Inferno: Part 1 (3 page)

Mila

He really is reckless. Maybe money or all the women make him feel invincible, but he dropped just like any other man would from that hit. Even while his coach tries to ask if he’s okay we lock eyes, but when the bell rings, he’s back in the circle.

Before any punches are thrown, an older man with salt and pepper hair taps me on the shoulder.

“Alexa said you wanted to apply? Follow me,” he motions his hand and smiles.

Something in his eyes reminds me of my dad. I follow him to the bar, where he produces an application and pen. Lots of it is routine, and I’m halfway done before Alexa comes over, nudging me with her hip since her hands are full.

“Thanks for hooking me up,” I say.

“No problem,” she smiles, as she stacks clean glasses under the bar. Once she finishes stacking, Alexa leans on the bar, watching the fight. My eyes follow her gaze to Bryce in the ring.

“So…what’s the deal with Bryce? Why does he fight here?” I ask.

If there’s one thing I know for certain from the tabloid stories is that he doesn’t have to. I want the inside scoop, the real reason he chooses to have his face subjected to such potential harm.

She looks down, avoiding my glance, and begins wiping imaginary grime off the spotless bar. “I’m not really sure. He’s good, so maybe that’s reason enough.”

“I guess so. Does he get anything else for winning?” I probably should have stopped after the first question. My own curiosity manages to get the best of me at times.

“I don’t know, Mila. I just serve up the drinks. Speaking of, there are some tables over there that are empty.” Alexa points with a towel still hanging in her hand.

She tosses the beer soaked towel over her shoulder and grabs four bottles of beer and leaves abruptly. I didn’t think my questions were awful. Why would she shut down like that? The only thing I can rationalize is that they are friends and Bryce doesn’t like people knowing his personal life.

I’m still hoping I haven’t upset Alexa too much when a tall guy stumbles over. He reeks of beer and sweat and possibly urine. The awareness of my complete discomfort doesn’t seem to dawn on him.

“Aren’t you pretty,” he mumbles. “Not like the others in here, putting everything on display. Leaves me a surprise when I undress you later.”

He rests a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I panic. My eyes search for Alexa, and I frantically will her to look my way. Luckily, she does, and I make sure my expression conveys utter distress.

She walks over in long strides, and without preamble.

In an instant she takes a full bottle of beer from her tray and smashes it on his free hand.

He stumbles back, clutching his hand now studded with shards of glass and blood, while the bouncers physically force him out of the club.

I must have been holding my breath, because a sharp pain hits my chest when I finally breathe out.

“I’m so sorry,” Alexa rushes, “Really, what a shitty thing to happen your first time here. I promise that does not happen as much as people say. They talk about it over and over and it seems like a nightly thing.”

“Thank you, Alexa. And I’m sorry about before. I just don’t really know anything about this whole place.”

She shrugs it off and we’re good, to my relief. Other tables need a refresh, so she weaves her way back through the crowd, but my application is finished so I’m ready to head out after what happened.

A thin blonde guy begins to replenish the beer stock, and I ask if he could possibly pass my application onto the bar manager.

“Do I look like a messenger?” he asks, staring me down.

“I-I-I’m so sorry, it’s just—“

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he finally cracks a smile, and his blue eyes become playful. “I’m just messing with you. Lighten up, girl.”

I blush hard, and he takes pity on me, grabbing my application. I notice the scars on his left hand, where the skin is almost crinkled.

“Hmm, Mila, that’s a pretty name. Let’s see...Columbia University! You must be smart, to get in there. And you live just up the street—must be expensive.”

“Exactly. That’s why I need this job. Otherwise I will lose that address and my spot at Columbia.” The words slip out easily, there’s something about him that immediately puts me at ease.

“You don’t need to worry, you’ll get the job. He always hires the pretty ones.” He winks at me and then clicks his tongue.

“Who, the bar manager?” I ask. “He seemed so nice.”

“No, not Sam. Bryce.” He nods over to the ring and I follow his gaze, my mouth partially open.

Bryce’s hand is held in the air—he’s won the match, even after that punch from the first round.

Amid the cheers and chants, Bryce looks right at me, burning into me with the intensity of his gaze. We might as well be the only two people in the room.

Others start to follow his stare, leading them to me, until his coach pulls him aside.

I slide off my stool, ready to go home. “Thanks for your help, um--?”

“Shayne. Shayne Shultz.”

“Right, Shayne. Thanks for everything. Have a good night.” I wave and then turn to head to the door.

“You, too. Get home safe,” he calls after me.

I feel rude for only giving him the opportunity to say his farewells to my back, but it would be awkward if I turned around now.

***

Back in my apartment, everything is calm compared to the atmosphere of the Inferno.

The smell of stale smoke clings to my t-shirt and I’m desperate to get out of it. So, I change before calling Dad.

“Mila, how was your day?” he asks, excited for any news.

“Great! I think I made some friends and I might have a new job.”

“Make sure you don’t overexert yourself,” he cautions. “School comes first.”

“I know Dad. How are you?”

“Today is a good day,” he laughs. His voice sounds stronger, and he explains he is feeling better. No nausea and much less pain.

We spend the next ten minutes going over the events of the day. He wants to keep moving the conversation to my life, but I’m more concerned about his.

I hang up feeling renewed. Nothing is perfect, but there are seeds of hope everywhere.

Bryce

By the time I leave the locker room, the brunette is already gone. Something tells me she isn’t one to wait for a man. There’s a slew of other women, though, so I won’t go hungry tonight.

