Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The VIP area needs cleaning, my inside voice whispers. My heart beats faster with the thought. He will be there, holding court.
I bet he likes to sit at the back in the shadows.
No matter what dark corner he finds himself in, he will always stand out.
As his golden eyes glow. I’ve never seen that before.
Most creatures, if they have crazy eyes, they only start glowing or flashing when they’re angry.
His eyes seem to glow for no reason. I can normally taste anger in the air—it’s my creature bread and butter—so I know he isn’t angry.
I think I’ll go and clean another area of the club.
I’m exhausted. If I stop and stare at every good-looking man, I won’t be able to get any work done. I move away with less enthusiasm than I had before, gripping the grey plastic handle of the glass-collecting basket. It bounces on my thigh in front of me, and the glasses clink.
He is just another body, another object. My focus is on earning enough money so I can get myself out of the situation I’m in at the moment.
I can save myself. I have every faith in that… I have to.
I shuffle, and the varied pressure on the soles of my feet is almost painful. When I go to the gym, I’m gonna use the Jacuzzi and aim the water jets at my feet. The thought of a water massage on my aching toes makes me shiver. I can’t wait.
I notice out of the corner of my eye a petite, curvy redhead.
She pops a hand down the front of her dress and adjusts her boobs and lifts them so they’re front and centre.
I blink a few times. Wow, the girl has no shame.
Shoulders back, she struts towards the VIP.
Her hips swing like a pendulum. She struts like she’s on a catwalk, her strides powerful and confident.
Her red hair flutters behind as she creates her own wind.
A doorman heads her off before she can get anywhere near. He quietly takes her to the side and starts talking to her. I watch her shake her head and point at my stripey-shirt guy. Half of me is impressed. The other half of me wants to rip her fucking head off.
She’s really brave. I wonder what it would be like to be that kind of woman who can approach a man with all that sass.
“Mm-hmm, I didn’t think that move would work for her, stupid cow. Some women have got to learn when men are completely out of their league.” The female behind me snorts. “I bet she feels really stupid.”
I turn to the girl who is talking to me. Jenny. She works behind the bar.
“I thought she was really brave,” I say with a small tentative smile. I’m too tired for this shit. I hate small talk. “How’s your night going? Not long to go now… I’m knackered.”
Jenny responds with an impressive hair flick. Her blonde locks fly over her shoulder and hit a customer in the face. I think it also splashes into his drink. That’s why I keep my thick rainbow hair in a tidy plait down the back of my top. It looks like Jenny doesn’t care.
For the hell of it—to act like a normal person—I give him a small conciliatory smile.
He frowns back at me, looks at Jenny with interest, and then shuffles away when she glares at him.
“As if Xander would touch her.”
“Xander?”
“Where have you been living, under a rock?” Garage. “The tall guy, with the glowing eyes. You know.” Her voice drops. “Xander.”
“Xander.” I silently mouth. I’m feeling a little baffled.
“The angel? Our boss? He owns the club. God girl, you’re dense.” Jenny rolls her eyes and again flicks her hair.
A real life angel, here?
Wow. He’d have to be of a high level of power to be on Earth.
They aren’t native creatures of this world.
Angels aren’t like the religious depictions the humans cling to.
Some believe that both races, angels and demons, had input into early human and creature history…
poking their noses into our evolution, nudging us all in their preferred direction.
Angels have omnipotent powers and are scary.
I know they exist—according to Jenny I’ve just been ogling one—but they are super rare.
She continues casually talking as if she didn’t drop a bombshell; I ignore her as my thoughts rattle around in my head. His name is Xander, and he’s an angel. An honest-to-God angel.
“So new girl, what are you doing working here?” She throws me the same glare as she did the guy. I wonder how many times she’s asked me that same question while I’ve been woolgathering. “What’s your angle?” Jenny plonks her hands on her hips and leans forward, invading my personal space.
Is she trying to intimidate me? I hide my amusement and look back at her blankly.
“I’m just here to make money,” I say, heavy on the fake confusion that interlaces my tone. “Urm… do my job and, you know… urm, go home.” I tentatively smile. “My name is Tru.”
His name is Xander, and he owns the club, my head screams.
“Yeah, I know that.” She waves her hands in the air dismissively.
“So Tru, you’re not here to get turned?” Oh, okay, that’s the reason that she’s talking to me.
