Page 1 of Slashes in the Snow
1
Kira
This may bethe worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.
I stand static in the doorway of the most intimidating establishment I have ever stepped foot in. I’m an outcast, and every eye pinned on me knows it. Every steely, sharp, probing pupil glaring in my direction.
I take a deep breath and talk myself out of running for my life. If I leave now, I may not have much of a life left to run for.
I take a tentative step forward, and the worn wooden floorboard creaks beneath my foot.
Ohhhh, you can do this. Just walk. Just walk. One foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left.
I balance on a tightrope as I make my way up to the bar. It’s old, wooden, and weathered, much like the bartender behind it. His grey beard is longer than my hair, and half his face is puckered with scars. Holy fuck, he’s scary. And by the way he’s staring at me, he’s not finding any entertainment in my presence.
“What can I get you, princess?” His voice is raspy as I stand before him, a million tiny stabs of judgment tearing my body apart from the captivated audience around me.
“I’m looking for Ky Parish,” I announce, placing my hands on the bar’s sticky edge.Ick.
The old man’s grey, wiry eyebrows shoot up, and a low hush ripples over the patrons. I glance around at the rugged faces sitting at the few tables sprinkled around the room and those paused from shooting pool. If I didn’t have everyone’s attention before, I definitely do now.
A moment later, two large men with thick beards and leather vests flank me. They’re not as old as the bartender, but definitely just as intimidating.
“What kind of business you got with him?” The guy on my right leans on the sticky wooden top. He’s way younger than the bartender. Late twenties max, with long, copper-colored hair pulled up in a messy bun, and a pair of the brightest green eyes I have ever seen.
“It’s personal.” I clear my throat.
“Personal?” he snorts.
“Yes.” I square my shoulders, trying to make my five-foot-four frame look as large as possible.
Agent Orange smiles down at me. It’s a condescending, humor-filled expression that makes me prickly.
“No one gets an audience with the Prez unless they got one of three things. Drugs, money, or pussy. Which one you offering?”
I cock my head and stare up at the leather-clad monster. “None of the above.”
“Then you ain’t got no business with him.”
“Yes, I do,” I argue. “I need to see him.”
“We hear lots of women say that,” the dark-haired man on my left snickers as he lifts the hem of my pleated skirt. I smack his hand away and take a step back. There’s a wave of laughter in the room at my expense.Assholes. Every one of them.
Panty Peeker is just as tall as Agent Orange, not as broad, but still menacing, nonetheless.Yup, this was definitely the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had. Thank you, desperation.
I continue to backpedal to the door, Agent Orange, Panty Peeker, and a few other men trailing in my direction.
“Since the Prez is preoccupied, you could alwaystalkto one of us,” Agent Orange offers salaciously.
“I’ll pass,” I sneer, still backing up. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. Everyone in the bar is staring at the little preppy princess who has no business being here. My heart hammers in my ears as I’m stalked like an animal. Only a few more steps and I’ll be out the front door. As soon as my foot hits the rickety porch, I’m going to make a run for it.
“Where you going so fast, hot stuff? We were just getting to know each other.” The door is blocked by two more men, and I know I’m fucked.
Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.
“I’m not interested in getting to know any of you,” I assert, even though I’m scared out of my mind. I know someone like me doesn’t belong in a place like this, and all the men surrounding me know it, too.
“We’re interested in getting to know you.” One of them fondles the end of my blonde hair.
