Secret Twins For My Ex’s SEAL Best Friend (Billionaire Silver Foxes’ Club)

13. Delia

thirteen

Delia

The week passed uneventfully. Luckily, Jeremy didn’t push the subject of why I was so resistant to work with Robert, and he allowed me to make up the hours with another client. But it still cast a dark shadow over my week whenever I remembered that it had happened.

When I went to work that weekend, I half expected to see Robert. I thought he might show up, angry that I had decided not to see him that day.

The look on his face had been so broken. I’d seen broken men before – they came through all the time working where I did – but it was especially hard to see on Robert.

But as the night went on and he didn’t show up, didn’t tear through making any proclamations or angrily stomping around, I started to resent him again.

“Goodnight!” Kassandra called to me as she bounced her shoulder to lift her purse strap higher up, and I half-waved at her as I dried a glass.

It had been like this all night. In the moments of stillness, a flash of Robert’s sad face would enter my mind.

Still, the anger shone through. I felt bad for him. Of course I did, but it was somewhat overshadowed by my anger at the idea of him and Jeremy gossiping about me. I couldn’t stand it.

A sloppy drunk who had been at the bar all night came up to me as I dried glasses and slurred, “Hey, what do you think of me and you getting out of here?”

I bit back the words that came to mind and said, “Well, I’m at work, so I can’t really leave.” I flashed a smile, as fake as they came, hoping it looked honest.

He narrowed his dark eyes, and for a second, I was afraid of him. But then the light entered his eyes again, and he slapped the counter lightly, flashing a crooked smile. “Sure, I understand. But I’ve been trying to get your attention all night.”

Suddenly, my body went ice cold as I realized that the night was ending, and I was alone in the bar with this man. I felt like I could see desperation on him. I smiled, trying to placate him, and said, “I’m sorry about that. Did you get what you needed?”

“Not everything,” he said grimly, without a trace of humor.

His eyes moved slowly down my body, and I outwardly shuddered. He shook the glass in his hand slightly and asked, “How about another drink?”

“I’m really sorry, but we’re closing now. I can’t serve anymore.” I gestured to my wrist as though I had a watch on. “3 a.m. Not legal to serve after that.”

His tongue flicked over his teeth like he was fishing out a popcorn kernel. His dark eyes were fixed on me. Still staring at me, he brought the glass up to his mouth and siphoned the rest down his throat before dropping it onto the counter with a slimy smile. “Maybe another time.”

“Sure,” I squeaked, watching him closely as he left. As soon as he was out of the bar, I raced from behind the counter to lock the front door and breathed a sigh of relief as I went to finish counting the drawer.

After I finished, I did my closing duties, mopping and washing dishes. By the time I finished restocking, my feet hurt and I was exhausted all through my body. I was just happy to see the outside when I left the bar and locked it, smelling the fresh Seattle air.

I turned around and was face-to-face with the man from the bar, his eyes standing out in his milky white skin against the night. A gasp ripped through me, and I felt all the hairs on my skin stand at attention.

“Delia, right?” he asked congenially.

Should I answer?

I looked across the street where my car was and realized with a plunging terror that I wouldn’t be able to run to it and get in before he could catch me. It was too far.

I turned with a smile that felt like it was propped on my face and croaked out, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you seem scared. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just left something in the bathroom, I’m realizing. Could you let me back in? Just for a minute?”

I didn’t look back, too afraid to look away from him. My heart felt like it was completely still in my chest, and I didn’t know how this was going to end. I tried to reach into my purse for my taser as I started walking away, saying, “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Please, it’s my wallet,” the man said, following me.

“I can’t. I can’t go back in after I leave,” I lied, my voice becoming more frantic as I continued to my car.

The man followed behind me, and I just kept going, not looking back at him. When I reached my door, I opened it, but the man slammed it shut and said, “Hey, bitch, I need my phone.”

I almost hesitated. I almost apologized. But instead, I stomped on his foot, and he let out a short cry before I saw a film of rage cover his eyes and his hands come toward me.

I ducked, and I was about to headbutt him – something else I’d learned in self-defense classes – when an arm shot out and wrapped around his neck.

I screamed out of instinct and stepped back quickly, avoiding the man’s flailing legs as he tried to kick.

The man let out a strangled sound, and his head went flying back as the arm around his throat tightened.

I looked up at the assailant, my hero, and saw Robert’s green eyes narrowed as he used his other hand in the crook of his elbow to chokehold the man, pressing tighter and tighter.

“You okay?” he asked me, from over the man’s head. “Good job with the stomp. I’m proud of you.”

I couldn’t say anything, and I soon realized that I was crying, tears streaming down my face in fear as the man’s fingers clawed at Robert’s arms.

For a moment, I just silently watched as fresh blood bloomed on his skin as the guy’s nails scratched deeply, and then I snapped out of it and pulled out my phone to call 911.

The man tried to elbow Robert for a moment more, and then he was out, and Robert lowered him to the concrete.