Page 38 of Dirty Martini
Orsomeone.
Rhys stands behind the bar, hands poised over a cocktail shaker, but he’s frozen. I can see every nerve in his body trembling, the muscles in his arms strung taut with tension. When my eyes flick up to his face, his jaw is set in a tight clench, eyes narrowed dangerously, but not at me.
No, he’s staring directly at Knox.
I’m trying to put the pieces together, trying to understand what’s happening, but it’s hard when Rhys’s piercing stare follows every path Knox’s hands are taking over me. Then his gaze finds mine, and everything else fades away. I can barely tell when Knox starts slipping my shirt over my head, my bare chest meeting his bare skin where he apparently took his shirt off too. His hips grind sensually against mine, his cock already hard and aching for me. I know he’s all strung up, sexually frustrated, and hoping that tonight will be his night to get lucky again.
And maybe it would be if not for the intensity in Rhys’s eyes being enough to take my breath away.
“There you go! Now you’re getting into it!”
Knox’s voice is barely a muffled call, like I’m underwater and can only kind of make out his words. It’s almost as if I can hearthe deep, uneven breaths Rhys is letting out on the other side of the club, almost as if I can feel the way rage thrums through him.
But then Knox’s hands start to wander like they’ve done before, innocently enough to my ass, until his lips lightly brush against mine.
And then all hell breaks loose.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rhys
I’m not a violent person.
There are only two times I’ve ever started a fight. The first was freshman year of high school when some asshole senior was trying to take advantage of Elton’s kindness by talking him into throwing a boat party for the upperclassmen but refusing to invite him last minute. Even then, I just shoved the guy until he fucked off and left, leaving Elton to enjoy a free party.
The second was when I caught Everest trying to buy drugs from Knox, but even then, I’ve never felt the kind of consuming rage that obliterates all common sense and reason, leaving you only as your most primal self, with pure instinct being the only thing to guide your way.
Until now.
Britt and Skylar are yelling behind me as I throw my entire body over the bar, knocking over drinks and people as I do. I plow my way through the crowd, elbowing them out of the way to reach the center of the dance floor. Knox still has his fucking hands all over Everest—his ass, his bare chest, his face—and I don’t hesitate.
Especially when that asshole tries to fuck his tongue into Everest’s mouth.
I rip Knox off Everest, only catching the surprise on his douchey face before my fist is connecting with it.
“What the hell!” Everest shouts, grabbing onto my arm when I raise my fist again. “Rhys, stop it!”
Knox isn’t passed out; he’s not even on the floor, and the animal within me doesn’t like that. I try to go for him again, but this time, a pair of thicker, stronger arms are pulling me back. I whip my head around, ready to deck whoever’s stopping me, until I see that it’s Butch.
“Let go of me!” I growl, thrashing in Butch’s grip, kicking my legs out when he lifts me.
He shakes his head and continues to drag me away from Everest and Knox. “Not likely. After that stunt, the boss wants a word with you.”
Suddenly, I’m as pliant as Jell-O. My legs barely work as Butch takes me through the club and up the stairs that lead to Davis’s office. The overwhelming rush of how fucking stupid I just was hits me. I can’t believe I lost control like that. Especially at work. I wouldn’t be surprised if Butch takes me straight to Davis so he can fire me. Who gets into a fight at their job and keeps it after?
I’ve only been in Davis’s office a handful of times, but it’s still eerily cold. Just like the club, the walls are black glass with one floor-to-ceiling window looking down onto the dance floor and bar. There’s minimal lighting in here, which makes it creepy as fuck as Butch deposits me onto the leather sofa across from Davis’s desk, where the man himself is spun around and facing his empire.
“Um, so, he’s here,” Butch says, a little flustered as he shuffles from one foot to the other, almost as if trying to gather courage. It’s laughable for someone his size, but also weirdly endearing. “Go easy on the kid?”
It’s posed as a question to which Davis doesn’t respond. I give Butch an appreciative smile, even though I’m nervous as hell when he leaves. The club is my only source of income—good income, at that—and I have no idea what I’ll do once I’m kicked to the curb. I already depend on Elton for so much. Now, I won’t even be able to afford food or gas or?—
“I was having such a good night,” Davis starts, still facing the window. “A supplier agreed to lower his cost and Butch told me we hit a record rate of attendance for a Wednesday night. Do you know what made this otherwise perfect night a hassle?”
I gulp. “Me?”
He finally spins around, and he doesn’t seem all that pissed. Well, Davis is a robot that never shows any sort of emotion, albeit a cool robot, so the most he looks is slightly inconvenienced.
He stands, walking toward his own mini bar, and reaches for a decanter of scotch, pouring himself some in an equally bougie glass tumbler. “Tell me, Rhys. Is it too much to ask that my employees do good work?”
