Protecting Angel

Chapter 1 - Carter

CARTER

She didn’t just move, she glided across the bar like her feet never touched the ground. It was a pretty neat trick, considering she was wearing five-inch heels and fishnet stockings.

“Excuse me?”

I’d been staring at those legs since the second she came in. Which, by the way, was only five seconds ago.

“Bartender?”

Damn. Sexy, beautiful, and impatient. What a combo.

“Be with you in a sec.”

I tapped the last of the round of beers while looking her over, until I felt the cold foam glide over the rim and down my fingers.

She had black and red horns. A hooded cape.

A blood red corset, cinched in front, accentuating the slender curve of what looked to be a pair of fantastic hips.

That corset was a goddamn hero. It pushed those amazing breasts upward and forward, like an offering.

But hey, that’s the kind of night it was. After seven years of slinging drinks on Halloween, I should be used to this shit by now.

“Umm… hurry? If you could?”

The words came imploringly, but without a hint of annoyance. Even her voice was beautiful.

“Alright then,” I smiled, shoving the tray of beer in the opposite direction. Four frat-boy pirates seized the pint glasses, sloshing even more foam to my dirty floor as they hoisted them in some loud but obscure toast. “What the devil do you want from me?”

“I need an angel shot,” the woman said quickly, emphasizing the word. “Please.”

She had black patent leather boots that showed off her calves. Decorated with flames, too.

“Riiight,” I smirked, looking her up and down. “A lady of darkness like you probably eats angels for breakfast.”

Her expression didn’t change at the joke. For the first time, I realized why:

This devil wasn’t sexy or confident, though she ought to be. She was worried. Even fearful.

“An angel shot?” I repeated carefully. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes.”

Do you understand what that mea—”

“YES!”

She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder again, for the third time in the last twenty seconds. Did she really know what she was ordering? It seemed like maybe she did.

“Neat, or on the rocks?” I squinted, leaning in closer.

“I— I think—”

“Or maybe with a twist of lime?” I pressed.

She nodded fervently, catching on. “Maybe…” she breathed. “I just don’t know if—”

Just then the door to my bar flew open, and a Roman gladiator appeared. He was six-and-a-half feet tall if he was a foot, with splint mail armor, viking blond hair, and arms then hung down to his knees.

Oh yeah, and he clenched a double-bladed battle axe in one big fist.

“Ah, sweetheart! There you are!”

The monster stormed over to the bar, set down his plastic axe, and wrapped two long arms around the devil. The way she flinched at his touch told me everything I needed to know.

“I thought I’d lost you!” the gladiator needled her. “Come on. I’ve got a ride waiting for us outside, and if we hurry—”

“She’s going to stick around for a while, bro,” I interjected loudly. “The lady just ordered a drink.”

The man’s giant head swung slowly my way, on a thick, corded neck. The expression on his face was cool. Calm. Placid.

But just beneath the cracks in that facade, I could sense deadly disdain.

“Let’s go, baby,” he smiled thinly, without looking away. “It’s late.”

The woman flinched again, as the man’s fingers flexed against the flesh of her exposed shoulder. Before he could pull her toward the door however, I clapped my hand over his wrist.

“I said, she’s not going anywhere.”

The gladiator’s steel blue eyes shifted slowly, incredulously, to his wrist. And fuck me, it was a thick wrist.

“You have about two whole seconds,” he swore acidly, “to make another decision.”

In truth there was no decision to make; bartender code was sacrosanct. This woman had walked into my bar and ordered an angel shot, which meant she was asking for my help. There was no way in hell she wasn’t getting it.

“Last chance.”

The gladiator hissed the words through clenched teeth, while I debated the best and quickest way to drop him.

The guy was a fucking giant, no doubt. He was only marginally taller than me, but he was thicker overall, with designer muscles so swollen and juiced up they looked like they’d come from the end of a needle.

Damn.

The distractingly beautiful devil stared back at me with pleading eyes, as I let out a sigh of internal frustration.

Why did the hottest girls always have to date these giant meatheads?

Was there some unwritten law? Did they have some kind of fucked up meet-and-greets on the regular, that I didn’t know about?

A multifaceted debate raged in the warped recesses of my fucked up mind. Elbow to the nose, or good old kick to the groin? Either would work, really. But just how much damage could I do to that pretty boy face, before this asshole and his lawyers ended up owning my bar?

A little voice reminded me that I seriously didn’t need this shit. In fact, I should be doing everything to avoid it.

But then the gladiator’s fingers twisted, eliciting a sharp cry of angel pain…

And my decision was made for me.