She wants to know if I’m any competition.
I know that a lot of staff and a lot of the customers come here hoping to catch a strong creature’s eye.
Looks like Jenny fancies herself a vampire.
Turned vampires are dead. Like dead-dead. When humans or even other creatures are turned, they die. They keep their age at turning, gain a rot smell and… perhaps a little extra strength and speed.
They also gain a little more time on this shitty planet, technically a few extra hundred years. Three hundred at a push before their body breaks down. If they live that long. Bitten vampires can be volatile and the Houses use the young ones as cannon fodder.
I shake my head. “Nope, I’m just here to earn money.
” I smile again. My cheeks pull and throb with all the action.
I don’t think I’ve smiled this much at one person in years.
“I’m sure if that’s what you want you’ll have no problem as you’re so pretty.
” Gag. I tell her what she wants to hear. Jenny smiles smugly.
“Oh,” she says leaning closer, her eyes fixate on my forehead. “Look at that. Even your eyebrows are multicoloured.” She flicks my hat up, and I knock it back down with a frown. “Who did your hair potion? Does it affect every hair?”
I blink. I don’t understand her question. Every hai— Oh my god. Jenny crosses her arms and drops her eyes meaningfully to my crotch.
My pubes. She wants to know if I have rainbow pubes.
Ha.
I’m mortified.
“So?”
“So?” I squeak.
“The witch who did the potion?”
All my hair is natural. Bloody hell, do women actually ask each other these sorts of questions? If they do, I can’t help thinking I’m glad I haven’t got any close human friends. I rub my forehead. Who talks about pubes in public?
Gah.
“Tinctures ’n Tonics, Specialists in Portable Potions on Birley Street.” I mumble the name and address of Jodie’s store.
Jenny nods. “Thanks, I’ll check them out. You know, new girl, you could be kind of pretty if you didn’t hide behind those awful clothes and that hat. I mean even lesbians can attempt to look attractive once in a while.”
I look down at my baggy clothing. Lesbian? Ha, I might have hit that last compliment a little bit too hard. I shrug. “Urm, nice talking to you, Jenny. I better get back. I don’t want us to get into trouble.” I give Jenny a wave as I rush away like my bottom is on fire.
I lose myself in the crowd. That woman is nuts.
I squeak and my mouth pops open in shock as a hand lands smack between my thighs, and the fingers wiggle.
They wiggle.
I act so fast, too fast to think. I step to the side, grab the offender’s wrist, and thrust the hand in the air. He’s made the worst mistake of his life in touching me.
When I turn to check out my quarry, I find the idiot touched me with his hand behind his back. Who does that? Not only did he touch me without permission, he thought it was a good idea to stick his hand out behind his back and touch me without looking.
Was he attempting to be sneaky?
Oh, somebody just assaulted me, so it can’t possibly be the guy with his back towards me… Fucker.
Unfortunately for him, I now have his dirty hand in the air, and his arm is twisted in an awkward position behind him. He leans forward to alleviate the pressure. In his other hand he clutches a pint of beer. He’s too stupid to live. He’s also human.
“What kind of stupid human shoves his hand between a girl’s legs in a shifter club?” I snarl in his ear. I have to tamper down the urge to rip his throat out. “You’re a naughty boy,” I say louder, condescendingly.
The men surrounding him laugh. With a flip of a finger, I tip the bottom of his drink. The beer splashes down him, leaving a nice wet patch on his crotch. His friends howl with laughter.
“I am not done,” I whisper menacingly every female with a pulse.
He screams when I add pressure to his arm, and with a vicious twist to his elbow, I break it.
I don’t give him any time to react as I grip the back of his head and unceremoniously slam it onto the table in front of him.
“You do not”—slam—“touch women”—slam —“without permission”—slam—“that’s assault. ”
I let go of him, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious. His friends are no longer laughing.
One guy holds his hands up, and the other two give me frightened nods.
“Take him and go home. Never come here again,” I growl, my tone laced with compulsion. I don’t wait for the impact of my words to see them go all zombie. Instead, I turn and stomp away, crushing the unconscious guy’s fingers underneath my boot for good measure.
You know when you have one of those days when you think things can’t get any worse? Of course it does.
Yeah, that’s the story of my life.
“What do we have here?” Great. This one’s a shifter.
My tolerance for bullshit is at an all-time low.