10. Reagan

Chapter 10

Reagan

“ H ey Rae!” one of the shot girls, Tammy, calls out as she passes by me with a tray of drinks. “Lover boy is looking for you.” I know she’s talking about Penn before I turn around and see him folding his tall frame to sit on one of the well-worn bar stools.

With a flick of my wrist, I slide another drink to someone and circle back to the other side of the bar. Avoiding the six-five hot fucker is a piece of cake. I motion to Tammy and instruct her to take Penn’s order. He’s not gonna go for it and I already know that, but after he left me naked on my bed, I’m not going to make anything easy for the bastard.

“Hey there, handsome,” Tammy says flirtatiously as she approaches Penn. She’s not stupid. She can size them up every single time and tell which customers have money and which ones don’t. Penn Blackwood has unlimited funds and limited morals, which is proving to be an interesting combination. “What can I get you?”

I watch from the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it, as Penn looks directly at me. He smirks, and my stomach churns with anxiety and anticipation.

“Tell Reagan I’ll have whatever she recommends,” he says smoothly, never breaking eye contact with me. “Ask her to stick her finger in it. I like my shit bitter.”

“Are you…what is happening?” Tammy asks, glancing between us uncertainly. “She’s busy.”

“I’ll wait. I have so much free time it would make you sick,” Penn replies, his voice oozing confidence. “I don’t want anything that our little Rae Rae doesn’t deliver to me.”

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, cursing my luck as I walk over to make his drink. I pour a shot of whiskey over ice, adding a splash of ginger ale for good measure. Then, in a fit of spite, I lean forward and spit into the glass, knowing he’s watching my every move. I saunter over to him, and I can’t help but feel my skin heat with the way his eyes are raking over my tight shirt. For someone who didn’t fuck me when he had the chance, he’s sure looking like he’s thinking about bending me over every surface in this damn bar.

“Enjoy,” I say sarcastically, placing the drink in front of him. Penn merely smirks, raising an eyebrow at me as if to challenge my audacity.

“Is that supposed to stop me?” he asks with mocking amusement, downing the drink without hesitation. “Mm, delightful.”

I can’t help but snap at him, my temper flaring. “You’re fucking twisted, you know that?”

“Are you just now realizing that?” he replies casually, leaning back in his seat with a cocky grin.

“God, you infuriate me,” I seethe through gritted teeth. But even as I say it, I can feel a strange attraction tugging at me, drawing me toward the very danger I should be running from. And that scares the hell out of me.

“They should really upgrade you from bar back to head bartender, hellfire. The spit really hits the spot,” Penn replies, his voice calm and smooth, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. It infuriates me even more that he seems completely unfazed by my attempt to get under his skin. His eyes never leave mine, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as our gazes stay locked.

I can’t help but wonder what it is about him that attracts me despite everything I know about his nature and family. There’s something magnetic about his presence that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I know better than to give in to these feelings. My past has taught me that getting involved with someone like Penn only leads to pain and destruction.

Also, I think he wants to kill me, so there’s that also.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” I say, forcing myself to break eye contact after setting another drink in front of him. I hope my words come across as dismissive, but there’s a tremor in my voice that betrays my emotions.

Without hesitation, he picks up the drink and takes a long gulp. My eyes widen as the glass touches his lips, unable to comprehend his audacity. His voice drips with sarcasm as he comments on its taste. “I think I’d like it better if you’d spit directly in my mouth. Could we work that out? Or is that back room type shit?” Penn says, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

He’s trying to up the ante in this little twisted game we’re playing, but it seems fitting for the man sitting before me.

“Are you happy with yourself?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my lips while my stomach churns with unease.

“Quite,” he replies, taking another sip and letting out an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “I must say, Reagan, your brand of hospitality is truly unparalleled.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” I retort, my voice dripping with disdain.

“Take it however you like,” he says nonchalantly, finishing the drink and setting the glass down on the bar with a deliberate clink.

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening at his proximity. The heat of his breath fans across my face, sending shivers down my spine as I fight the urge to lean into his touch. This is madness. I know I should push him away.

“You got what you wanted. You disrupted me at work, tried to embarrass me. You can leave now,” I spit out, venom dripping from my words. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, and I’m acutely aware of the way my pulse quickens at our heated exchange. I hate that I’m letting him get me this worked up, and I hate that I was wondering when I would see him again.

Penn leans back in his seat, his eyes dancing with amusement. He responds casually, as if my words were nothing more than a passing comment. “Are you saying you wanna go somewhere private with me?” he asks, his tone filled with cockiness, and he wags his eyebrows in that overly exaggerated way.

“Fuck you, Penn,” I snap, trying to regain control of the situation. My body tenses with the way he puts me so out of my element. It’s unnerving to feel so exposed, laid bare before someone. But there’s something about him that makes me want to challenge him—to push back against the chaos he embodies.

“Aw, don’t be like that, hellfire,” he taunts, his voice low and seductive. “You can’t deny you were happy to see me. I could see it in your eyes, baby.”

