Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
My shift is almost over when a visibly sweating bar manager waves me over.
“Tru, would you go to the VIP bar and clean up that shithole? The staff there are swamped.” I nod and head that way.
When Xander is around, the entire staff get twitchy.
I don’t give a shit what he thinks. I do my best to avoid him.
I won’t even look at him, not wanting him to think I’m still panting after him. I have my pride.
When I get there, the VIP area looks like a bomb has hit it.
With a sigh, I manoeuvre around the intoxicated customers, grabbing empty bottles and glasses, keeping my head down and my eyes on my task.
The trick is to be in and out like a ghost; I hate dealing with these entitled dickheads.
Somehow the VIP is always full of idiots.
On the other hand, the café is so interactive I like not having to talk to anyone when I am here. I reach for the last couple of glasses in a dark corner. They’re on a low table that’s surrounded by leather seating. A man grabs hold of my hand.
I roll my eyes.
It happens more times than you would think, people presuming that you’re going to take their full or almost empty glass.
I only take the empties or clearly abandoned glasses.
I’ve even got into the habit of giving the bottles a little shake before I throw them into the bottle bins.
Drunk people get really miffed at the thought of you trying to take away any trace of alcohol.
A mouthful left, and they think it entitles them to a whole new drink.
I don’t even bother looking up. “I’m a glass collector, and I need to finish cleaning this area.
If you will excuse me… Sir.” I say sir in the tone I would use for arsehole.
I attempt to pull my hand away, and the idiot tightens his grip.
“Don’t worry, I’ll not take a drink. I’m just going to clear this mess away.
I only want the empties.” I sigh and try again to pull my hand away without being rude.
Xander’s last warning is still in my head. Whenever he sees me, I get a snide, “Are you behaving yourself, my shadow?”
Yeah, my shadow. The idiot still thinks I’m stalking him. Talk about a huge, inflated ego. I’m sure he deliberately drops his tone into that rumbly, chocolatey cadence.
At least I hate him now. My heart rate goes crazy when he is near ’cause my body is gearing up to punch him in the face. I’m not his bloody shadow.
I need this job, even if I want nothing more than to punch him, or Mr Grabby Hand, in the face. What gives him the right to manhandle me? He grips harder. His hold on my wrist is painfully tight.
I grit my teeth.
No punching customers.
I don’t even look at him. I just smile with lots of teeth and nod my head towards a group of girls outside the VIP who are desperately trying to get his attention. “I’m sure those lovely ladies would love to speak to you.” I twist my wrist and knock his hand away with my basket.
No punching customers.
I spin, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. See there, sometimes violence doesn’t solve everything. The VIP area is sorted.
“I’m talking to you, bitch,” the customer growls. I lift my eyes and wrinkle my nose. Oh, hello. Just what I need, it’s Freaky Frank. Yay.
Who says a good deed doesn’t go unpunished?
I shake my head, dodge him, and stomp away.
I’ve been intentionally good, and I’m not having that idiot ruin it for me.
I have ten minutes left on my shift. It is getting on to almost four in the morning.
I’ve been working for nearly eighteen hours now. My poor body is done.
“Where do you think you’re going? You owe me a kiss or I’ll return that punch to the face,” Frank the freaky shifter screams. Wow, he’s now got everybody’s attention.
“Here, you didn’t take my glass.” I turn back around with a sigh.
I can’t help rolling my eyes up to the ceiling with exasperation.
Perhaps there’s some divine intervention up there hidden within the fancy club lights.
“Just so we are all clear.” I stick my index finger up and circle it above my head. “Everyone heard him threaten to punch me in the face? Right?” I look around the group of fascinated objects. “Right?” I prowl back towards him.
I’m too tired for this shit.
Frank wiggles the full glass in his hand with a smirk. He then downs it in one go. I react on autopilot—do not punch the customers—and attempt to take the glass out of his hand. Frank grabs me and tugs on my hand. Like I’m a fish on a hook, he reels me towards him.
He lifts my hand to his lips and slobbers on my knuckles. I just stand there, horrified. Weirdly he licks between the webs of my fingers. Ew.
I’d prefer him to punch me.
