Page 65 of The Vengeance You Crave
The thought of him driving drunk fills me with dread but I refuse to be the kind of person who points it out now. He doesn't need me to look out for him.
"As you wish, but I'll be waiting."
"Bite me," I bark at his retreating back, but instantly regret it when I see his shoulders lift with amusement.
"Oh, baby. I fully intend to."
"I hate you," I seethe.
"No, you don't. You just hate that you're still desperate for the orgasm I kept from you."
"That's long forgotten," I spit, although from the way my pussy clenches at just his words alone, I know my statement is far from the truth. "You weren't that good, most of it was faked."
He chuckles, finally shooting me a look over his shoulder. The heat in his eyes threatens to burn me from the inside out.
With a single nod, he walks away from me and finally out the front door.
I breathe a sigh of relief until I look down at his table to collect his glass and I find a hundred-dollar bill and a note.
There's always another way.
Crumpling up the note, I throw it in the trash can behind the bar before pocketing his money. It's less than I would have earned in tips last night so it's the least he could do.
"Loverboy gone?" Bry asks, amusement filling his tone.
"He's no—" I blow out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever. I don't care what you or anyone thinks."
* * *
With every hour that passes, the place only gets busier and by the time I get off, the balls of my feet are pounding from the height of my shoes and I can barely keep my eyes open. The short nap I had at Aunt Fee's before my shift was nowhere near long enough to deal with the number of assholes I've been subjected to tonight.
Tugging my hoodie up my arms and zipping it right up to the neck, I throw my purse over my shoulder and head out.
The music still plays out from the bar and the sound of the men's chatter filters down to me. The bar stays open later on the weekends, but thankfully, I don't have to work until closing. Which is a bonus because it means I don't need to deal with the drunken idiots who don't want to go home to their wives.
I know he's there the second I step out the back door and into the parking lot. A shiver runs down my spine as my feet sink into the gravel beneath them.
Other than that one night, he stays in his car and watches me from the darkness. But everything changed this weekend.
The second I round the corner, I see him and my heart leaps into my throat.
Instead of sitting in the shadows, his headlights are on, illuminating his dark figure sitting back on the hood of his car.
His eyes follow me as I make my way to my own car to get the hell out of here.
I expect him to push off, to walk over and do something.
But he never does. He just watches me.
My hand trembles as I pull the door open and after holding his stare for a beat, I throw my purse inside and drop down into the seat.
I force myself not to look in the rearview mirror to see what he's doing and just focus on starting the engine and leaving.
I manage it until the very last minute, once I've got the car in drive and ready to go.
"Fuck," I hiss when I find he's moved and is now behind the wheel and ready to follow me out.
Putting my foot down, I speed out of the lot, desperate to be in the safety of Aunt Fee's house.
