Page 5 of Marked
VIP is packed as I slip out from behind the upstairs’ bar. Supernaturals of every flavor sit in booths, at tables, and even more line the back and side walls. I balance the tray of drinks carefully and move through the room, shame and anger filling my cheeks with heat. Every eye in the room seems riveted on my chest and the barely covering scraps that make up the skirt of the fucking lingerie.
Damn, Vic.
Of all the things he has made me do ...
I’d rather go back to stealing again and sleeping in boxes and abandoned houses. Anything but this degradation.
A sharp sting lands on my backside, leaving me rigid in place. My face burns and my eyes well. I turn, slowly, to find an older vamp and his table of asshole compatriots. “If you’ll give me a minute to deliver these drinks,sir...” I’m careful to put every ounce of hate into that ‘ sir ‘ that I can, “I will take your order.”
He offers me a coy smile. “Now, now. A sweet thing such as yourself shouldn’t be doing such—” he shifts, “hardlabor.”
His friends guffaw, their irises glowing brightly as only a supernatural’s eyes can.
“Yeah. Why don’t you come sit down with us?” One of them calls, patting his lap. The bulge between his legs presses through the fabric of his dress slacks, tenting it.
Disgust fills me and I try to back up. “Why don’t you sit on each other’s laps.” I whirl to rush off.
A familiar pair of dark eyes watch me from a booth feet away.
My stomach flips.
The guy from the bar.
His jet-black hair is a tousled mess of spikes, and chiseled features frame onyx irises so dark, they are bottomless. Vast and yawning. He shifts in the booth, and his midnight clothes are stark against his crème skin, all polished leather, straps, and buckles. He could be a poster boy for Leather Lovers-R-Us. But it does nothing but showcase every inch of rock-hard muscle on his over six-five frame, as well as the malice that lives under the unwavering surface of his gaze.
I flush all over under the weight of his stare, drawn, like I was downstairs, by the sheer power he embodies. He raises a brow, gaze unfathomable.
My head wants to drop. To duck under the scrutiny and the question in his eyes.
Instead, I square my shoulders and walk over. “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Carnage. Can I take your orders?” I pass out coasters to each of them.
The men at the table with him are just as large, as muscular. Menacing. One has dark hair, a nose ring, and empty grey eyes. The other, a cap of slicked back platinum waves and irises greener than the local park in spring. But there is nothing lively in him. In either of them. They are death in attractive packages.
They watch me, their expressions blank, cool.
“So you barkeepandwaitress...” dark eyes says.
My lips purse. “One of the other girls fell ill. We needed a replacement.”
“And by fell ill, you mean nearly had her head chewed off, right?”
I wince.
He waits, but when I don’t say anything, his features harden into granite. “What happened was illegal. You know that, right?”
Anger and worry spiral through my insides. I clench my teeth. “Yes.”
He rocks back. “Then why does this club condone it?”
If he calls the local colony, they will shut us down. For good. I’ll go to jail alongside Uncle Vic.
Maybe that’s where we belong anyway ...
Calloused fingers close over my wrist. Electricity, like little shocks, dances along my skin, making my heart beat faster. My lips part, and I peer at him in the dim lighting as he pulls quickly away.
His dark eyes seem deeper, opening wide to swallow me whole. “Why do you work here, Lilah?” The roll of my name from his lips is rough and almost sensual. My nipples peak under the lace and heat washes through me.
I pull away, confused more by my reaction to a complete stranger than his words. “Because I have to,” I say, steeling my expression and the erratic beat of my heart. “Do you want something to drink or not?”
