Page 40 of Demon
Chapter Nineteen
Ciara
I stared at my phone. At the battery symbol draining by the second, which meant I was carrying my charger everywhere with me, plugging in to every available electricity source. I’d been days without electricity now. And days with no word from Demon. I’d messaged once. And once only because there’d been no response. I was trying not to get pissed off. His dad looked like he was about to die in my car on the way to the hospital. But it would have been nice if someone could have told me what was going on.
I arrived atTroublethirty minutes before my shift again. Terry glanced over the bar, polishing the glasses he’d just washed. I never knew why he bothered so much. The punters paid no attention to how clean the bar top was, or how polished the glasses were. They drank pints with their eyes fixed on the stage, watching the naked girls parade the same body, night after night. Did they go home to sexless marriages and wank off in the shadows of their lounge? Or sit in solitude, scrolling through porn sites, emptying their loads into the nearest piece of discarded clothing. I doubt anyone noticed the slightest stain of washing up bubbles on the glasses.
“Hey, Ciara,” Terry called, not lifting his eyes from the glass in his hands. “Your electricity still not on?”
“Nah. No electric. No gas. You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, barely waiting for an answer.
“Course not. Knock yourself out.”
The showers at the back of the changing rooms were hardly luxurious. Black mould clung to the corners, creeping up the walls day by day. My continued use didn’t help. Filling the shower room with muggy heat. There was no ventilation, so after ten minutes of standing under the warm spray, the steam had filled the room, billowing out into the cool air of the changing rooms. I could have stood under that spray all night. Even with gas and electric, the shower at home was never as warm as this. My hair dripped warm water down my back as I shut off the steady stream of water, stepping out into the thick, humid fog. The steam swirled in front of me, collecting on the figure stood in the doorway of the showers. Tall, dark, oppressive. My heart sped up from a pleasant jog to a flat-out gallop, thundering in my chest. The scream or yell, or cry, stuck in my throat. The figure moved closer, breaking through the mist, resting a leather clad arm on the door frame.
Fuck’s sake. Demon.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, darting for the towel that I’d hung over the sink. My fingers glanced off the fabric, the material disappearing just as my hand touched it.
“Same question, right back at ya, darlin’.”
“I work here, remember?”
“And you always use the work showers?”
I shrugged, pushing an arm across my chest and one between my legs as the steam cleared, leaving us standing staring at each other. Demon stepped closer.
“What’s going on, Ciara? Tez said you’ve been using these showers every day. Even on your day off.”
“No hot water at home.” I shivered suddenly, the cool air in the old building attacking my damp skin. “Towel please.”
Demon held it out, a foot too far away, and a smirk on his face.
“You want it? Drop your hands.”
Sighing, I let my hands fall to my sides. Demon’s eyes swept over me, lingering over my boobs and then stopping on the spot between my legs.
“Towel, Demon.”
Smiling, he held it out, dangling the white material in front of me. I reached for it, the white fluff moving away from me, and I launched for it again, missing it by a fraction and slipping. My feet slid on the wet floor, my legs skating over the wet surface and slippy tile and suddenly I was falling backwards.
Demon’s fingers wrapped round my forearm, fighting against gravity, pulling me back towards him, just millimetres from a head injury.
“You dick!” I spat once my heart slid from my throat.
“I’m sorry, Ciara. I was only messing.”
“You could have killed me!”
“Dramatic much? You might have ended up with an egg on ya head. Not dead!”
“I could have split my head open and bled out on the fucking floor.”
Demon’s lips quivered, his face contorting, and then he erupted, the laughter filling the room, loud and hysterical.
“Don’t laugh at me, dick!”
“S…s…sorry.”
