The Darkest Pleasure (Lords of the Underworld #3)(5)
Author: Gena Showalter

Another whispered back, "What’d you expect from someone like her?"

Danika froze. For a moment, her appetite was forgotten and a million emotions swept through her. Sadness, frustration and embarrassment were the front-runners. This is what my life has become. From sheltered daughter to woman-on-the-run in a single bleak night. From well-respected artist to take-whatever’s-dished waitress.

"Like to say I’m surprised, but…"

"Check your wallet when we leave."

Embarrassment edged ahead of the other two. She didn’t have to see the men to know they were watching her with hard, judging eyes. Three times they’d come to eat at Enrique’s and all three times they’d given her self-esteem a good workout. It was weird, too. They never said anything harsh, always smiled and thanked her when she brought them something, but they just couldn’t mask the distaste shining in their eyes.

She’d dubbed them the Bird Brothers, so badly did she want to flip them off.

Don’t bring attention to yourself, her common sense piped up. These days, it was the only rule she lived by.

"I better not catch you trying to sneak food again," her boss snapped. Enrique was the owner, as well as the short-order cook. "Now, hurry up. Their food’s getting cold."

"Actually, it’s too hot. They might burn themselves and sue." The plates were obscenely warm against her cold skin – skin she hadn’t been able to warm in weeks. Even now, in the heat of the diner, she wore a sweater she’d purchased for $3.99 at the thrift shop down the street. But to her consternation, the burn from the plates never seeped inside her.

Surely something good would happen to her soon. Weren’t good and evil supposed to balance each other out? Once, she had thought so. Had believed happiness waited around every corner. Sadly, Danika now knew better.

Behind her, past the wall of windows that provided a mocking view into the pulsing heart of L.A.’s nightlife, cars whizzed and people strolled, carefree and laughing. Not too long ago, that was me.

Danika had taken the job here, working as many hours as possible, because Enrique paid her under the table, no social security number required. Cash, no taxes deducted. She could disappear at a moment’s notice.

Was her mother living like this? Her sister? Her granny – if she was still alive?

"The Darkest Pleasure"

Two months ago, the four of them had decided to take an extended vacation in Budapest, her grandpa’s favorite city. Magical, he’d always said. After he died, they’d gone to celebrate his memory and finally say goodbye.

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

They’d soon found themselves kidnapped and locked away. By monsters. Real, honest-to-God monsters. Creatures the Boogeyman probably searched his closet for before daring to go to bed. Creatures who sometimes looked human and sometimes didn’t. Every so often, Danika had caught a glimpse of fangs, claws and skeletal faces underneath their human personas.

In a moment of luck, she and her family had been rescued. But she’d been captured again, only to be released unharmed. Unharmed but warned: Run, hide. You’ll be hunted soon. If you’re found, you and your family are dead.

So each of them had run. They’d split up, hoping they would be harder to find that way. They’d hidden, shadows their new best friends. Danika had first traveled to New York, the city that never slept, trying to lose herself in the crowds. Somehow, the monsters had found her. Again. But once more she’d managed to escape them, hitching nonstop to L.A., each day making just enough money to survive and pay for self-defense lessons.

In the beginning, she and her family had maintained contact every day by calling and leaving disposable cell-phone numbers with trusted friends. Then Danika’s grandmother had gone silent. No more calls.

Had she been found by the monsters? Killed?

Last time Danika had heard from her, her granny had arrived in a small town in Oklahoma. She had friends there, had known better than to travel anywhere familiar, but at her age had probably grown weary of running. Yet even those friends had not heard from her in weeks; Grandma Mallory had gone to the market and simply never returned.

Thinking about her beloved grandmother and the pain the woman might have endured caused grief and sorrow to well up inside Danika’s chest. She couldn’t call her mom or her sister and ask if they’d heard anything. They, too, had stopped checking in. For everyone’s safety, her mom had said during their last conversation. Calls could be traced, cell phones confiscated and used against them.

Her eyes burned and her chin trembled. No. No! What are you doing? She couldn’t think about her family now. "What if" would paralyze her.

"You’re wasting time," Enrique said, tugging her from her dark musings. "Shake your ass like I told you. Your customers are waiting and if they send back their food ’cause it’s cold, you’re going to pay for it."

She wanted to throw the plates at him, but "No attention!" was screaming inside her head, so she just smiled and pivoted on her heels, ratty sneakers squeaking. Chin high, back straight, she marched toward the table with dread congealing in her stomach. Both men watched her with those hard eyes. They were clearly middle-class with their inexpensive clothes and average haircuts. Tanned and buff as they were, they could have been construction workers. If so, they hadn’t come straight from a job. They were clean, their jeans and T-shirts unstained.

One had a toothpick sticking out from between his teeth and was rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other, the motions faster and faster the closer she came. Her hands were shaking from fatigue, but she managed to set the plates in front of each man without accidentally dumping the food in their laps. A lock of inky hair escaped her ponytail and fell down her temple.

Hands finally free, she hooked the strands behind her ear. BB – before Budapest – she’d had long blond hair. AB – after Budapest – she’d chopped it to shoulder length and dyed it black to alter her appearance. Another crime to lay at the monsters’ door.

"Sorry about the fry." Despite their clear disdain for her, these men were good tippers. "I wasn’t trying to eat it, just to keep it on the plate." Liar. God, she never used to lie.

"Don’t worry about it," Bird One said, unable to mask the slight twinge of irritation in his voice.

Don’t send the food back. Please don’t send the food back. She couldn’t afford the cut in her pay. "Can I get you anything else?" Their cups were almost full, so she left them in place.

"We’re fine," Bird Two replied. Again, polite enough words but uttered in an unmistakably waspish tone. He waved one of the paper napkins and settled it on his lap.

She caught a glimpse of a small figure eight tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Surprising. Had anyone asked her to bet, she would have put big money on a dark-haired female with a bloody hatchet coming out of her back.