No way was that normal. There was clearly something wrong with her.

But that wasn’t the only thing weird about the night. Several times, she could have sworn she felt eyes on her, not threatening, just watchful, almost protective, but when she would search the room, no one would even be paying attention to her. More often than not, she had a sneaking suspicion that it was Octavian, but he was always busy doing something else or talking to someone, usually a gorgeous woman or two that haunted the bar like flies on a giant pile of elephant poop. Their ever persistent presence never failed to irk Riley in a way that was highly unprofessional, not to mention insane. She had no claims over the guy. He could talk to anyone he wanted. Hell, he could do more than talk if the mood suited him, and the way he watched each woman, like they were the only one in the world to him, there was no way he was going to bed alone that night. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was riddled with all kinds of disease, and really, did she want to be attracted to a man that would pick women up from a bar? For all she knew, he took a new one to bed every night. Not that she cared. She was only upset that unlike every other woman, he’d given her one look and tossed her into the rubbish pile. True that she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the women that flocked to him, but she…
Get a grip!
She scolded.
Why on earth are you stressing over this?

“God, Riley,” she muttered to herself. “You’re so pathetic.”

She turned away from the disgusting display at the bar and searched the room for Reggie or Gideon, who seemed to have disappeared. She’d caught sight of Reggie every so often hovering over a table, chatting with the customers, but he rarely stayed put. She’d glance back and he’d be gone. But she hadn’t seen Gideon since his comment about her wardrobe. She wondered where the two kept taking off to and where was the other one… what was his name? Magnus? Such odd names, she mused. But then, everything from the people to the names of the drinks the bar served was odd. There was just something seriously wrong about naming drinks after body parts, like dead man’s toe nails and tonic or squeezed spleen juice. Just writing it down made her want to gag, never mind repeating it to Octavian or carrying it to the table.

“Hey,
umano
! How about some service over here!”

Riley turned, searching for the loud, gruff voice. She spotted the short, hairy little man waving his arm over his head. She made her way towards him, pen and pad in hand.

“What can I get you?” she asked, pen and pad poised.

The man was trollish with a long, pointy beard that touched his navel and hair that tumbled scraggly and thin around round shoulders. His face beneath all the hair was withered and a sunburned red. There were yellow splotches where most his eyes should have been white and the iris was a murky, dirty dishwater gray. Dry, cracked lips parted, revealing rotted and chipped teeth.

“Virgin’s Blood on the rocks.”

It took all her self-control not to make a face as she jotted it down, wondering if these people knew she was new and went out of their way to try and shock her by inventing crude names for the drinks. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you want to offer me yours…” He leered at her, stubby tongue poking out to lick his lips.

Riley hurried away before she could puke on him. She made it all the way to the bar without gagging.

Octavian took in her ashen complexion and tightened his grip on the carving knife he’d been using to slice slivers of limes. “What is it?”

Riley breathed in a gulp of air, and replied, “Virgin’s Blood on the rocks.”

He eyed her for several long moments before reaching to create the foul sounding drink. “Did someone say something to you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, but the last thing she needed was for him to think she couldn’t handle the job. “No, everything is fine.” She topped off the lie with a bright smile. “I’m just not used to some of the drink names. They’re pretty gross.”

He kept his attention on the drink he was mixing, heavy lashes shielding his eyes, but not the slight grin curling the corner of his mouth. “I could tell you they get better, but… I’d be lying.”

Riley made a face. “Who came up with them?”

The tumbler made a clinking sound as cubs of ice strike the glass. Octavian bent at the waist and yanked open the fridge beneath the counter. He retrieved a slender, zucchini-shaped bottle in fierce crimson from within. Riley watched as he freed the cork and drowned the ice cubs in thick, red liquid.

“Please tell me that’s not real virgin’s blood.”

He set the drink down in front of her, smirking in a way that made her stomach muscles flutter. “Then I won’t tell you.”

Shuddering in repulsion, she picked up the drink with the tips of her two fingers, set it on her tray. She kept it at arm’s length the whole way to the troll. The man couldn’t even have the decency to wait until she was out of sight before guzzling down the crimson substance as though his next breath counted on it.

It stained his lips and teeth red. It trickled from his chin, soaking his beard which he used his abnormally long tongue to clean up. It too was smeared, sticky and wet, reminding Riley of a bloodied slug. He flashed her a wide grin that made her stomach roil.