Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
L evi
“What did you say to him?” I demand of Darla when I re-enter the pub through the back door to the kitchen. She puts down the dirty plates she’s carrying next to the sink and turns to give me her full attention. I have no idea what I look like, and it can’t be good by the way her eyes widen, but I don’t care. The blood boiling in my veins is the only thing I can think about right now.
“Who?” she enquires, as if she doesn’t know.
“The cop,” I snarl, as I try to block out the memory of how it felt to have his body pressed tightly against mine. Yeah, he liked it as much as I did, I certainly felt that. Then he pushed me away, the bastard.
“I was telling Mac that he’s stayed away from the village too long.”
“You know him?” Confusion takes over, and my rage begins to cool as I realise I might have been mistaken about their discussion.
“I’ve known him all my life. Mac grew up here,” she says before heading back to the bar. At the door she stops and looks back.
“Levi?” she calls, her voice a little resigned, and I make sure she has my attention. “Clean yourself up before you come back through. You’ve got blood on your face.”
At her words my anger reduces further, to nothing more than the usual simmer that’s my base level. Fuck! I hope I haven’t messed up. This is the longest I’ve managed to hold down a job since I was released from prison. I enjoy it here, living in this quiet village—a life in obscurity where no one knows my past—and I’m hoping to stay here a long time. Well I was, but that doesn’t seem likely now as trouble seems to have found me here as well. I ignore the fact that I was the one who followed him out to the alleyway, and that I threw the first punch. But still, I’ve been here for weeks and nothing like this has happened, so it must be his fault.
I make my way to the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. There’s a smudge of blood across my chin and some drying on my lip. I’m not sure how I cut my lip, but I do remember how it felt when he licked the blood off.
He.
Mac.
At least I have a name for him now. Of course, I knew he was Detective West—I’d seen a clip of him on the news after he arrested that scum Winstanton—but I didn’t know his first name. To buy him a drink was a whim when he came into the pub, though. I guess I owed him one. I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to catch the bastard who put me away. I’m pretty sure Winstanton had some hand in the length of my sentence too. Two years... two fucking years for stealing a car. It’s a lot for a first offence. Well, the first as an adult, but I’m trying to put that part of my life behind me.
I rinse my face, washing away any evidence of what just happened. Well, not all. I will have a few bruises for sure, and I guess Mac will too. I do know he was pulling his punches. I’ve been in enough fights to know when someone tries to hit you and means it, and he definitely wasn’t giving his all... which intrigues me even more. Damn his fucking handsome face.
Yeah, I noticed his good looks as soon as he walked through the door. Tall, well built, brown hair that looks like he spent far too long making it seem perfectly tousled but probably didn’t.
What I wasn’t expecting, as it’s not something you can pick up from a TV screen, was the presence he exuded. I’ve met very few people who have that quality, and every other one of them were complete and utter narcissistic wankers who used it to get whatever they wanted. But not Mac; it’s like he wasn’t even aware of it. What I also saw was a man who struggled with his emotions, and that’s something I know only too well—that barely repressed resentment bubbling under the skin—but whereas mine leaks through the cracks at every opportunity, he had a level of control. I wanted to poke at it, see what it would take to break through the surface. Somehow, despite me both punching him and kissing him, both of which I wanted to do in equal measure, I get the distinct feeling I didn’t even come close to making a dent in his armour. I’m impressed that he remained so calm, smug almost, and that annoys me further. But I don’t think I made a good first impression—not that it should worry me. I’m never going to see him again.
Dread clutches my chest as I remember that I said I’d make a statement against Winstanton... His case. Fuck! Well, I’ll do it to help put Winstanton away, but I don’t want to see Mac again. Except part of me wants to sink to my knees in front of him and swallow down his cock. Even the thought of it gets my blood pumping and my dick hardening. I stare at myself in the mirror, disappointed in myself but aroused, and I grip the washbasin and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. Once I can breathe normally again, I notice a fizzing low in my belly, deep beneath the layer of resentment of an unfair world. It’s not arousal and it’s not something I can define, but it’s unsettling and I don’t want it.
I wait a couple of minutes until my boner goes away, hoping the length of time I’ve spent in the bathroom isn’t noticed by Darla. Everything was fine until he showed up, and I’m going to be super pissed off if he costs me my job. I push off from the washbasin and walk out into the pub to resume work. Darla glances my way and gives a little nod. I guess I look acceptable now, and with any luck she won’t chew me out about my behaviour.
We work around each other in the comfortable way we have since I started a few weeks ago. She even jokes with me, and the tension in me eases a little. When we close the doors after the last punter has gone and anyone staying at the inn has left the bar, she stops in front of me as I’m wiping down the counter. I can tell from her expression she’s not done with me, and my throat goes dry.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to speak, but she just silently regards me for a minute, which is somehow worse.
“I don’t know what happened today and I don’t want to know, but is it something I should be worried about?” She looks at me shrewdly.
I release my breath with a rush, relief flushing through me.
“No ma’am,” I say, and I see her mouth quirk at my deference, but I want her to know I mean it.
“Good,” she says, and then in a voice made of pure steel she continues. “You’re a good worker Levi, but my pub, my business comes first. I want you to know that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I understand her loud and clear. It’s a warning; there won’t be a second chance. She nods in acceptance and I take another deep breath. It could’ve been much worse.
“You go up. I’ll finish cleaning here,” she says in a softer tone, and I take it for the dismissal it is and her admission that she doesn’t bear grudges. I fold my cloth and put it away—a show that I’m trustworthy—and walk past her to the door leading to the guest rooms, all the while feeling her eyes on me, watching. She has nothing to worry about. I get the message, and I’m not going to let my chances be ruined by a fucking cop.