Page 15 of Wicked Spite
As I grab my bag and head out the door, I can’t shake the anxiety lining my gut. The torn pages of my sketchbook weigh heavily on my mind, an unsettling reminder that my personal space has been invaded. Should I even bother locking the door at this point? I think about calling my dad and chewing his ass out, but this doesn’t reek of him. He’d take something I need to survive, like my wallet or my phone.
For now, I can’t dwell on it. There’s work to be done, and my bitch ass manager won’t wait for me to Scooby Doo this mystery.
The moment I step out of my apartment, a shiver runs down my spine, as if icy fingers are tracing the curve of my vertebrae. I glance around, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows, but the corridor is empty. The lingering effect from when my father choked me seeps into my thoughts; his cold, calculating eyes still haunt me. My heart races, and I quicken my pace, eager to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
Get a fucking grip.
I swallow the lump in my throat, but despite my efforts to shake off the eerie feeling, it clings to me like a second skin.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk out of the building because I don’t have the luxury not to.
The dimly lit bar greets me with the familiar scent of alcohol, stale cigarette smoke, and sweat when I arrive for my shift. It’s already filled with rowdy customers who drown their sorrows or seek solace in one another’s company. The sound of laughter mixed with raucous music reverberates through the room, wrapping me up in a world that numbs my senses. This place is so familiar to me—a refuge where I can lose myself in chaos and anonymity.
“Hey, Reagan,” the head bartender greets me, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You’re just in time. We’re slammed tonight.”
“Perfect,” I say dryly, tying my apron around my waist and getting straight to work. I pour shots, mix cocktails, and sling beers with practiced ease, but my mind keeps drifting back to my sketchbook. “Earth to Reagan,” a regular customer teases, snapping his fingers in front of my face as I absentmindedly slide a whiskey sour across the counter to him. “Where’s that spirit we all love so much?”
“Must’ve left it in my other pants,” I quip back, forcing a smirk. “Drink up, and maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of it later.”
“Can’t wait,” he says with a wink before downing his drink in one gulp.
As I continue serving the thirsty patrons, I can’t shake myshitty ass mood. I roll my eyes at my racing thoughts, because when in the last fucking couple of years has the vibe not been complete shit? My skin prickles with anticipation, a sensation that gnaws at me like an itch I can’t quite scratch. Fate is a twisted bitch, and I can’t help but wonder what she has in store for me this time.
I can feel my pulse quicken as I weave through the sea of bodies, attempting to avoid the wandering hands of the bar’s patrons. The atmosphere is charged with alcohol that will lead many to make mistakes they’ll regret in the morning.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” a drunken frat boy slurs, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me as he leans heavily against the counter. I know this bitch is a super senior, but I wouldn’t doubt that most of the assholes in here have daddy’s money to buy them fake IDs. “I could use another whiskey.”
“Sure thing,” I reply, rolling my eyes at his lecherous grin. The guy is obviously wasted, but I’ve dealt with far worse in my time here.
As I pour his drink, I notice a commotion growing near the entrance. A group of rowdy St. James University students have stumbled into the bar, their laughter obnoxiously loud and grating. Ah yes, I bet all of their IDs are from Alaska or Hawaii. But my boss allows it because they have money, and he loves money. My eyes track their movements, waiting for the inevitable moment when one of them crosses the line.
“Reagan, what’re you looking at them for? Where’s my drink?” The same drunken frat boy from earlier shouts my name, clearly agitated. His cheeks are flushed, his words slurred and barely intelligible.
I don’t have time to answer him because he’s leaning toward me, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me into hisbody with such force that I freeze up. His intentions are all too clear.
“Get the hell away from me!” I snap, fear and panic surging through my veins. But before I have the chance to react further, a figure steps in between us, slamming the frat boy’s head against the counter with a thunderous bang. The room falls silent, all eyes drawn to the scene unfolding before them.
“Miss me?” The voice is deep and familiar, sending a shiver down my spine. As I look up, my gaze locks onto the person who intervened—the same guy I saw on the bike earlier who just so happens to be my mystery murder man. His piercing eyes hold a familiarity that consumes me, and now I know for sure I’m not imagining things. He’s following me, and I don’t think he has good intentions. Judging by the sheer size of him and the mean glint in those eyes that are one hundred percent fixated on me, he could have ambushed me and put us both out of misery already. So that leaves two options. He either wants something from me, or he’s toying with me for his own amusement.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand, anger bubbling beneath the surface. My heart races as I muster up the courage to confront him head-on.
“Does it matter?” He smirks, stepping closer. The scent of him is invigorating, like stepping into a forest and all you smell is earth. “I saved your ass, didn’t I?”
“I could have done that,” I say, nodding toward the frat guy who’s still passed out on the counter. I narrow my eyes, trying to keep my composure despite the heat that builds within me. “You’ve been lurking around me lately, and I know why. I haven’t snitched and I’m not going to, so please fuck off.”
“Maybe I find you…intriguing,” he replies, leaning in so close that our breaths mingle. “Or maybe I’m just looking out for you.”
“Like a guardian angel or something?” I scoff, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice as I move away from him. “I’m, unfortunately for you, not delusional enough to believe anything you say. Thanks for breaking that guy’s face. I can handle it from here.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my bravado. “You sure about that?”
“Damn right I am,” I retort, my defiance only fueling the fire between us. “I want you to leave me alone and go back to whatever hovel you crawled out of.” My word choice makes him grin.
“Could youdrawme a map? I seem to have lost my way,” he snickers, knowing I catch on to the way he says draw.
I storm over to him, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. “Were you in my apartment?” I snap before I can stop myself.
“Which time?” he replies with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His arrogance is infuriating, but there’s something undeniably magnetic about him.
