The air of the saloon was stuffed by cigar smoke, the heavy perfume of the women lounging along the railing next to me, and the underlying scent of unwashed bodies. I crinkled my nose at it all, eyes scanning the room out of boredom. People lined every darkly painted wall, chatting with a glass in hand. The dark wooden tables were full as usual, with one large group centered in the room.
I zoned back out; the familiarity of the saloon an incredibly underwhelming experience. I put my back to the room. The railing dug into the middle of my spine. My hands found themselves caressing the wood of the railing, feeling the pockets where knives had dug themselves in and the grain of natural wood. I could not wait until the night was over — I could finally take that long bath I was waiting all week for. I may be up until 5 am to take it, but the wait and loss of sleep would be worth it. Then I would crawl into my soft sheets — one hundred percent silk, brand new all the way from Arkaely — and it would probably be the best sleep I have had in a long while. I sighed aloud, goosebumps trailing up and down my arms at the mere thought.
A quick, sharp jab to the space between my ribs yanked me back to reality. I breathed in sharply, smacking away Zyva’s hand. “I am awake, I swear.”
Her thin, tan face turned away from mine, her signature work smile hiding her previous scowl. “Just making sure. Could have fooled me. And Brahem.”
I scowled, then quickly covered it up with my work smile when I noticed Brahem’s watchful eye upon me. I gave a small wave, then scowled again when he looked away. “I know, I know.”
“I just don’t want him docking your pay, again.”
“I know, Vas.”
“He’s been looking for a way to kick you out ever since last month’s thing.”
“I know, Vas.”
“I still can’t believe you —“
“I know, Vas. I get it.” I tried to smooth out the glare I could feel coming on. I glanced around the room, eyes landing on a man sitting at the corner table, alone. We both looked away. I turned my attention back to Zyva. “But there’s no way he’d risk pissing off his favorite girl.”
Zyva rolled her eyes. In a fake, unwilling-to-accept-the-compliment tone of voice, she said, “Let us not assume things, Ima.” She gave a small wave to someone down below. I followed her line of sight, then slowly turned to face her again, narrowing my eyes at her.
“I know you did not just wave at him.”
Zyva scoffed. “I am just being friendly, Ima.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”
A man jumped onto a table, the sound of clattering soles on wood barely distinguishable over the loud, booming voice that came from its owner.
“Friends, friends,” he said, words slightly slurred and wobbling on the table. “One at a time, one at a time!”
One voice rose above the rest, asking the man to tell about his most recent find.
“Ah, my most recent quest! I am so glad you asked! Well, it all began when I discovered a scroll in the depths of a cave near Aeston...”
I glanced around to see if anyone else actually cared about what he said. Bev, surprisingly, was enraptured by his speech. The whole saloon appeared to be sucked in, holding onto every word the man said. I looked back to the man, trying to see if I recognized him at all.
His skin was dark and he had deep brown almond eyes. His nose was wide and the bridge of his nose was wide as well, but not flat like mine. His dreadlocks reached just past his shoulders, but he had some shorter sections in the front that touched just below his jaw. He was pretty beautiful — something most of the patrons had noticed — but he had such a magnetic energy that automatically pulled you in as well. He seemed so happy, elated. It was unfamiliar in a town as boring and depressing as ours.
“Bev,” I said, leaning to my right. “Who is this guy?”
“Not sure,” she said.
I started to say something, but she shushed me. I rolled my eyes, but listened more intently to what the man was saying. He was a Seeker, I quickly gathered. He was weaving a tale of how he and his partner found the famed stone of Vegtton. After finding the scroll and a poem inscribed on a wall in the cave, the two headed north, where they travelled through various towns. They spent months tracking down this place, venturing through puzzles and other treacherous challenges.
“Four, no, five Nameless guarded the gates to this place!” He insisted. “Luckily, my partner and I, with our combined strength and wit, made it out alive.” At partner, he gestured to the man I had glanced at before — the man at the corner table.
The man lazily lifted his glass in a half-hearted toast, before returning his gaze to the bottom of his drink. His hair was short, black, and put into a nice coif with the hint of curls. I couldn’t see his eyes from here, but his nose was prominent and angular. His tan hand, similar to Zyva’s but with a more olive undertone, lifted his glass to his full lips again. He looked well-built, but I could tell his partner was definitely a little drunk and loose with the details. I couldn’t picture either of them taking on five Nameless.
A flash of fire cut into my mind, before I could push the memory away.
My attention from the scene below was interrupted as Foster, one of our regulars, came jumping up the stairs. His movements were slurred, shaking. He held out a wavering hand to Bev on my left, taking his hat off and putting it to his chest as he did a drunken bow. She giggled, saccharine sweet, and in a way only I and the other girls knew to be fake. Bev led him to the door directly behind us, taking his hand.
“Tell me what he says later,” she whispered to me over her shoulder. Her blonde hair bounced with the turn of her head. I nodded. The heavy wood door closed and I could hear her faint giggle once more.
I shuffled down the line, Zyva and the other women following suit. I rolled my neck, grabbing a stray curl and twisting it around my finger repeatedly. I huffed, trying to push all the anxiety out in a breath of air. I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. I never knew why I still felt so anxious. Zyva and I had been here for... seven years? Had it really been that long? I looked at Zyva through the corner of my eye. The maximum we said we would stay was five years. Yet, here we are, still standing along the bannister of the saloon, night after night.
