Fatal Instincts (Book 1, the Fatal Trilogy Series)

Chapter 1.

Kettle's Bell, Kansas.                                             

What a stupid name.    

"You ever tended bar before?"               

One quick nod.     

"Danced?"

Two nods.

"You got any baggage I should know about?" The greasy old man interviewing me has barely taken his eyes off of my cleavage since the moment we sat down. Now isn't one of those times. "We don't get too many people moving here, ya see? This here is a pretty tight community. We don't see a whole lot'a new faces. Specially not one as pretty as yours."

I want to ask him how he even knows what my face looks like, or point out that it's pretty obvious why no one ever would chose to move here on a whim.

Check yes three times on extra baggage.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that. Hell, I wouldn't have been in the last five horrible towns working the horrible clubs if it weren't for my baggage.

I decide to humor him though, I do need the job. At least for now. Until he finds me again.

"Really?" I paste on a big smile, quickly dropping it when he doesn't even notice. Smile with your tits. I lean forward a bit, twirling my hair. "This place is just so beautiful. Picturesque even. I'm just bubbling with pride to be a part of this special community."

He finally grazes his eyes slowly up, taking the scenic route, until he meets my eyes. "Well, darlin', can you start tonight?"

I beam with fake pride, smiling like I've just gotten a job at NASA and not just another shitty bar job where I'll work all night until I can't feel my toes while being hit on and jeered at by the grubby patrons.

Just another day in the life of Alyssa Barnes.

Tune in next week to see what other shitty shenanigans I wrangle my way into.

"Thank you so much, you won't regret it." I lie, he probably will in a month or so when he's having to fill my position all over again because I've skipped town without a word's notice.

He reaches across the cramped booth and pats my bare shoulder, leaving his hand there just a second too long to be considered friendly, then he waves to another girl near the bar.

"TJ, come meet your new coworker." He calls to her. "Ain't she a pretty one."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I get so sick of hearing that. Pretty. As if that means anything. Maybe I'm dumber than a bag of rocks, or maybe I'm a psychopath with eight bodies hiding under my floorboards back at my apartment. Maybe I'm a raging bitch with a fetish for eating laundry detergent. But no one cares. They just want to see pretty. If pretty were so important, I'd have parents or a home or not feel like I have to live every second with one eye on the exit.

Pretty ain't shit.

"Hi, I'm Alyssa." I introduce myself, positive that Jeb probably forgot my name the second he got sight of my boobs. "Nice to meet you."

TJ is a bit older than me, probably in her thirties, with a slightly heavier set but even heavier boobs up top. Apparently a big rack is a job requirement for this place.

The Bar.

That's the name of the club. How original. It's a pretty big place for this tiny town. Two floors, the bottom dedicated to the long old school looking wooden bar that runs the length of the wall and some scattered tables and private corner booths. In the center is three stages, each with its own greased up pole. Upstairs is a private dancing room, two bathrooms, a dressing room, and two overhanging balconies that look down onto the stages.