I wrinkle my nose, and I purse my lips with disgust as Frank then licks down my fingers and sucks at the pad of my left index finger. His teeth scrape my skin, and I shudder with loathing.
Oh, that’s just nasty. I don’t want to be anywhere near this shifter’s teeth.
I really should pull my hand away… Huh, it wouldn’t be my fault if my hand slips and ends up breaking his nose. Total accident and nothing to do with me.
“I didn’t wash my hands after I cleaned the toilets,” I say helpfully. “I’ve just been sick in my mouth,” I add for good measure.
Frank snarls. “Did you know a single bite from a shifter will kill a human female?” Funny enough, I did know that.
Is Freaky Frank threatening to bite me on purpose? I’m not human, but Frank doesn’t know that. My heart misses a beat. The question bouncing around in my head is can a shifter turn a human when they aren’t in animal form?
Has this shifter done this before?
Men turn, women die.
There’s a movement to the side of me. “Frank, let the young human go. The reek of her fear is putting me off my drink.” Frank snarls again. He squeezes my wrist so tightly I feel the bones grind together.
“Yeah, Frank, let me go.”
Frank lets go, but not before he takes a good chunk of my finger. He smiles at me in triumph as my blood runs down his chin.
Can he tell I am not human?
Can he taste my vampire and shifter blood like a meat connoisseur?
I tuck my bleeding finger into my fist. I mumble a thank-you to the man who rescued me, and I get the hell out of there.
For fuck’s sake, this is not the place to bleed. I’m surrounded by so many creatures. Creatures with heightened senses. Heart pounding and my hybrid blood dripping, I rush into the back area. My hands are shaking with fear and adrenaline.
I can’t… I can’t think.
My panic is overwhelming. I run the tap in the small sink and stuff my hand underneath the spray.
With my other hand, I blindly search for bleach or any type of strong cleaning product.
My hand lands on a bottle. I drag it from underneath the sink, bleach.
I cringe, but I don’t pause as I pour a good dollop.
I’m still shaking so hard I can feel every bone in my body rattle. Shit, I’m so frightened I am going to be sick.
I heave and scrub.
My finger is on fire, and my hand is going red. “Don’t punch the customers, Xena.” Bloody Xander. That worked out great. Where were your shit door staff when a shifter was chomping on my finger? Next time he’s the one who bleeds,” I grumble.
Oh my god, someone is going to smell my blood and I’m going to die. “He bit my finger. He bit my finger. He bit my fucking finger…” My panicked words run together like a drumbeat in my head.
“Are you okay?” a deep grumbling voice says from behind me.
I jump in surprise and let out a girly squeal. The water splashes me and the floor. “You scared the crap out of me. Thanks for that.” I keep my hand in the water and grip the side of the sink with my other hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, this time with less patience.
“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I snarl at the nosy angel.
Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.
Why does he pop up at the worst possible moment? Please go away. I don’t need his help now. I needed his help when a shifter was chewing on my fucking finger. I never should have listened to him. Being polite with shiny customer service—is the worst thing ever—it’s made me a victim.
I feel like a victim.
Hell, I hate this feeling… Gah, if I’d just knocked Freaky Frank out before the finger licking… I grab the bottle of bleach and squirt another load onto my hand.
Now I’ve got him asking stupid questions when all I want to do is cry. I won’t cry ’cause I’m too stubborn, but him being here is making things worse.
This is all his fault.
Instead I pull on my anger. The anger I can deal with. It burns in my chest, and immediately I feel centred.
Also is the man blind? I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m not okay, but I will not admit it. I turn my head and glare at him. “Everything’s f—”
“Fine, I know.” Xander prowls into the room. He makes the already-small space smaller. He’s careful not to touch me. In response to his nearness, I hunch further over the sink and splash more bleach onto my hand.
I am glad I can’t smell him over the eye-watering smell of bleach. My head is banging. I want to stay here with my hand in the sink forever, but I know logically it won’t do any good.
The bleach won’t do anything.
I take a deep shaky breath. The bleach fumes burn the back of my throat. God, did Freaky Frank just kill me? Do the creatures know who I am? What I am?
