Perfect Monster (The Oligarchs)

“Crowded for a Tuesday in March.” Mikey grinned at me and flipped his shaggy hair back.

I punched in at the computer. “Can’t complain. I could use the tips.”

“You always get good tips. Easy for a pretty girl.”

I rolled my eyes. Mikey was nice enough but he suffered from brainless-douchey-guy syndrome. “Also helps that I work the bar, whereas you’re still bussing.”

He laughed and held up his hands. “Yeah, okay, you got me. Damn Cass, no need to stab me in the chest.”

“It’s been a stressful few weeks.” I didn’t mention that I was regularly having nightmares about a girl getting murdered.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” He waved and got back to work. I watched him go, frowning, and felt guilty for snapping. Mikey really was a decent guy, the sort of person I should want to be with. He was handsome and funny when he wanted to be, dumb sexist jokes and comments aside, but he just seemed so—bland. Nothing about him interested me, nothing made me want to sit up and take notice. Nothing inspired me to get out of my comfort zone, which was admittedly pretty small these days.

I tried dating a little, but it was hard. In the summer, the guys were only around for a few months at most, and none of the locals were my type. Winter kept saying my standards were way too high, but it wasn’t just that.

None of them made me feel alive. And none of them made me feel safe.

I couldn’t make her understand that though. Winter loved dating, loved men of all shapes and sizes, and she was infinitely more outgoing than I was.

I didn’t know why she put up with me.

Right now especially, I couldn’t imagine getting close to anyone. Ever since that night, I’d been on edge. It was worse the first few nights right afterward. I didn’t sleep and kept a can of Mace on hand at all times, even when I left my apartment in the middle of the day for groceries—that stuff saved my life once and it might again one day. I didn’t return Winter’s calls, which made her flip out and she literally broke into my place one day, which scared the crap out of me and nearly got her Maced.

We talked for a while and she made me dinner and forced me it sit down and watch a movie with her and that helped. I didn’t tell her about Roman or about the dead girl and she didn’t ask about any of that. She was just there for me, and after about a week, I started sleeping again.

I still jumped at every shadow, and my dreams were full of violence and sex and a confusing mix of the two, and Roman was always there, sometimes shirtless, wearing nothing but those running shorts, sometimes wearing his slick black suit, but always staring at me, his lips slightly parted—or his hand on my hips, or his fingers digging into my thigh—but that part never lasted. Manzi always appeared, and he always killed Dia, and I always woke screaming and drenched in sweat.

Night terrors. I thought I’d gotten over them.

Apparently not.

“You look hot tonight. What’s the occasion?” Winter wiped down a glass as I joined her behind the bar.

“Nothing special.” I frowned down at myself. I wore my usual baggy black shirt and black slacks. Jennie-Mae the owner always complained that I looked like an old lady and that I should dress more like Winter—which was a nice way of saying, I should show more cleavage. But I was a good bartender and dependable, so she didn’t push too hard.

“Oh sorry, I meant you look like a little boy going to his first funeral.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that bad. Also, weird, I didn’t know that was a look.”

“It’s the same thing as Hot Topic pre-teen.”

“Now I’m just hurt. I’m not wearing enough eyeliner for that.”

“You could at least let your hair down. You know you’re hot, right?”

“I’m not really interested in getting leered at by a bunch of locals, but thanks anyway.”

“Leering leads to tipping.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Learned it at bartender school. It’s the very first lesson.”

“What was the second lesson? Wait, let me guess. More tits means more tips?”

“Oh my god, you went to Cheers University too?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Honestly, I wish I went to bartender school. Sounds like a really good use of time and money.”

Winter sighed dramatically. “I miss it. We were like a little slutty family, you know? Always getting drunk. Those were the days.”

“Right because now you’re all grown up and responsible.”

“Hey, I only drink most nights. And only wine!”

“You’re practically grown up.”

“I do yoga too. And surf. Come on, I’m fully actualized.”

“Okay, I’m not sure adults are supposed to drink wine all the time and spend most of their days doing yoga and surfing.”