Blood Doll, My Blood Doll

1.18.2004-

Chapter 1

1.18.2004-1.18.2004

“I’ll have sex with the bartender,” the brown-eyed exec managed to slur out.

I shrugged and flashed a smile, knowing that Simon’d have my ass if I wasn’t polite. Whatever the fuck Simon said, you did. There wasn’t a lot of room left to question his authority.

I mixed the drink and set it down hard before the man. “That’s your last one for the night, Jer. You’ve had enough, and I’m cutting you off.”

He started to look angry and I said softly, “Does your wife know where you are?” That shut him up and he sullenly nursed that last shot.

The whole “sex with the bartender” thing was getting old. Sure, sometimes it was still funny, but overuse made it lose some of its magic. It had become so trite that some of the regulars joked about how the bar should change its name to that. I know that sex sells, but we’re a bar, not a strip joint or a brothel. The only sex we sell is part of the names of several drinks.

“Oi, Ronald!” Only one person calls me that... I turned to see Acey smiling at me.

“It’s Ronnie, not Ronald. You’re lucky I love ya, or you’d get your ass kicked, Ace.”

He grinned. “Ah, but ya love me. And so... I won’t be needin’ ta have my ass kicked, now will I?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in, or I might change my mind.” I retorted, mixing up a Meister-bation, just for him.

If Irish accents weren’t so damned sexy, I probably wouldn’t have put up with his shit. Whenever Acey Rogan showed back up, all sorts of bad things came with him. Either that, or he took me to the bad things. It was never healthy and I almost always came home sportin’ a new scar... or four. I never wanted to be a part of Acey’s world, their world, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t do everything within my power to help. Sometimes I hate my parents for instilling a moral fibre stronger than spidersilk in me.

“So, when’s your shift over?” he asked, his accent disappearing like he’d taken off a mask. It always creeped me when he dropped his pleasant public act. Kinda made me wonder if he had some sort of controllable multiple-personality disorder.

I glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes,” I answered simply. He nodded, seeming satisfied that he didn’t have to wait long.

“I’ll see you out back in fifteen, then.” With that, he downed the rest of his drink and left, like he expected me to just do as he had said.

I really hate it when other people know me better than I know myself.

I got to thinking about it during those last ten minutes, and I wondered why Acey’d been so urgent. He normally gave me fifteen minutes after my shift was over, rather than my ultimatum of five.