7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Tallahassee
Tonight, I’m distracted by thoughts of Warlock. I learned from one of the other servers that he and his friends have been regulars since McQueen’s opened, which helps ease some of my anxiety. It lessens the odds our meeting was due to him searching for and intentionally tracking me down.
It’s important Warlock isn’t a sex-addled pervert like all the others.
Obviously, I can’t allow anything romantic to happen between us I couldn’t bear taking a chance, trusting him, only to discover he’d been playing me all along. The disappointment of learning he was like all the others would break me, and I might never recover.
I still don’t know what prompted me to talk to him in the coffee shop or on the beach when he startled me during my morning run. Maybe it’s the overwhelming loneliness of the past three years catching up with me. Or maybe it’s as simple as being desperate for a friend.
I can’t figure out what it is about him that captures my interest. It’s a foolish notion, but I feel like I was meant to know him. I shake my head against that ridiculous thought.
I have to admit, he’s easy to talk to. It felt good to be normal for a change. Not overanalyzing our entire conversation. Not having to guard every detail I shared with him was extraordinary.
What stands out most is that he doesn’t push. He isn’t clingy. He hasn’t asked about my past or if the rumors are true. He’s never said anything offensive or vulgar, which, considering my past experiences, is both unexpected and refreshing.
And that’s what makes him different. What draws me to him like a moth to a flame.
Does he know about my history? He doesn’t act like he does. Although one quick internet search is all it would take for that to change.
The man does something to my insides that I refuse to examine too closely. I’m afraid of what I’ll discover if I do.
But I find myself soaking up his attention like a sponge in a lake and that’s dangerous.
I can’t get my hopes up for any kind of friendship with him.
Time and again, I’ve trusted the wrong people and been betrayed.
The smart thing to do would be to shut this down now.
Crush whatever feelings are forming, so they don’t grow into something I won’t be able to control.
For the umpteenth time, my eyes scan the restaurant searching for Warlock and his friends. They haven’t been in for more than a week, and as much as I hate to acknowledge it, I’m worried about them.
Since that first night, their routine was predictable.
They’d come in at least once during the week and again either Friday or Saturday night.
They’d start in the restaurant, then split up, some moving downstairs to the bar, others to the game room.
Hawk would usually chat up a woman and eventually leave with her.
Until a week ago. Since then, there’s been nothing. Not one of them has come in.
With each passing day, my apprehension increases. Have they been sent on a dangerous mission and run into trouble? Have they been captured? Or something…worse? I’m terrified something is horribly wrong.
Shaking myself out of my morose thoughts, I get back to work.
It’s been one of those nights. So far, I’ve been called sweet buns, little lady, missy, and there was a lone sugar lips.
One man, apparently channeling his best Jimi Hendrix, called me foxy lady and told me I had a nice ass.
As if that wasn’t enough, I had one whining because I wouldn’t flirt with him, and another who ordered a Jack and Coke and told me to make sure I give it a vigorous swirly finger.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, with my face scrunched.
“You gotta swirl your finger in it,” he clarified. “I need to get a taste of you.”
It took all my willpower not to shudder and visibly cringe. I can only imagine the expression on my face as I spun away from his table.
When I come out of the kitchen and see the six men I’ve been anxious about for eight days being seated in my section, I feel overwhelming relief. Catching sight of Warlock, my heart does a two-step.
Foolish, irrational heart.
After serving the meals I’m carrying, I hurry to their table. All of them have various cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Both Warlock and Nitro have butterfly bandages on their faces.
Concern infuses my voice. “Are you guys okay?” I direct my question to the group, but my focus is on Warlock when I ask, “What happened to you?”
He gives me one of those smiles that makes my heart skip a beat. “We’re alright. A work thing got a little out of hand,” he tells me casually.
“Yeah,” Ricochet adds. “Sometimes the bad guys need convincing before they take our suggestions.”
I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it isn’t reassuring. Based on the various injuries they’re sporting, it was hazardous and violent.
“Really. We’re fine,” Warlock assures me, ignoring Ricochet’s glib response. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
I’m convinced they’re downplaying the situation for my benefit, but I don’t push the issue. I’m just thankful they’re back and all of them are in once piece. Not wanting to draw any more attention to my uneasiness, I take their order and leave to tend to my other customers.
Considering the less-than-stellar night I’m having, I’m not surprised when a group of four assholes are seated in my section near Warlock and his friends. One of the men is sporting a full sleeve tattoo, another has short red hair and a nose ring, and the other two are identical twins.
