Page 29 of Wicked Spite
As I work, I steal glances at him, noting how his untouched drink sits on the table like a ticking time bomb.
“Reagan?” a fellow bartender shouts over the din, pulling me from my thoughts. “Can you grab some more ice from the back?”
“Yeah, no problem,” I reply, grateful for the temporary distraction.
My thoughts race as I head to the back, bypassing Penn and feeling the intensity of his stare right on my ass until the door swings shut.
“You’re stronger than this,” I mutter to myself, filling a bucket with ice from the industrial freezer.
“Stronger than what?” Penn’s voice startles me, and I nearly drop the ice bucket. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, a playful smirk on his lips.
“Jesus Christ, do you have some sort of stealth mode?” I snap, trying to hide my racing pulse. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Can’t I just enjoy your company?” He asks innocently, though the glint in his eyes suggests anything but innocence.
“Cut the crap. Why are you here tonight? And don’t say you like the drinks or the service or the atmosphere. All three of those suck here, and you know it.” I demand, gripping the ice bucket tightly.
He feigns surprise, chuckling. “I simply find you... tantalizing. Can you blame me?”
“Absolutely,” I retort, my resolve wavering under his intense gaze. “You’re no good for me, Penn. You know that, right?”
“Maybe,” he admits, stepping closer, his breath warm on my neck. “But sometimes, the things that are bad for us are the most…exhilarating.”
His hand skims my waist, fingers teasing the hem of my shirt, and all I want is to feel his touch on my skin.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”
“Because I’m nothing if not persistent.” His lips crash into mine, and for a moment, I’m lost in the sensation. Penn’s kiss is demanding, all-consuming, and I can’t help but melt into him. His hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body as his tongue delves into my mouth, exploring, claiming.
A moan escapes my throat and I’m kissing him back, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. The ice bucket clatters to the ground, forgotten, as I lose myself in his touch. He tastes like whiskey and danger.
But then reality comes crashing back. What the fuck am I doing? This is Penn Blackwood.
Summoning every ounce of willpower, I shove him away,breaking the kiss. We’re both breathing hard, chests heaving. Penn’s eyes are dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen. He looks like a Titan ready to devour me, and God help me, part of me wants to let him.
I don’t look back as I storm out of the back room, slamming the door behind me.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of drinks and forced smiles. I can still feel Penn’s presence, his eyes tracking my every move, even though he left after our little makeout session.
It’s late, and the crowd has thinned out, leaving only the most stubborn patrons lingering at the bar. My shift is finally coming to an end, and I’m desperate to leave this place behind for the night.
“Reagan,” my manager calls, “you’re done for the night.”
“Thanks,” I reply tersely, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere. Slipping into the employee hallway, I grab my bag, making sure all my shit is still in here.
The darkness outside the side kitchen door seems to beckon, promising an escape from the suffocating atmosphere within the bar. With my heart pounding in my chest, I step out into the night, and the cool air hits me like a balm.
“Finally,” I whisper, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. But just then, a strong hand suddenly covers my mouth from behind, cutting off my scream. Panic surges through my veins, my mind racing with questions and fear.
“Wha—!?” I try to shout against the hand, but it’s no use. The grip is tight, unrelenting, and their intentions are unknown. My pulse races in my ears, my body tense as I attempt to break free.
“Easy there, hellfire,” Penn’s familiar voice purrs in my ear,sending shivers down my spine despite the panic coursing through me. “If you stop fighting, I promise not to hurt you.”
I’m too terrified to respond, but I instinctively go still at the sound of his voice. The pressure on my mouth lessens slightly, allowing me to gulp in desperate breaths.
I hiss through gritted teeth, trying to put up a defiant front. “And what do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” My assailant laughs, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he speaks. “I couldn’t let you leave without a proper goodbye, now, could I?”
