CHAPTER THREE #2
I let out a small breath when someone walks up to him from behind stealing his attention.
It’s a man in a dark suit, tall and imposing.
He has a black earpiece in his ear like in movies.
I realize with a start that he’s probably a bodyguard.
Then I glance around the bar and notice three other men spread out in the bar looking exactly like the one whispering to Rafaelle.
Their eyes sweep around the room like they’re actively looking for threats.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Whatever the bodyguard says to Rafaelle must annoy him because his expression turns dark once again. And then they’re speaking loud enough for me to hear.
“Get back to your position,” Rafaelle orders, his voice filled with displeasure.
“But, sir...” the bodyguard starts to argue.
“Tell Sal that he’ll just have to make do without me for one night. I’ve got better things to do,” he says facing me once again.
Making it clear I’m the better things he has to do.
Fuck my life.
The bodyguard looks like he wants to say more but he keeps his mouth shut and fades back into the background.
What was that about? Who’s Sal and why does he need Rafaelle?
Several questions run through my mind as I finish preparing his drink. Although I start to reconsider serving it to him. It’s too late now though. He’s been watching me prepare it and he will have questions if I suddenly decide not to give it to him and toss it in the sink.
Steeling my nerves, I move closer and place the glass in front of him. He smirks as he closes his hand around it.
“And what is this?” he questions looking at me.
“You’ll have to see for yourself,” I reply with a small smile, praying he doesn’t murder me for this.
He shrugs before taking a sip and then spitting it out in the next breath. I bite back the laugh that bubbles out of me at the sight.
“What the fuck was that?” he growls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Something special,” I reply, the back of my hand resting on my lips to hide my smile.
I mixed tequila with Kombucha and lime. My very own custom drink. I’ve actually served it some customers before and they’ve liked it. Although I’ve been told it’s an acquired taste.
“Well, it tasted like cat piss.”
“Aw, really. I thought you’d like it,” I say mock sweetly.
He glares at me and I fight the urge to take a step back. I just wanted to get back at him for ordering me around but the look in his eyes has my heart pounding. I finally feel a bit of the fear I’d been trying hard to ignore since he looked at me.
He seems to be able to tell exactly what I’m feeling because in the next moment, I notice him reining in whatever impulse that had taken hold of him. He shuts his eyes, exhaling a soft breath. And I watch as his expression clears.
“You’re lucky you’re gorgeous and I want to get in your pants, Liliana.”
“What makes you think I’d want you there?” I shoot back, unable to help myself.
“Because I’m irresistible,” he says cockily. “Plus you promised to devote yourself to me.”
“Using that word was a huge mistake,” I mutter.
“Don’t do that again though or I’ll shove you into a barrel and roll you into the ocean,” he says, his tone unflinching.
There’s that fear again. I swear talking to him is giving me whiplash. One second, I’m comfortable enough to stand up to him. The next I want to run and hide because I have no clue what he’s capable of.
“Now make me something else. Actually, don’t,” he reconsiders. “I’m revoking your drink making privileges. Bring me a bottle of the finest whiskey you’ve got back there.”
“Would it kill you to say please?” I ask.
Shut up, Liliana, a voice in my head warns.
I’m usually more capable of biting my tongue. Plus this man literally just threatened to drown me in the ocean. I thought I had more survival instincts than this.
“Probably,” he nods. “Now go on. You don’t want to keep your customers waiting.”
Sure enough I notice three girls approach the bar on the other end.
I raise a finger asking them to give me a second while I quickly fetch the bottle he asked for.
Once I’ve placed it in front of him and poured it into a glass, I get back to my job, trying to ignore the strange thrill and the adrenaline coursing through me as I imagine what’s in store for me at the end of the night.
Despite his earlier statement, it quickly becomes clear to me that Rafaelle is horrible at waiting.
He’s like a huge ball of energy that constantly has to be in the process of one movement or the other.
In less than an hour, he has consumed more than half of the bottle of whiskey.
When his mouth isn’t wrapped around the rim of the cup, his fingers are drumming against the table.
When he isn’t staring at me, he’s scrolling through his phone, watching videos I can’t decipher from here.
His hands are constantly occupied.
I even notice him twirling a lighter between his fingers at some point. It’s kind of adorable. Made even cuter by the fact that he seems to be largely unaware of the restless energy.
For the most part, I try and fail not to look at him as I do my job. Every minute reminds me of the countdown to an hour after which I’ll have to pay up my end of the bargain and then what? Go home with him?
As time passes, my nerves start to sink in, inch by inch, threatening to suffocate me.