Chapter 3

GUILIA

Fucking arse hole!

I gritted my teeth, trudging down the street, still thinking of that weirdo. Grumbling, I shoved what I purchased into my purse. I would have to eat that when I got to the place I would spend the night in.

My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. It wasn't as if this was the first time I had gone hungry for the entire day. My foster parents frequently starved me whenever I did something they warned me against.

And did it work? Of course, not. Mary, most times, laughed at how willful I was. A pity she never fully got to know why I was that way.

Halfway down the streets, my eyes landed on a neon light. 'De Parish Bar.'

Huh?

I frowned at the long line of people waiting at the door to be ushered in. I peered around the place, noting how deserted it was. In my angry state, I didn't realize where I was heading. It seemed I left the road I took to the convenience store, for the one behind it.

I grimaced as a certain thought came to mind. I touched my purse. The bars I bought cost a freaking £5. Yet, there I was, thinking of exhausting more on liquors when I still hadn't found a place to crash.

I couldn't tell how long I remained there before I marched towards the queue that had gotten smaller. Thankfully, I just turned eighteen a month ago. Otherwise, they would have kicked me to the curb. And it all would have been the fault of that rotten pervert!

The last man in line cast an inquisitive glance at me. I squinted and he promptly turned, narrowly whipping my face with his long, black hair.

Hmph!

The line got shorter until it got to my turn. The bouncer said something in Spanish, and I brought my ID card out, not understanding a word he spoke. He frowned as he took the card from me, and spoke words in their language, which I shrugged to.

God help me. Should I get through a week in this place, I would seek the nearest church to give a testimony of survival.

He gave my ID back to me and expressed further hasty terms before he gestured for me to step in.

“Phew,” I sighed as I stuffed the ID back into my purse. With a smile at the boisterous man, who looked like he could crush me with those meaty palms of his, I hurried into the bar.

I blanched the minute I walked in. It was quiet out there until you stepped in. The thundering noise coming from the speakers was on a mission —to shatter eardrums.

I hadn't been to a bar before, so it was a spectacle for me. From my position at the door, my eyes took in the dancers gyrating to the rhythm of the rock.

“This looks like fun.” I nodded, a bit used to the deafening music as I sought the bar which I found at the right corner of the room, and I made a beeline for it.

I weaved through the sweaty dancers until I got to my destination. I had a plan in mind; to get drunk, rock until I drop, and crash there for the night. The following day, I would inquire if they need any workers.

Who knows, I might be lucky.

Ludicrous enough, the music wasn't loud in this part of the room. I could still sense the reverberation, but not that loud.

The moment I sat on the barstool, a bartender turned to me, beaming handsomely. His black eyes were so fascinating that I gawked into them, enthralled by the pretty orbs.

He uttered something in Spanish, bringing my attention back to the present. I nodded at him, despite not knowing what he said.

He repeated his words once more and when I nodded, he exhaled. “You didn't understand me, did you?” he asked with a precise command of my language.

I responded with a smile. "That's right! Pardon me. I haven't been here for long, so...”

“It's alright. I've seen my fair share of people like you. What would you like to have? Cocktails?”

“The cheapest beer you have.”

“What?” He stared, stunned at my order. Perhaps he was expecting me to mention an expensive drink or something like that.

“The cheapest beer, man. I still need to save.” I placed both hands on the counter and beamed at him. “How much will that be?”

“… Um… A caña of cheap beer is £3. You can—”

I snorted at the figure. “What? Are you freaking kidding me right now? Are you trying to rip me? How the hell could that be—”

“Get a cocktail for her. The most expensive one. I will pay,” a voice said behind me.

“Right at it.” The bartender went to work promptly.

I turned to look at the person who had just spoken. A middle-aged guy sat on the bar stool next to me. He had his brown hair slicked back with sufficient gel to last me a lifetime. He would have looked okay with his amber iris and pointed nose had it not been for his partially burnt face.

I smiled politely to mask the gasp I would have let out. After all, he purchased a drink for me.

“Hi.”

“I'm Eric, and you?” He brought his hand out for a shake.

My eyes went to his outstretched palm and lingered on it for a minute before I brought mine out. “I'm Mary,” I lied through my teeth, smiling at him.

Please forgive me, Mary. There was no way I could tell someone like him my real name. I was still running from my foster parents after all.

“What a lovely name for a beautiful damsel.” He let go of my palm and brought his chair closer. “Can we get to know each other?” He grinned as he placed his palm on mine.

“…. Of course!” I forced out, yanking my hand back as if his hand scorched it.

“Perfect, we can get to know each other after your drink comes. I own a VIP section here. We can go there later, love.” As he spoke, his hand crept to my back, only to have him place it on my rear.

I forced a smile and tactfully removed it. My patience was at its peak.

“Come on, you don't have to be modest. I know girls like you. We can have a lot of fun.” He tried to touch me again, but I slapped his hands off me.

“What the fuck!” I stood up from the barstool. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Someone who's going to screw you hard before the end of the night,” he stated flatly, eyes fastened on my boobs, which were thankfully concealed by the Hawaii shirt I was putting on.