Page 8 of Angelic Vengeance

FuckingJustintried to kick the chair at me.

And someone else had caught it.

I raised my eyes.

Dark hair. Black suit. Tattoos.

Speak of the devil.

Ebony eyes stared right back at me.

The handsome stranger put his hand out to help me up. Instead, I removed my hand from his forearm and wiped my palm on my thigh as if his touch was radioactive or infected.

He watched me with bored disinterest, and when he raised an eyebrow, I stood and walked back behind the bar. His eyes followed me but I refused to meet them; I didn’t know this man or what he wanted with me. I was not going to entertain him by giving him my attention.

“Better hurry and make me another one, bitch.” Justin smacked his hand on the counter.

I watched him for a moment, not believing one of Renato’s exclusive customers was behaving like this. Frustration boiled inside me, muffling everything around me. A ball of spitting fire formed in my stomach.

I nearly reached over and smashed his face on the marble counter. His blood wouldn’t even stain the black stone.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for his glass.

“Don’t.”

My eyes shot up to the handsome stranger. He’d spoken to me although his eyes were on Justin. He was smiling, but there was not an ounce of amusement in his expression. A dark wrath bled through him as tension thickened the air. Smacking a hand over Justin’s shoulder, he shook him like they were old buddies. Then he squeezed. And Justin winced, curling into the side of his body.

“Go serve some tables.”

I faltered. “I’m not–”

“Now.” He finally looked at me, narrowing his eyes. It was a warning of what was about to happen. He wasn’t just giving the guy a warning. No; he was dipping his elbows one inch deeper into red.

I didn’t take orders from anyone, especially not self-proclaimed assholes, but in all honesty, I couldn’t care less if Justin ever made it home again. He’d done it to himself, I was merely a spectator to his self-induced downfall. It’s not like anyone would miss his sexual harassment.

Men.

Instead ofserving some tables, I ended my fucking shift early and went home.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my large jacket and threw the hood on. Walking through the city’s lonely streets, I looked more like a man than that piece of shit Justin.

Back at the club, I let the guys sort out their business and left for the changing rooms. Now, twenty minutes later, I was walking home.

The supposedly warm May air was unusually chilling at ten at night. It grew increasingly obvious with every rough shake of a flyer glued on a pole or bus stop. My figure cast shadows on the pavement while my reflection followed me through closed store windows. The smell of petrol and smoke remained constant.

It wasn’t the safest route for the average man, let alone a young woman, but the corner of my lips still raised into a lazy smirk at the thought of some clueless idiot trying to mugme.

Almost as a little sadistic joke from the universe, a heavy feeling settled in my chest as I turned the corner on a street. The faintest sound of footsteps flowed into my earsand my heartbeat slowed. For the benefit of the doubt, I crossed the street.

The footsteps grew closer.

I calmly turned a corner after an abandoned building and hid in the darkness. Moments later, a tall man entered from where I had earlier. His steps slowed as he came to a halt in the center of the alley.Could he feel me?

His hands were in the pockets of his polished black suit, and his designer watch shined despite the lack of light. His hair was messily pushed back yet looked perfectly styled, almost as if even the strands falling on his forehead were intended.

The moonlight cast him in shadows. The vision was somehow eerie. For a second it looked like one of those scenes in vampire movies when the clueless girl gets the blood sucked out of her by the perfect gentleman in an abandoned alley.

But then, the wind carried a familiar cologne that hit me like a moving train.

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