Page 7 of Angelic Vengeance

I YAWNED FOR THE TENTH time in the last two minutes. I was beyond exhausted. Renato was unusually quiet for a Monday night, jazz music playing smoothly in the background as cigar smoke filled the dark room. I took a deep breath; expensive cologne and dirty money.

I glanced down at my bruised knuckles. They were healing but the flesh remained torn and blood red.

My mind flashed back to the handsome stranger I met a few nights ago. I hadn’t asked for his name and he hadn’t asked for mine. I wasn’t one to dwell on the past but my thoughts kept replaying back to the encounter.

If he was fire, I was ice.

While I spent years training myself to become unreadable, he allowed every emotion to translate on his face. If he was angry, you knew it by the way he frowned or ran his tongue over his teeth. If he was amused, you’d tell by the way he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip or let a deep chuckle leave his chest. And if he was real angry, you’d be on your knees praying.

While I kept a tough exterior and only allowed a small circle of people to see the real me, he was an open book.

He didn’t hide; he had no reason to.

He was a Made Man.

It was only an assumption on my part, but true nonetheless. I observed him, not because I was particularly interested in him – I could care less if I ever saw the man again – but because I had a habit of being overly aware of my surroundings.

It was written all over him and he didn’t even attempt to hide it. The scar cutting over one of his ruthless eyes. The way he never quite buttoned his shirt all the way, exposing the tattoos on his chest. The black head of his gun poking out of his waistband. The designer suits. The expensive watches. Thecustom motherfucking cufflinks.

This man was somebody.

And not just another thug wrapped up in a pretty, little suit.

If I knew better, I would’ve shown him respect. Too bad my huge ego stood in the way.

I was finishing an order when somebody made their way to the empty bar. I looked up; a guy with a disheveled suit, sweat visible through the light material. His pupils were so huge you almost couldn’t tell he had blue eyes. Drunk and stoned; nice. Another waste of life, oxygen, and space.

“I’m Justin,” He smirked, taking a seat on the bar stool.

“What can I get you?” I left the ‘sir’ out since he was too gone to care or notice.

“Your number, gorgeous.”

I gave a stiff smile and waited for his order, which never came. I cleared my throat, “So?”

“I just told you.” The guy leaned over the bar, looking me in the eyes with idiotic arrogance.

Men.

I stared right back.

“And I’m telling you that’s not possible.” I dropped my fake smile and leaned over the bar too, never once intimidated to look away. I wasn’t angry yet; just too tired and annoyed to deal with this bullshit.

“I’m not leaving without something…”

“If it’s not on the menu, I’m going to need you to go back to your table.” I pushed off the bar island and turned around to organize more glasses.

After a short pause,Justingave his order. I made his drink and gave it to him. He remained at the bar as I turned back around and made myself busy.

“Oops…” I looked over my shoulder to see the glass in his hand tipped sideways, the brown liquid dripping to the floor. “Better clean that,” He slurred with a slimy smile.

For a moment I considered stranglingJustinwith the towel I was using to wipe my hands. I could almost see it if I blinked.

I bit down on my teeth.Not worth getting fired.I walked around the bar and squatted down to wipe the floor with a towel.

Spoiled privileged asshole–

One of the bar chairs wobbled. My hand shot out to stop the chair from hitting my face, but instead touched fabric; the fabric of an expensive suit. Just by the graze of my fingers, I could feel the muscles underneath.

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