Over by the bar a woman gives me her sexiest stare, which basically means she’s open for business, so I walk over and get us a round of drinks.

“You had me worried there, getting dropped in the first round,” she says in her most earnest voice. Essentially, she was worried I’d get knocked out before she got to see my place and have a night of celebrity treatment.

“I lost focus,” I admit. “But I can still perform.”

She laughs, playing with her straw in a way that’s supposed to make me think about all the dirty things we’ll do tonight. We both know the end game and she’s not wasting energy on making this seem spontaneous. A couple of signs anyone could read and we’ve come to an understanding. I’m going to fuck her. She’s going to get me off.

Before I get to my drink, the blonde from last night interrupts, trying to mark her territory.

“Hi Bryce! I had so much fun last night and was thinking we could make some more memories tonight?” She tries to wedge herself in between me and the other woman, which is when I have to stand up.

“I already made other plans,” I say coldly.

She looks at the woman behind her and flips from flirty to crazy in three seconds.

“What the hell, Bryce? Is this what you do for fun? A new woman every night? I bet you don’t even know my name, do you?” Her face is full of anger and I swear if she could spew venom she would.

One of the bouncers is making his way over. The other woman is frozen in shock, so I grab her hand.

“Let’s go,” I say leading her away.

She is still aghast at the scene Blondie makes, but follows me robotically, if only to get away from the psychotic stalker. The crowd parts for us, but as I turn around, the blonde is being physically restrained as she thrashes against the bouncer. He has an arm around her middle, but she still manages to reach down and grab her shoe, which she launches at me. This doesn’t happen too often, but it’s not the first time.

Bad aim. She misses, bouncing the shoe off an empty table, but the whole scene is draining. This girl has no problem spreading her legs for a man she just met and knows next-to-nothing about, but the degrading part is that I don’t sleep with her again? It makes no sense.

Coach is by the door as we leave, shaking his head. “That’s some bullshit.”

I shrug, just wanting to put distance between my date for the night and the blonde. The bouncers will hold her for a few minutes. I don’t bother with calling the limo; instead we just head straight for the penthouse, walking the few feet it takes.

We’re alone in the elevator, and tonight’s entertainment finally speaks.

“Does that happen a lot?” I study her gray eyes that peek out underneath a reddish-brown bob, and see doubt in that stare.

“More than I’d like,” I respond.

I never lie to the women I fuck. No strings and expect nothing more than one night. I tell every single one of them that. Doesn’t matter though, I could say it until I’m blue in the face. They all think they’ll be the one that changes me.

We both sigh, and when I offer her a drink, she nods. In tandem, we take a big slug from the cut crystal snuffers and are silent for a moment.

“Just to avoid any confusion—this isn’t a long-standing invitation. I’m not your boyfriend. I won’t buy you flowers. This isn’t the start of some epic romance. I don’t remember your name and honestly, I don’t care what it is.”

She watches me during the whole speech, then digs in her purse, pulling out a cigarette. She lights it and inhales deeply, thinking over what I’ve said. When she exhales, the words have come to her and she looks me square in the eye.

“I don’t care what your name is either. I’m here for one thing.” She lets out a laugh. “Rather presumptuous for you to think otherwise.”

Her hand shakes as she holds the cigarette. It could be a bluff. They all say it’s casual, no expectations, they can handle it. Every time that falls apart. Every. Single. Time.

It starts out light-hearted. Exchanging glances, flirting, sharing drinks. The limo ride is a novelty, the penthouse is like a hotel—someplace very different from everyday life where you only visit, never stay. But somehow they begin to picture themselves as a permanent fixture. It always happens. And it spells disaster.

I leave her smoking on the couch while I step into the kitchen and call Sam.

“I need a cab for my visitor up here,” I tell him.

“I’ll take care of it,” Sam says.

Less than five minutes later Sam is at the door, slightly sweaty from hurrying to arrange things. I pick up her coat and hand it to her, signaling that our arrangement is off. She can’t manage to look disappointed, and when Sam waves his hand for her to go through the door, she doesn’t argue.

Sam watches as she passes by him and then turns his attention back to me. “By the way, here is the application for that brunette. She wants the waitressing job.”

I’m curious, but don’t want to read it in front of him.

“Hire her,” I say it a little too quickly which Sam reacts to with a confused expression.

“Okay. Also…your brother showed up after you left tonight.”

I run my hand through my hair, shake my head slightly and then say, “Find out where he staying.”

Sam nods, never questioning or hesitating. He turns to usher the girl onto the elevator, and I’m left alone with my imagination.

Why is Phillip back in town? He only visits during the holidays, especially the ones involving gifts. Otherwise, he’s impossible to reach. Why is he home now?

I lean over the island for a minute, resting my forearms against the cool white marble. Then I reach under the island, and pull a bottle of pinot from the wine fridge.

As I sip it directly from the bottle my mind races, trying to reason why he’s in town. It must be his terrible performance at Dartmouth.

Phillip went to another state, saying it would keep him out of trouble, but he was so bored he ended up missing school to find entertainment. Mother came down hard, not just about his performance but comparing my record to his, asking why he couldn’t measure up. Hopefully he’s not coming to me for a bail-out.

The stress is building between my shoulders—with my brother’s mysterious appearance and the blonde’s public tantrum it can’t be helped. Wine can’t dull the tension, so I hope to sleep it off.

And then my mind drifts to the brunette. There was something in those eyes…