It was not a bad place to work, sure. Brahem was nice enough, and he was not afraid of losing a rude or misogynist patron. Now, was he a little unfair sometimes? Definitely. I ground my teeth at the thought of last week’s little issue. I did not mean to get banned from the hotel — it certainly was not my fault that the guy got drunk enough to bust the headboard. But! In my humble opinion, the fault lies with Brahem for never officially negotiating a contract to outsource us to the local hotels. If he did that, there would be some sort of insurance or communication when these things happen.
Zyva squeezed my hand that lay on the railing. I looked at her. She was leaving her spot in the line.
“Where are you going?”
“Brahem asked me to get that guy off the table,” she laughed. “Plus that is the fifth round he has ordered for the whole bar, so I am guessing he will not be able to afford it. Riches from caves notwithstanding.”
“Mhmm,” I mumbled, returning my gaze to the saloon first floor. “Have fun.” I could hear her silk skirts swish past. I glanced to the man’s partner. His chair sat empty, glass in the same state. His hat was gone. Hmph.
I heard Zyva exchange a quick formality on the stairs. I sighed, trying to get all the anxious energy out.
A warm, tan hand encapsulated mine on the railing. I looked up, a bit fast. It was the man from the corner table. His cologne danced through my head, the scent of a forest just after rain mixed with the warmth of a fire. His mono-lid eyes were dark green. He had a nice smile. I reflected it. I could tell he was going for inviting, maybe sexy — but all that I was getting was empty, formality. I could see the slight bags under his eyes, his surreptitious glances to his partner below.
I cleared my throat and leaned back on my heels. I let him continue to grasp my hand. “Hey there,” I said, loud enough that he could hear me.
He pulled my hand to his lips. They were soft and plush against my deeply tan skin. “What’s your name?”
“Ima.” I twirled a piece of my hair with the hand he was not holding. “And yours?”
“Daran,” he said, eyes flicking back down to the man, who was now being ushered from the table by my sister.
“Your friend is quite popular, Daran,” I said, retracting my hand gently and facing the crowd again. Daran moved closer to me, the front of his thigh brushing against my skirt.
I could hear annoyance in his voice. “He always attracts a crowd.”
I smirked. Lone wolf act, I see. “Not a crowd person, are we?” I could feel his arm encircle my waist, and I let it. He was not pressing or urging — just present.
He cleared his throat, “Some nights, sure. Three nights in a row? It gets quite old.”
I turned to face him again. “So, just me then?”
He quirked a brow. “Just you?”
I kept my poker face. “Three is a crowd, I suppose. Anae,” I turned to the woman standing next to me in line, “This one is only interested in a solo act tonight, sorry.”
Anae’s lips pouted, her dark eyes full with a false sadness.
I turned back to Daran, who had finally got what I was saying. He was biting the side of his lip. He might have been holding back a laugh, or maybe he was regretting his choice of words. I laughed, grabbed his hand and began to lead him to the second door from the left. Next to Bev and Foster.
“Erm, would it be possible to have the furthest room?”
I glanced back at him, shrugging. Way to throw off our whole system, dude. “That would be no problem,” I smiled, heading toward the furthest door.
I opened the door for him, but he took a moment to linger and stare over the railing at his friend.
“Daran, we do charge by the minute.”
He glanced back at me, took a long look at his friend, and finally entered the room. “Right, right.” He took off his jacket, carefully placing it over the foot of the bed. I lit the bedside lamp, and I started to light the others, but Daran stopped me. “This works just fine.”
I twisted a curl around my finger. “Right.” I moved to undo his belt, but he stopped me again. I started to say something, but before I could, he tipped back my head with a finger.
His lids grew heavy as he leaned in and captured my lips in a kiss. That was rare. Most clients tended to favor a more to the point job. Not that I was protesting this change of events. I let him take the lead as he walked me backward to the bed.
The back of my knees hit the bed, and without thinking, I sat down, pulling him down by the front of his shirt. In the dim light of the room, it felt like we were in our own little world strangely. The anxiety from before was gone, and I was acting on pure instinct. I knew I was good at my job, but I normally mentally detached when I was working.
That was not happening this time around, I noticed. We kissed feverishly, our clothes coming off quickly enough. He paid special attention to my neck, sucking and kissing the area all over. I felt zings of pleasure and a small, very minute, hiss of fear. I moved his attention elsewhere.
I had to give Daran one thing — he did not leave any stone unturned, or area ignored. He was also a lot more thoughtful than my other clients, surprisingly.
Under his clothes, he was muscular, but not bulky. Maybe a little bit on the wiry side of things. His hands were rough in some areas - I assumed from a horse’s reins based on the placement - but they still moved delicately and with purpose all over my body.
Our breaths hitched together, sweat slicking our skin as his pace quickened. His grip on my hip tightened so hard I worried a handprint would be there tomorrow. I dug my hands into his hair, pulling on the strands. Daran’s breath hitched, then his pace quickened even further. I could feel the pressure building and building — a tension that licked under my skin like a wildfire.
A woman’s scream pierced the air.
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