Chapter 4 #2
The angel plants both hands on the shifter’s chest and shoves, sending him crashing backward as she stands.
His wooden chair skids about eight feet before tipping over and throwing him in the floor on his back.
His arms and legs flail like an oversized beetle, then he jumps to his feet with a roar, patches of fur popping up on his burly arms.
The ferocious look in his yellow eyes promises violence, but the angel grins, her perfectly even teeth winking in the flashing club lights.
I sit back down. Something tells me I’m about to get a far better show than the one happening on the stage, and maybe a snack too. Already, I feel a few tasty wisps of fear curling up around me. None of them are coming from the angel.
“Bitch,” the shifter roars, his voice distorted by rage.
She laughs, shaking her head as she adjusts the complex web of straps crisscrossing her torso. “Now it’ll take two apologies, Rex. Do you want to go for three?”
“You shoved me in the floor,” he complains, glancing at his buddies for help. None of them are willing to meet his eyes.
“I did,” she says. “And I’ll do it again if you put your hands on me without permission. You know the rules, Rex. You all do.” She stares pointedly at the scraggly crew loosely grouped around him, propping her hands on her hips.
“Sorry, Celine,” one mutters, bright red spots staining his cheeks.
“It’s the second pitcher,” another adds. “You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly before the beer takes over.”
“What’s done is done,” she says, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “You’re all through for tonight, but Rex can come back once he’s ready to give me those apologies.”
“That’s not fair!” The mountain known as Rex growls again, slurring his words as he takes a step toward the angel. This time, his crew steps in, dragging him out of the club and telling him to shut up as he loudly gripes.
The angel—they called her Celine—scans the room with that sassy smile firmly in place. “Sorry for the drama, folks! Anyone else hoping to pick a fight with me? If so, step right up.”
She holds her fists up and the crowd chuckles. Raw panic rushes through me at the idea of these guys attacking her. She’s practically daring one of them to try. I know a performance when I see it, but my heart is in my throat.
Celine sashays out of the main room and another dancer takes the stage, but my attention is on the hall now. From her fluffy ass wings to her giant brass balls, the angel is too interesting to ignore.
After a few minutes, she comes back, ducking behind the bar to talk to the hot guy with the lip ring.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, and pure nosiness drives me to my feet.
I skulk casually up to the bar, wrapping myself in enough nightmare magic to stay unnoticed unless someone looks specifically for me.
“Did you serve him two pitchers or not?” Celine demands, her voice raspy as she confronts the bartender.
“Of course not, let me see your arm.” He reaches for her, his hazel eyes wide with concern.
She shrugs out of his grasp. “It’s nothing.”
“You always say that,” he groans. “I’m getting tired of hearing it.”
“Would you rather I be seriously hurt instead?” Her hands land on her hips. I wince at the fire in her eyes, and . . . are her wings smoking?
“Oh, fuck off, Celine, you know what I mean. You can’t keep going this way; someone is going to take it too far.” I don’t even know her, but I agree with him. Her strength is challenging, and for some supernaturals, well, let’s just say they might have a hard time not testing the limits.
“They wouldn’t if somebody didn’t over serve the angry lightweights,” she snaps.
“I swear, I didn’t. I gave Rex one pitcher and reminded him of the limit. There’s no way he got another one unless . . .” His eyes narrow, then he shuts them all together and groans.
“Unless what?”
“Chico,” he hisses. “That friendly fucker bought a pitcher while I was slammed. I didn’t notice where he took it.”
Celine blinks up at him, unimpressed. “Rookie mistake, Luca. Chico hates beer.”
“I know. Fuck. I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I got distracted.”
“By what?”
“This dude . . . You know what, never mind, this is all my fault.” He drags a towel over the bar top, his movements jerky. Is he talking about me? That’s exciting. I smile and lean closer, limiting my movements to keep anyone from noticing ripples in my nightmare.
Celine puts her hand on his arm, then drops it back to her side awkwardly. “It’s okay, Luca.”
“No, it isn’t,” he says, his voice brimming with tamped down frustration. “It will bruise.”
“And then it will heal. There’s no harm done.” Her tone softens, and I’m a little disappointed in her for going easy on the sexy bartender. In her defense, he is ridiculously good-looking, but I’d rather watch her rake him over the coals.
“You coming over for another binge tonight?”
“Probably not.”
“Come on,” she whines. “Don’t get sulky on me now. How will we ever know if Ashley Y. and the roided-up personal trainer bone if we don’t keep watching?”
Luca grimaces. “Do we even want to see that? You know his ballsack is shriveled up like a clump of sun-dried raisins. Ashley Y. is going to be seriously disappointed when she sees the cost of those muscles.”
“Yeah, and then she will console herself by sitting on Brianna’s face.”
Celine leans toward Luca as she talks, and I wonder if she notices how his eyes soak up her every move. Their conversation makes no sense to me at all, but I want to be in the middle of all that unresolved tension, stirring them both up until they snap.
Slipping back to my table, I unravel the nightmare and wedge a hundred-dollar bill under my empty glass as I plot.
If I spin this right to Dad, maybe I can turn this business into pleasure.
I deserve a vacation, don’t I? Nodding to myself, I leave the club, not bothering to ask a single person if they’ve seen Roscoe.