Chapter 4

4

NATALIE

The Next Night

“ I can’t work a double shift tonight, Larry. I’ve got prior engagements,” I say.

I didn’t have plans for the evening, at least not originally. But the second I saw the Demon of Delta County barge through the front door, I knew my night was about to get interesting.

Maybe it shouldn’t be my first thought, considering he uses this place for business now and then. I mean, we still haven’t even said a single word to each other after his bold statement of me being what he gets for squaring off Dad’s debt. But no one has joined him at the table, and he’s nursed the same beer for nearly an hour. I’d be a fool to think this is a coincidence.

“Don’t do this to me tonight,” Larry Kissinger, the Windmill Bar and Grill’s manager, groans. “Bianca called in sick, and we’re understaffed as is. I need you working the floor.”

Larry runs a hand through the sweaty mop of shaggy hair hanging over his forehead.

Bullshit. The only reason he wants me to stay is so that he can keep staring at my ass in these overly tight shorts. And he hasn’t been subtle with his intentions of getting in them, either. Dirty remarks, assigning my shifts to align with his when the rowdiest clients are around, and even offering to buy me a drink long after the bar is closed.

And after eight months of shutting him down, he still won’t take no for an answer. His persistence knows no end, and the only reason I put up with it is because I need the money.

“Why not ask one of the others to stay? Maggie needs the money more than I do anyway,” I protest. She’s a mother of two without a husband or partner. Sure, I could be helping my own family with the tips I make on a second shift, but the first has yielded enough for a few days of groceries.

“You’re not being a team player.” Larry’s voice is coated in malice. “You know how much we value hard work at the Windmill. Are you sure this is a job you want if you can’t lend a hand in times of need?”

I used to fall for this manipulative nonsense. Too afraid to lose my job, I’d fight tooth and nail to get back on his good side. Nowadays, I play along with the power fantasy bullshit because I can squeeze him for extra cash at the end of my shifts.

“You’re not giving me a choice, are you?” I sigh. Tonight won’t be different, I suppose. Even if it means keeping Dante waiting.

“I can’t, and you know it,” he answers.

“Fine. I’ll stay,” I groan.

It’s another four hours. I can get through it easily enough, but will Dante be as patient? That’s still assuming he plans to do anything other than sit at his table and enjoy the view of me parading around in the Windmill’s skimpy dress code.

An hour goes by without a hitch. Most tables have turned to drinking rather than ordering food, and the customers are starting to get rowdy. Good, the drunker they are, the richer I am at the end of the night.

The passing time hasn’t been as easy as I originally thought it would be. Any time I glance over at Dante’s table, see his steepled fingers in front of his face, eye fucking me from across the room, doubts start to creep in.

What if I’m not special? What if my attempts at helping are actually just another hindrance moving forward? Sure, he paid off Dad’s debt, but does that mean he cares? Or if given the opportunity from one of the other unlucky fools who fell victim to him, to take their daughter instead, would he be lingering in their office instead of my bar?

I don’t get much time to mull it over as I pass by a table of three. An arm wraps around my waist and pulls me off course. It makes me trip over my feet, and the tray in my hands with six empty beer glasses smashes to the floor.

“Whoopsie,” the guy says while the other two at the table giggle like schoolgirls. “Good thing I was here to catch you.”

My jaw clenches painfully as I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He lets go, and I move away from his table, sighing at the thousands of glass spikes glistening on the floor.

“Come now, don’t be like that. I’ll pay for the damages, and you can sit on my face to pay me back.” Howling laughter erupts around the table as his hand reaches out to me again.

I jerk away in disgust and stumble farther from the creep. I don’t make it far before bumping into something so hard, I almost believe it’s one of the supporting beams strewn across the building. It’s only when the enormous hand wraps around my tiny frame to support me from toppling over that I realize it’s a person.

No.

The Demon.

As I look up into his razor-sharp jawline, any fears of what might have happened between me and the three drunken gropers instantly melt away.

“Are you deaf?” His voice is calm, quiet, yet somehow cuts through the obnoxiously loud country music. “Or just fucking stupid?”

Dante’s presence brings me peace. I feel so small, so safe in his arms. A heavy sigh of relief escapes my lungs, grateful for his intervention.

“What did he say?” The man who grabbed me asks his friends while launching out of his chair. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Fucking stupid. Got it,” Dante says, gently nudging me over to his side.

“That’s some big talk when there’s one of you and three of us,” the creep answers.

“Is there a problem here?” Out of nowhere, Larry steps into the fray. His eyes shift nervously between the creep and Dante.

“There is, and you’re a part of it,” Dante’s eyes never break from the guy gearing up for a fight.

“I’m sure we can figure this out. There’s no need for violence, Mr. Vitorri,” Larry gulps. I’ve never seen him so afraid. My lips curl into a devious smile.

Between Dante’s valiant stride to defend my honor and Larry nervously shuffling away from the Demon, I can’t contain my bubbling excitement. This is the man I observed from afar. The monster I watched conducting dubious dealings while my imagination ran off to the storage room. The two of us locked away in the dark while he had me bent over a beer keg…

God, Nat, not the time. Get out of this first, then indulge your twisted fantasies.

“Tough guy, huh?” the creep asks, and his two buddies join him to square off against Dante.

“Yes,” the Demon answers as his hand starts to snake up my back. It rests loosely around my neck. Without warning, he pulls my face toward his, and I instinctively launch onto my tippy toes to meet his mouth.

A sudden rush of heat courses over every inch of my skin. Our kiss knocks the wind from my lungs and leaves me panting, desperate for another, as Dante’s attention returns to the three.

“See, Natalie here is mine.” He speaks as if announcing it to everyone in the bar. Making sure that not a single person misses what’s about to come next. “And I don’t like trash laying their grubby fingers on what belongs to me.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” The creep steps forward, and his friends join. In some stupid, bold attempt to prove he’s fearless in the face of The Demon, he reaches out to me again.

“Big mistake,” Dante says. He grabs the creep’s two fingers inching closer to me, and with a flick of his wrist and a thrust of his arm, a sickening pop emits from between their hands. The sound is followed by a blood-curdling scream, and a childish grin splashed across Dante’s face.