The warm and fuzzy thoughts deflate like a popped balloon, indignation rendering me momentarily speechless.
I glare at the money. “Seems like a lot of cash for one drink. And just to be clear, Ionlysell drinks. What happened with us back there?” I gesture behind me. “I don’t normally do that.”
“Make out with a stranger in front of a dozen horny, half-drunk guys?” He shrugs, the movement fluid beneath the supple leather. “I never thought it was.”
My neck burns with embarrassment, though I’m not quite sure why.
I slide the bill back toward him. “I’ve seen hundreds of guys like you come through here, none as impressive as they believed.”
He glances at the money, then at my face. His expression shifts, cool calculation replacing the earlier amusement. “No. I very much doubt you’ve seen anyone like me.”
The certainty in his voice spikes my pulse. The worst part is, he’s right. I’ve never heard of one of our customer’s tipping a hundred dollars for a single drink. Never come across someone who surveys a room the way he does or notices the things he’s noticed about me. Never encountered a stranger who senses my distress and races to my rescue.
Never met another man who makes me feel so…alive.
He stills, his attention captured by activity across the bar. The coin stops spinning between his fingers, disappearing into his palm. His jaw tightens, and a frigid mask shutters his face.
The sudden shift startles the hell out of me. Yet somehow, heat still rushes between my legs.
Since when do I find the threat of danger sexy?
Without another word, the man throws down five more hundreds, the bills fanning across the bar top like a royal flush. His eyes collide with mine one last time and flare with an undecipherable emotion before he rises and leaves, cutting through the rowdy crowd with ease.
My fingers hover over the stack of bills. Six hundred dollars. More tip money than I’ll probably earn all week. I scoop the cash into my pocket, wondering why a strange hollowness opensin my chest when his broad back disappears into the sea of people.
I should feel relieved. Men like him are trouble.
But as I return to the swirl of bodies and the endless cycle of drinks and fake smiles, I can’t help but glance toward the door again. Everyone leaves the bar eventually…so why does his departure trigger an inexplicable ache in my chest?
I straighten my ridiculous apron and get back to work. The hundreds burn in my pocket, a reminder that for a few minutes, someone saw past the costume and the job to the actual person.
Even if that someone might be more alarming than all the other men in this bar combined.
Chapter 3
Alexei
I walk away before the sexy waitress can refuse the money. Any other night, I might indulge in our mutual attraction. But not tonight.
Benny Parker just sauntered in.
Only answers matter. I plan to get them, even if that means carving them out of Benny’s flesh.
People leap out of my way. A blond waitress wearing lifeguard attire blushes, her gaze skittering to the sticky floor. I ignore her, intent on trailing my target.
My focus never leaves Benny’s back as he weaves between tables, oblivious that the devil’s on his heels.
Because that’s exactly what I’ll be if he doesn’t talk.
I’ll make Hell resemble a fucking playground.
In person, Benny looks different than he does in his mugshot. He has more meat on his bones, better clothes, but the same shifty eyes. His prison muscles strain against a tight black t-shirt, attempting to advertise strength he doesn’t possess. I know the type.
All show. No follow-through.
Screams quickly and loudly in the face of pain.
Trying not to raise my hopes, I hang back as the ex-con who did time with my brother scans the space.