“Why are you bleeding?”
“A customer bit me. The bastard almost took the top of my finger off, so thanks for the protection. Consider this my notice. I’m not working in this shithole.
” I rub my hand. It’s red raw and my finger is still bleeding.
Why isn’t it healing? This isn’t right… I’m healing human slow.
“I need backdated hazard pay,” I grumble.
He moves closer. His massive frame towers over me. I hunch further into myself. The sink digs into my thighs.
“Who bit you?”
“Who do you think? Frank the pervert. You know, the guy I punched in the face? He came back for more.” Droplets of water spray into the air around us as I wave my hand in the air.
I point at my still-immersed hand. “This is what happens when I am polite. You’ll be happy to know I didn’t punch him, and due to the fact I didn’t defend myself”—I swallow.
Don’t you dare bloody cry—“he”—don’t you dare—“he bit me.”
Xander’s tree-trunk arm appears over my shoulder. He gently nudges me out of the way and turns the tap off. As I move away from the sink, I realise belatedly that I’m a sopping, bleach-covered mess.
I close my eyes with embarrassment; I lost my shit for a few minutes there. Thank God I’m never coming back to this shithole as my club T-shirt is ruined. If he expects me to pay for it, he can get lost.
“Were his teeth shifted? I don’t think he’s old enough or strong enough to shift his teeth. Do you know if his teeth were shifted, Tru?”
I shrug. How do I know what shifted teeth look like? Did he have a wolf head? No, he didn’t. Who bloody cares?
Xander grips my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “This is important. Were his teeth shifted?”
“No?”
He grunts. Who knew a grunt could hold so much exasperation. His honey eyes flash with golden rage, and he drops his hold on my shoulders and leaves.
I take a deep breath in. He’s seriously pissed. I can’t believe he left me standing here, a sopping wet bleeding mess. “Good chat.” I snarl.
I need a first aid box.
I’m sure I read somewhere that angels can heal. Huh, Xander must really dislike me. Nothing tells you more about another person’s feelings than when they leave you bleeding. Perhaps he’s worried I’ll try to jump him.
“Angels make the best bosses,” I grumble. My lip trembles, and I chomp on it in punishment. None of that shit, Tru. Don’t you dare cry.
The only person I could rely on is fucking dead.
Even he didn’t stick around. No, that’s unfair.
I take that back. I’m upset, and thinking like that is wrong on so many levels.
I’m sorry, Grandad. I tug aggressively at the paper towel dispenser and wrap my finger in the blue paper.
Not the most hygienic thing to use on a wound, but it beats bleeding all over the floor. Story would have helped me.
There’s a full medical kit on the back shelf.
I almost let out a cheer when I find it contains expensive healing potions.
I grab a vial and pull the stopper out with my teeth.
Tipping the liquid directly onto my finger, I watch with relief as the bleeding slows and the edges magically knit back together.
My racing heart finally slows to a normal rhythm.
I should’ve done this before the bleach fest. But I wasn’t thinking.
No, I was panicking, and that’s something I can’t afford to do.
Perhaps it’s fate nudging me in a different direction. It might be time to get out of the city. Grab Story and Dexter and just go.
Nothing is here for me anymore.
I don’t know if it was from the nip on my finger or the shock of getting bitten and bleeding everywhere.
But the yuckiness I’ve been feeling on the edge of my consciousness for weeks suddenly hits me full force.
Hell, it could be a bad healing potion for all I know. I’ve never felt like this before.
God, I don’t feel well.
There’s a tickle in the back of my throat, and my hairline is slick with sweat. My cheeks are red and hot, but inside I feel cold.
If I was human, what I’m feeling would be normal—it would be a sign that I was coming down with a cold. Perhaps the flu… terrible flu.
But I’m not human, and I’m not normal.
I’ve never had a cold in my life. On top of the bruises, it has me worried.
Instead of my routine of going to the gym, I clean up in the staff bathroom. I fill up my flasks in the staff kitchen, and a silent, worried Luke arranges for a taxi to take me straight home.
As I walk through the staff hallway and my feet sink into the carpet for the last time, I feel a sense of relief. I’m never coming back to this shithole again.