Chapter 2 #2
That look you gave that rude customer when you said ‘Have a nice day’—like you were wishing they’d get hit by a car? Adorable. —D
These notes became a strange kind of safety net. They let me interact with Devon without facing the full force of his overwhelming presence. But I knew I was playing a dangerous game, letting him creep into my life, even just a little.
Damn you, Sterling, I thought. Arrogant, self-assured playboy, making my heart race with a single line. I told myself I hated him—hated his perfection, his confidence, those eyes that seemed to see straight through me. But what I hated most was that I was starting to look forward to tomorrow.
Then he didn’t show up.
All afternoon, my eyes kept drifting to his empty corner table, a hollow ache settling in my chest. Of course he didn’t come.
He was Devon Sterling, heir to a corporate empire, with a packed social calendar and countless women vying for his attention.
I was just a fleeting distraction, a game to pass the time.
“He’s not coming today?” Martha asked, her voice gentle with concern.
“Who knows,” I said with a shrug, feigning indifference. “Maybe he got tired of our coffee.”
“Or maybe he’s got something important going on,” Martha said kindly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That boy’s got it bad for you. He’ll be back.”
“I’m not worried,” I snapped, but even I could hear the lie in my voice. “It’s quieter without him.”
Martha gave me a knowing look but didn’t press.
As the coffee shop’s lights dimmed and the last customer left, I faced a truth that terrified me: I cared about Devon Sterling, far more than I wanted to admit.
I had another job that night—waitressing at a bar on the outskirts of town. The pay was better, but I hated every second of it.
“Lyia!” Mark, the bar’s owner, bellowed, his beer gut straining against his shirt. “You’re late!”
“Sorry, my other job ran long,” I said, cursing the traffic under my breath. Mark waved a dismissive hand, his hairy forearm gleaming with sweat. “No excuses. We’ve got big spenders tonight. You’re on VIP duty.”
He reached under the counter and tossed a piece of clothing at me—if you could call it that. It was a tight, low-cut dress, barely more than a scrap of fabric. His greasy lips curled into a leering grin. “The VIP room needs a new dancer. With your figure, you’ll rake in tips.”
I clutched the dress, my fingers trembling with rage.
This was the final straw. For three weeks, I’d tried to hold onto my dignity while scraping together enough money to survive.
But every shift brought new humiliations—customers “accidentally” brushing against me as I served drinks, drunken college kids trying to slip tips into my shirt.
Each moment made my wolf want to lash out, but I couldn’t let her. Not here, not ever.
“I’m not a stripper,” I said, my voice tight with anger. “And I’m not a prostitute.”
“In my bar, you’re whatever I say you are,” Mark growled, stepping closer, his tone dangerous. “Put it on and get on stage, or you’re out. I’ll make sure you don’t work in any bar in this city again.”
My nails dug into the cheap fabric. I threw the dress back onto the counter. “I quit.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting with malice. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “You think you’re too good for this? You’re a Clare—a fraud’s daughter—acting like you’re above it all.”
“Let go of me!” I struggled, but his strength was overwhelming.
He dragged me toward the back door, shoving it open. The cold night air hit me, carrying the stench of garbage and stale alcohol from the alley. Mark slammed me against the rough brick wall, pain shooting up my spine.
“Listen, Miss Clare,” he sneered, spitting out the word Miss like it was a curse. “I didn’t hire you to just carry trays. Customers are complaining you won’t drink with them, won’t flirt. That’s not how a good employee behaves.”
“I said I’m not a prostitute!” I snarled, my wolf roaring inside me, claws itching to break through my skin and tear into this vile man.
Mark’s hand slid to my waist, his fingers tugging at my clothes. “You’ve got a nice body—small chest, but perky. Slim waist, good hips. Shame about that mouth, always saying no.” I grabbed his hair, yanking hard, and sank my teeth into the finger he shoved toward me.
He yelped, pulling back his bleeding hand. “You crazy bitch!”
I kicked hard, aiming for his groin and hitting my mark. Mark let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan, collapsing to his knees. I spun and ran for the alley’s entrance, my heart pounding.
“Get her!” Mark’s voice echoed, thick with pain and rage. “Don’t let that bitch escape!”
I reached the alley’s mouth, only to be cut off by two men—bar bouncers, one stocky with a buzz cut, the other tall and wiry. They blocked my path, closing in.
“Stay back!” I yanked a stun gun from my bag, flipping it on. Blue arcs of electricity crackled in the dark.
The buzz-cut bouncer smirked, feigning fear before lunging.
I dodged, jabbing the stun gun into his arm.
The electric snap sent him stumbling back, cursing.
The wiry bouncer swung a fist, grazing my shoulder.
Pain flared, but I gritted my teeth and thrust the stun gun toward his stomach.
He twisted, avoiding a direct hit, but the charge caught his side, making him double over.
“You little—” The buzz-cut bouncer recovered, pulling a short club from behind his back and swinging at my head.
I raised my arm to block, the impact sending a jolt of agony through my forearm.
I nearly dropped the stun gun but held on, sweeping a leg at his knee.
He wasn’t expecting it and crashed to the ground, the club skittering away.
The wiry bouncer drew a switchblade, its blade glinting in the dim light. “You’re done,” he said, his voice low and menacing as he advanced.
I backed up, my stun gun trembling in my hand. The alley’s exit was blocked, and Mark was staggering toward me now, a crowbar in his hand, his face a mask of fury.
“I told you, Clare,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Tonight, you’ll learn what happens when you don’t play along.”
I was trapped, my back against the cold brick wall, fear creeping into my bones. But my wolf refused to yield. She roared inside me, her claws nearly breaking through my skin, ready to tear into these men.
“Come on,” I said, my voice shaking but defiant, gripping the stun gun. “Let’s see who goes down first.”
Mark raised the crowbar high—
The pain I braced for never came. I opened my eyes to see his wrist caught in a larger, stronger hand, frozen in midair.