Nero

Nero
 Mel Teshco
 Nero
 Copyright © Mel Teshco 2023
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 Cover art by Emcat Designs
 https://www.facebook.com/EmCatDesigns
 Table of Contents
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
 Chapter Twenty-One
 Chapter Twenty-Two
 Chapter Twenty-Three
 Chapter Twenty-Four
 Chapter Twenty-Five
 Chapter Twenty-Six
 Chapter Twenty-Seven
 Chapter Twenty-Eight
 Chapter Twenty-Nine
 Chapter Thirty
 Epilogue
 Chapter One of Sienna
 Chapter One
 
 Jack winced, the deep, aching throb in his temple worse than usual. Not helped by a famous DJ who flooded Creed’s Nightclub with screaming techno music. Add in the flashing neon lights above the bar, which clashed with the strobing effects on the dance floor, and Jack’s headache would no doubt become unbearable. 
 Thankfully, his shift ended soon, but until then there was no time to do anything except mix the drinks that had patrons cramming the bar in front of him.
 The tip jar was already full and Faye, one of the half-dressed bar staff, took it away with a saucy wink and replaced it with another jar.
 The tips at Creeds Nightclub never ceased to amaze Jack. That they were meant for the staff but most often went into Creed’s deep pockets was yet another irritation that didn’t sit well with Jack.
 Up until recently he’d been content with his minimal wage. What did a thirty-something single man without a social life need when he had a sagging roof over his head and paper-thin walls to keep his insignificant supply of worldly crap together? That he scraped enough together to pay the rent and expenses was as much from his solitary existence than it was from any foresight.
 He assumed he’d always been a take-one-day-at-a-time kind of guy. But with his barman days turning into weeks and the weeks into months, his future was beginning to look set in stone and a pay rise the incentive he needed to continue one mundane day into the next.
 Not that he doubted for a second the owner of the establishment, Creed—or Greed, as the staff called him behind his back—would be agreeable to giving him a wage increase. The too-handsome, smooth-talking, dark-haired wanker was all about profits and his own needs. 
 But then Jack at a knack at being persuasive, and after the monotony of making drinks he almost looked forward to testing his influence with Creed. 
 Jack handed two Whiskey Sours to a blonde whose fake tits almost spilled out of her white top, her long, even faker lashes fluttering. She leaned close, eyeing his bare chest as she slurred, “Your drinks are ahhmazing!”
 It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that line and it wouldn’t be the last. He smiled and nodded, aware of her “take me home” vibes. Some nights he felt like a rock star, and took advantage of the plentiful supply of ladies on offer. What single, woman-loving man in his right mind wouldn’t? 
 Most of those ladies had even been fine with his shabby house in the downtrodden suburb of Skeeds, along with his one-eared, black tomcat that had wandered in one night and never left. But then he had the awkward morning after confrontations to deal with and it was a toss-up sometimes if the pleasure of a short term fuck was worth the next day irritant of a meaningless separation. 
 You’re such a class act. He winced. He had no idea when or why he’d become so cavalier about women...about life in general. In the grand scheme of things he was lucky to get laid. He was an average looking man heading toward middle-age, admittedly with a full head of sandy-blond hair and a damn good body. Luckily for him on the latter since the barman uniform consisted of nothing more than black pants and a tie, and sturdy shoes of course.
 That he plied people with drinks for a living meant he didn’t need to worry about imposter syndrome. He was nobody, a nothing, a man whose skills consisted of pouring beers, tossing bottles into the air and shaking up frothy drinks.
 Meanwhile Creed was becoming one of the richest men in the city, his flashy cars and a mansion on the river Dahrt, attesting to it. Creed didn’t mind flaunting it, either. He loved collecting priceless artifacts from all over the world. He loved even more to show them off on a high display case above the bar like a mantelpiece, which no one could reach. 
 Tonight there was a pair of ancient, crisscrossed swords showcased in velvet, and what was probably a Ming vase. All of which sat untouchable behind thick plate glass. That Jack was inexplicably drawn to the weapons was another mystery he’d rather not solve. 
 Had he been a psycho in the past? An axe murderer? 
 He had no idea who he was or where he’d come from. He only remembered waking up on the street in the dark, then stumbling into Creed’s well-lit bar where self-preservation had made him ask for a job. That he’d got one still mystified him. He’d looked like shit and hadn’t even had the foresight to invent a better name than Jack. 
 His shift finally ended and he wiped the alcohol off his hands on a clean cloth behind the bar.
 “See you tomorrow night,” Suzie shouted above the music. She was another one of the eleven other bar staff kept busy on a Friday night.