It’s obvious they’ve all been drinking, but the one with the tattoos is more inebriated than the others. He’s been obnoxious and making rude comments since they sat down.
“I heard she sucks dick like a hoover,” he says loudly enough for me to overhear while delivering meals to the table next to theirs.
“I heard she can suck a marble through a straw,” one of the twins responds, the four of them laughing.
I ignore it the best I can. Their comments aren’t new. I’ve heard it all a million times, but I wish I could get through a single day without being plagued by vulgar comments.
The next time I pass their table, Mr. Tattoo slaps my ass.
Seething, I stop, make eye contact, and don’t attempt to hide my growing annoyance. “Do not touch me,” I snap, then continue on my way.
I’m so tired and disgusted by the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality. Of men who think they have the right to put their hands on a woman without her consent.
“What do you say we get out of here and the five of us have some fun?” the tattooed ass slapper slurs when I bring out their food a short time later.
I set the last plate on the table. “I’d rather stab a rusty fork in my eye,” I respond, letting them know I have no interest in whatever revolting sexual game they have in mind.
“Ah, c’mon, don’t be like that,” the redhead says with a lecherous grin.
That’s when the drunken tattooed man grabs a handful of my ass, giving it a hard squeeze. “We’ll make it worth your while.”
I’ve had enough. Words are one thing but touching me is another. “That’s assault,” I snap, yanking his hand away.
He leers at me. “No need to play games. I know you liked it.”
That’s it. That’s the last straw.
I lean toward him, one hand braced on the table in front of him.
Not realizing what I’m about to do, he licks his lips and leers at me.
With my free hand, I reach down and grab him by the balls, hard.
His body stiffens. He squeals and squirms but can’t get free with my tight grip and the minimal space of the booth.
“Do you like me touching you inappropriately? You like how that feels?”
“No! Let go of me, bitch,” he hisses.
“Consider this a valuable lesson in touching someone without their permission. Hopefully, it’s one you won’t soon forget.” I increase the pressure to emphasize my point.
His eyes squeeze closed, and he releases a high-pitched whimper.
“If you ever put your hands on me again, I’ll slice off your junk with a kitchen knife.” I release him and straighten, turning to his friends. “I think it’s time the four of you left, don’t you?”
Eyes wide, they nod. “Yes, ma’am,” one of the twins says.
“I’ll get your check.”
I walk away on shaky legs. Maybe I should’ve ignored them or got my manager to deal with them. I just couldn’t take one more omnipotent man thinking the word ‘no’ means ‘try harder,’ like he can do whatever the hell he wants without any consequences.
When I return with their check, they’re anxious. I can tell something happened to change their attitude in the short time I was gone. They’re pale and keep nervously glancing toward Warlock’s table.
“Your friend made it clear we owe you an apology.”
“My friend?”
Their eyes dart in Warlock’s direction again.
Following their line of sight, my eyes zero in on Warlock. He looks so different than he did earlier. He reeks of danger. He’s menacing, and his whole persona radiates anger. Barely contained violence simmers under the surface. But none of it is directed at me, he’s glaring at the young men.
“He talked to you?”
“Yes, ma’am, and we’re really, really sorry,” one of the twins says. “It won’t happen again…promise.”
“Yeah, we’re totally sorry about what happened,” nose ring pipes in.
The drunkest one, who put his hands on my ass, glowers at Warlock’s table while he blurts out his apology. He isn’t sorry, he’s livid and resents being forced to say the words.
Not wanting to be near them any longer than I have to, I drop their check on the table and leave.
I glance at Warlock. This time, his eyes shift and lock onto mine with blistering intensity.
I forget how to breathe.
Why did he do that? Was it a ploy to get me to agree to go out with him?
My feet are moving toward Warlock’s table before I can think better of it. I’m not quite sure what to say. “I…thank you. But this doesn’t change anything. I’m still not going out with you.”
“Do you really think that’s why I gave them a lesson in manners?” His voice is low and rough. “No one has the right to touch you without your permission. And as long as I’m around, you have my promise that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you from that kind of harassment.”
His teammates all nod their agreement.
Hearing the sincerity in his deep, growly voice, my pulse quickens and my stomach flips. Needing to escape my feelings, I walk away from his table without a word.
I’m clinging to the last threads of my control. If he keeps this up, what chance do I have at resisting him?