Chapter Six
Amelia
F ear coils in my stomach, corroding my insides like acid. It slithers up my throat, burning my flesh from the inside out. I’m not losing my mind. I can’t be.
But something—someone—was under my bed last night. I know it. I felt it.
God. The memories are branded behind my eyelids, etched into my mind forever. The gift box. The blood. The tongue. The note.
No one disrespects my angel.
I swallow down bile.
The Hellkeeper. It has to be him. That makes sense, doesn’t it? I was meant to die, but I ran. Maybe this is his way of reminding me. Of toying with me before he finally drags me under.
My knees wobble. I clutch the counter for balance. I can’t think about this now. I can’t. I have orders to take, tables to wipe, dishes to clean. If I stop, if I let myself spiral, I won’t be able to climb back up.
So I work. I take orders and force smiles, staying busy. It helps. A little.
Until a voice makes me jump so hard I nearly drop a plate.
“Jesus, girl, you’re skittish today.” Margaret chuckles, wrinkled eyes crinkling in amusement. “What, a monster sneak up on you?”
“Guess I’m just on edge.”
Margaret hums, unconvinced, and steps forward. I tense. She watches me closely. I focus on stirring the pasta, trying to avoid her gaze. Her hand reaches up and brushes against my neck.
She lifts the necklace between her fingers, letting the diamonds catch the dim kitchen light. It looks ridiculous against my polyester uniform.
“You got this yesterday?”
I should tell her how I woke up with it on this morning. How it’s clasped so tight I can’t even get it off. How it feels like a collar. But the words lodge in my throat, sticking like poison syrup.
If I tell her, she’ll think I’m insane. And who wants an insane girl in their space?
I force my expression into something neutral. “Yeah,” I lie. “It’s... costume jewelry. Probably fake. I found it at a thrift store.”
Margaret scoffs. “If that’s fake, I’m the Queen of England.” She lets the necklace drop against my chest and pats my shoulder. “Seems like someone accidentally sold a family heirloom for cheap.”
I laugh, but it’s not real. She doesn’t notice. She just moves to the fridge, grabbing ingredients, getting back to cooking.
I don’t tell her that I can still feel the kiss. Through the blanket. Pressed to the top of my head.
I don’t tell her that I think I really might be losing my mind.
Margaret wipes her hands on her apron. “I’ll take care of the kitchen prep. But there’s a man who just came in; you need to take his order.”
I nod, grateful to stay busy. The moment my hands stop moving, my thoughts creep in. I can’t let that happen.
I smooth my uniform, grab my notepad, and step into the dining area.
I scan the restaurant, searching for the new customer. He’s near the windows, bathed in soft afternoon light, but there’s nothing soft about him. His eyes are already on me.
Every step toward him feels like walking toward an execution.
He’s handsome, but not in a way that feels safe. His face is all sharp angles and violence. A scar runs from his right ear to his mouth, but it doesn’t take away from his looks, it just makes him more striking. More dangerous.
His eyes are as blue as glaciers, and so cold. Despite the menace rolling off him in waves, heat licks up my spine, making me flush. He's huge. His biceps strain against the fabric of his dark sweater, easily twice the size of my head. Everything about him screams danger.
But I have a job to do. I can’t just refuse to serve a customer because he looks terrifying.
My hands tremble so badly I worry my notepad will slip, but I hope he doesn’t notice. “Hi, welcome. What can I get for you?”
He looks at me like he already knows everything, down to the details of my last cycle.
“You’re nervous.”
Observant. Great.
“I’m fine. Do you, um, know what you want to order?”
He leans back in his chair, one tattooed arm resting on the table, the other raking through his black hair.
“Busy day?” His voice is smooth and deep, rolling over me like smoke.
I shift on my feet. “Yeah.”
“What’s your name?”
“Amelia.”
“Amelia.” He says it like it’s familiar.
Weird.
“I really need to take your order.” My pitch is too high.
Something dark flickers in his eyes, amusement, interest. A game only he knows the rules to.
“Steak,” he finally says. “Rare.”
I jot it down quickly. “And to drink?”
“Water.” He drawls it out, but his gaze burns through me, leaving me exposed.
“Okay.” I mumble, turning fast, eager to flee back to the kitchen.
Margaret works beside me, kneading dough for the next batch of bread.
“That man rattled you,” she muses.
I shake my head quickly. “No, just tired.”
I make sure the steak is rare; barely cooked in the center. The sight of the raw meat churns my stomach. I’ve never been a fan.
Margaret notices. “I can do it if you want.”
“I got it.”
I finish the steak and plate it with a side of roasted potatoes, making sure it’s perfect.
Come on, Amelia. You’re a big girl. Nothing to be scared of.
Feigning confidence, I walk back to his table and set the plate down. But I don’t wait around. I bolt, tending to other customers.
But I still feel him.
Even from across the room, his presence is heavy. Watching.
A while later, he signals for me.
I hesitate.
Margaret nudges me. “Go on, hon. He’s just asking for the bill.”
Just the bill.
I force my legs to move. My mind goes into fight-or-flight at the sight of him. I don’t understand why. But underneath the fear, there’s something else…attraction.
Shame crawls up my spine. How can I be terrified of this man and drawn to him at the same time?
I slide the bill onto the table. He takes his time wiping his mouth with a napkin before looking up at me.
“Amelia?”
I hum in response, barely trusting my voice.
His lips curl at the corners. “Wear the dress. It goes well with your necklace.”
He doesn’t give me time to process before he’s out the door.
The world narrows.
How does he know about the dress? My fingers reach for the necklace at my throat, its cold diamonds pressing against my skin. My pulse races.
It’s him, isn’t it?
Cold sweat clings to my spine.
I pull myself together, pretending everything is fine, and reach for the bill.
When I flip it over, I nearly pass out.
He left a tip.
A huge one.
$1,000.
I feel sick.