REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Club 11 shook from the rafters tonight. Bouncers overpacked the building, which left minimal room for customers to move around. Clubland music pounded cacophonous dissonance throughout, and erotic dancers floundered seductiveness due to overworked muscles and induced sweat. It's not often half-naked women face-planted glass podiums because of exhaustion.

I conveyed a tray of ice-filled glasses of water to the back of the bar, where numerous women, togged up in rhinestone attire, exorbitant makeup and knee-high lace-up stilettos, keeled over for a well-deserved break. "Here." I placed liquidised energy onto the glasswasher machine. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Of course, no one expressed gratitude, but I have learnt to overlook everyone's apparent dislike.

I returned to the never-ending demands behind the bar.

"Pass the gin," Josh yelled over the dance music while shovelling ice blocks into glass pitchers. "And cranberry and orange juice." As instructed, I opened the chiller and reached for the goods. "Grab the vodka, too."

"Josh." I juggled juice cartons. "Why don't I just make the cocktails for you?"

"Don't be grouchy." He snagged ingredients and finished the customers' many-hued order with wedged citrus fruit. "It's an ugly look on you—next," he called, tossing twenty-pound notes into the till. "Hey, you never did mention why the boss called you to the office."

I spritzed tonic water into three tall glasses. "A little positivity and appraisal for working long hours this month."

"What?" he shrieked with a shrill of a laugh. "Well, that fucking sucks. I barely leave the building, and I haven't received any damn appraisal or recognition."

"Don't be jealous." I hand vodka and tonic mixers to the paying customer. "It's an ugly look on you—next," I parodied, and he stared at me deadpan though sliced eyes. "What?"

"You are annoying." He pinched my nose, whipped a tea towel over his shoulder, and, hands pressed to the bar top, leaned over the cashier register to listen to the customer's order. "We don't sell impurities here, love," he said in a low, raspy voice, and the woman's face pinkened. "Quality, not quantity. I can hit you with Goose or Cîroc, though."

Embarrassment clung to her cheeks in multiple shades of red. Recognising the hesitation in her eyes, the lack of pennies in her purse, I intervened. "Here." Placing two glasses on the counter, I uncapped Cîroc, poured double vodka and lemonade. "It's on the house."

I approached the next customer before Josh's reprimand.

"Alexa." His finger jabbed me in the shoulder. "What's wrong with you? Warren can see everything from his office."

"It wasn't a freebie, Josh." Stealing his tea towel, I dried spilt beer from my fingers. "I will cover the bill. Take it out of my tips."

"You are too nice for your own good." He used the back of his hand to efface sweat from his brow. "I will collect empty glasses while it's quietening down."