“You’re delusional,” I retort, my eyes narrowing as I fight the urge to step closer and indulge in the madness he incites within me. His presence is like a drug I can’t quit, even though I know it could destroy me.

“I am. Isn’t it great?” he asks, feigning innocence as he takes another sip of his drink. His gaze never wavers, burning into me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“Nothing about my life is great,” I mutter, nothing but apathy in my voice. Deep down, I know he’s right. But the thought of giving in to it, of allowing myself to be drawn into his fucked-up world, terrifies me.

“And if I’m so delusional, then why do you keep looking at me like that?” he challenges, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Like you want to rip my clothes off and fuck me senseless?”

“After you ran out on me, you don’t ever have to worry about that again,” I shoot back, my cheeks burning with a mix of anger and arousal at the mental image he just provided me. “And I won’t let myself be your pawn.”

“Who said anything about chess?” he replies, his eyes locked on mine. “I like to think of it more as…an experiment.”

“An experiment? For fucking what?” I scoff, my heart pounding wildly against my chest. “You really are psychotic.”

“Absolutely, I am. A pyromaniac too, I fear,” he concedes, his smirk never leaving his face. “But don’t pretend you’re not curious, Reagan. Don’t pretend you don’t want to see just how far down the rabbit hole goes.”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because despite my better judgment, despite the countless reasons I have to stay away from him, I can’t deny the magnetism that surrounds this man.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine as I move from behind the bar to go deliver drinks to a table.

I glare at Penn, and because I’m so focused on the barbs, we’ve just exchanged that I don’t see it coming when he suddenly reaches out and grabs my arm, yanking me down onto his lap.

“Wha–” I start to protest, but he silences me by cupping my chin and crushing his lips against mine. His grip is unyielding, and the kiss itself is rough, demanding, as if he’s trying to stake a claim on me.

I betray everything I’ve told myself for a moment. My lips part involuntarily, my breath hitching as our tongues meet and it leaves me feeling dizzy and disoriented.

But then, just as quickly as it began, Penn releases me. I wrench myself away from him, my face flushed and my heart racing. Confusion and anger war within me—I feel unsteady, and I hate the unpredictability of him.

“Get off!” I snap, shoving myself off his lap and taking a step back. He smiles at me, clearly amused by my reaction.

“Didn’t seem like you hated it,” he taunts, his eyes filled with mischief.

“Fuck you,” I retort, struggling to regain control of the situation, sounding like a broken record. When I argue with drunken patrons or even my father, I have no trouble coming up with snappy words that jab and they’re successful in twisting the knife where it hurts. With Penn, I resort to middle school insults because he ties my thoughts in knots I can’t undo.

“Later, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, making my blood boil even more. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s affected me.

“Keep dreaming,” I scoff, turning on my heel away from him. I refuse to let him derail my night any further, no matter how much he might have stirred something inside me.

I storm away from Penn, the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears. How dare he? The nerve of him to just pull me in like some kind of possession. I feel the heat of my anger rise to my cheeks as I go back to what I was doing, but it’s not enough to mask the lingering sensation of his lips against mine.

“Hey, Reagan,” a regular customer calls out, trying to catch my attention. “Another round here, please!”

“Coming right up,” I respond with a tight smile, forcing my focus back on the job and away from the infuriating man who has made it his mission to rattle me tonight.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” he says with a wink. I roll my eyes at the empty compliment, but it’s a welcome distraction from the intensity that still lingers in the air around Penn.

As I pour drinks and serve customers, I can’t shake the feeling that comes from being watched. Despite my best efforts to ignore him, I can feel Penn’s unwavering gaze burning into me. It’s as if he’s dissecting every inch of my being with his eyes alone, peeling away my carefully constructed defenses.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, cursing him or myself. I’m not even sure anymore.

A drop of sweat trickles down my temple as I balance another tray of drinks, my muscles tense with the effort. The bar is packed tonight, bodies pressed together surrounded by laughter and music, but all I can focus on is Penn.

“Here,” I say curtly, setting a fresh drink before him. He doesn’t even glance at the glass, his penetrating eyes remaining locked on mine.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he replies smoothly, not even bothering to hide the sex dripping from his voice.

I roll my eyes, torn between the urge to punch him and kiss him senseless. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ah, my apologies,” he says with mock sincerity, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “What would you prefer, then? Darling? Babe? Or something more…sassy?”

“Shut up, Penn.” My cheeks flush with heat, both from anger and embarrassment. I turn away, determined to keep busy and ignore the prickling sensation that races down my spine whenever he’s nearby.

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?”

I scoff, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at his proximity. “This is your idea of a proper goodbye? Assaulting me in a fucking alley?”

“Oh, come on, hellfire,” he purrs, his breath hot against my ear. “We both know you like it a little rough.”

With that, Penn’s grip on me loosens, and I suddenly find myself free, but not for long. His hand brings a cloth to my mouth, and its seconds before everything goes hazy.