Chapter 2
New York
Nine Years Later
I know she doesn’t want to go there. None of the girls want to deal with five arrogant, sexist jerks—and as if that weren’t bad enough, they’re also very drunk, just to make it worse.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not the manager. I’m the bartender.
Taylor is five years younger than me. She hasn’t been working here long.
She came from a small town upstate, right here in New York, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that, sadly, those guys are pretty much our average clientele.
She’s not used to this kind of idiot. In fact, she can only work here—a bar that mainly sells alcohol—because I supervise her, since I’m twenty-four.
The crowd here is made up of rich assholes with wallets full of cash and brains the size of peanuts—at least when it comes to how they treat women.
More than once, I’ve had to call security to step in, because some of those pricks think our asses are part of the menu, like some kind of appetizer, and they can just grab them if they leave a nice tip at the end of the night.
“Herb or plain?” she asks me.
“Sweetheart, the only kind of herb they like isn’t on our menu, so just take them the plain.”
She fills one of the baskets with warm bread—kept in the oven by one of the kitchen assistants to make it seem fresh, even though it was delivered this morning.
I have to swallow my anger as I watch her walk over to the jerks’ table with a fake smile.
No woman should have to feel uncomfortable at her workplace.
I’ve been thinking of quitting, but the tips are good—and I feel protective of Taylor.
If I leave, she won’t have anyone else watching out for her at the bar.
I glance over at the table she’s serving.
Even though they look under thirty, they’re all wearing suits, which means they’re either lawyers or executives. If they’re lawyers, they should know exactly how much hell we could rain on them if we accused them of harassment.
“More stupid jokes?” I ask when she walks back over to me.
“Yeah. Lucky me. I always get the table full of idiots.”
“Don’t fool yourself, honey. The real miracle would be finding a table without idiots. The guys who come here think that just because we’re serving them, they can say and do whatever the hell they want.”
“I can’t believe my shift ends in just half an hour,” she says.
“You could wait for me. I’ll walk with you to the subway. You’re too young and way too pretty to be walking around alone, Taylor.”
“I’ve got a pepper spray in my bag—locked and loaded.”
“And would you actually use it?”
“Absolutely. I’m not the type to feel bad about hurting someone, Jackie. If my safety’s on the line, I won’t think twice.”
“Your dad raised you right, Taylor.”
“Yeah. He was the best father a girl could ask for.”
“And how’s your other job going?”
Her cheeks turn bright red, and I wonder what she’s not telling me. Taylor has a second job helping take care of an elderly millionaire woman.
“It’s going fine,” she answers vaguely.
“You look tired. I know working the floor is exhausting, but once you turn twenty-one, you’ll be able to take a mixology course.”
She smiles but doesn’t respond, and then I remember what she once told me—that her real dream is to go to nursing school. I doubt she sees this place as part of her future.
“So? Gonna wait for me so I can walk you home?”
“No, but thanks for the offer. I’m wiped. I have to be at Mrs. Marshall’s house at eight tomorrow morning. Don’t worry, I’m always careful when I leave here. Besides, it’s not just the spray, I’ve got two legs too. I love to run.”
I laugh.
“The brave one fights, the smart one runs,” I say.
“Yeah. In my case, I don’t mind being a smart heroine. Survival is already a win in my book.”
As I walk home through the streets, I think about how weird I am. All the girls at the bar get nervous walking through the city at this hour. Not me.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark, because every time I think about the night, I think of him.
Lucifer, my shadowy protector.
In the past few years—since that last goodbye at my gate—he’s only shown up once, at my mother’s funeral… and a year later, at my brother Martin’s. He barely spoke to me, but I know, somehow, he’s still watching. Like he promised. If not in person, then by sending someone to do it.
I’ve never caught anyone in the act. Not Lucifer, not anyone else. I just know.
And the craziest part? I can tell when it’s not just one of his people—when it’s actually him.
Like tonight, for instance. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and I know he’s close.
Not out of fear. Out of excitement.
How pathetic can I be, still in love after all these years with a man who once saw me as nothing but a kid, a little sister—and who now won’t even speak to me face to face?
I’ve even dreamed of confronting him. Of going to wherever I imagine he might be watching me from, hiding in the shadows.
The problem is, I never know what happens next in that fantasy. Do I slap him for never coming to me, not even to say hi? Or do I grab him and kiss him?
I shake the silly thoughts from my head and tell myself that if things stay like this—this giant void between us—and if Lucifer doesn’t come talk to me, and even if by some miracle he does but still doesn’t see me as a woman…
then I’ll move on. I’ll give a real relationship a chance.
No more of these half-hearted flings I’ve settled for.
Suddenly, that gut feeling—that he’s closer than ever—turns into certainty.
It’s like he can read my mind. Like he somehow knows I made a silent promise to let him go. Like he doesn’t want to let me go.
I’m walking past an alley, pitch black inside. I see a shape—the broad body of a man, arms crossed over his chest—and I know it’s him.
“Lucifer.”
The name comes out as a whisper. I don’t need confirmation.
I know.
I wait, heart pounding, palms slick with sweat from nerves—but several seconds pass, and nothing happens.
I feel anger. Disappointment. Right now, I hate him.
“I hate you,” I say, mostly to myself—but I think I see his head move, like he’s about to step toward me.
I don’t wait anymore. I’m tired. And alone. Always so alone…
“Your days are numbered in my heart,” I tell the darkness, then turn and keep walking without looking back.